Ed McBain - Pusher

"Quien es?" a voice asked.

"Me," she answered. "Maria Hernandez."

The door swung open. "Puta!" Dolores shouted. "Why you break down the door at… qué hora es?"

Maria looked at her watch. "Son las tres . Look, Dolores, I need…"

Dolores stood in the doorway, a small thin woman in a faded nightgown, her gray hair straggly and hanging at the sides of her face, her collarbones showing sharply where the gown ended. The rage began building inside her, finally spread into her face, and then exploded from her mouth in a string of epithets. "Puta!" she screamed. "Hija de la gran puta! Pendega! Cahapera ! Three o'clock in the morning, you come here and…"

"I need a room," Maria said hastily. "The one downstairs, is it…?"

"Bete para el carago!" Dolores hurled, and she started to close the door.

"I can pay five dollars," Maria said.

"Me cago en los santos!" Dolores went on, still cursing, and then the door stopped. "Cinco ? You said five?"

"Si."

"The room downstairs is empty. I get the key. You stupid whore, why didn't you say five dollars? Come out of the hallway, you'll get pneumonia."

Maria stepped into the apartment. In the kitchen, she could hear Dolores opening drawers, cursing mildly as she searched for the key. In a few moments, Dolores came back.

"The five," she said.

Maria opened her purse and gave her five dollars. Dolores gave her the key. "Good night," Dolores said, and she closed the door.

He was still waiting in the street when Maria went to him. "I got a room from Dolores," she said.

"Who?"

"Dolores Faured. An old woman who…" She stopped and grinned. "Come," she said, and she led him to a room at the rear of the ground floor. She opened the door, flicked on the wall light, and then locked the door behind him.

He reached for her almost instantly, and she danced away from him and said, "I heard a proposal of twenty dollars."

He took out his wallet, grinning. He was a big man with big hands, and she watched his hands, and she watched the methodical way in which he counted out the bills. He handed her the bills and because she didn't want to seem cheap—even though she'd already laid out five for the room—she didn't count them. She put them in her purse, and then took off her coat.

"Last time I saw you," she said, "you didn't seem interested in me personally. You were more interested in cards."

"That was last time," he said.

"Well, I'm not complaining," she said.

"I've been looking for you all night," he said.

"Really?" She walked toward him, wiggling suggestively. Now that the twenty dollars was in her purse, the game could proceed again. "Well, you found me, baby."

"I wanted to talk to you, Maria."

"Come, baby, we'll talk horizontally," she said.

"About Gonzo," he told her.

"Gonzo?" She seemed puzzled. "Oh, are you still saying that silly name?"

"I like it," he said. "Now, about your arrangement with Gonzo."

"I have no arrangement with Gonzo," she said. Slowly, she began unbuttoning her blouse.

"Ah, but you do."

"Listen, is this all you want to do? Talk, I mean? You didn't have to pay me twenty dollars to talk."

She took off the blouse and draped it over the back of a chair. The chair, a bed, and a dresser were the only pieces of furniture in the room. He studied her and then said, "You're small."

"I'm not Jane Russell," she answered, "but I'm in proportion to the rest of me. For twenty dollars, you don't get movie queens."

"I'm not complaining."

"Then what's the holdup?"

"There's more to say first."

Maria sighed. "You want me to undress, or no?"

"In a minute."

"This room ain't exactly warm, you know. Whatever I got, I don't want to freeze 'em." She grinned, hoping he would grin back. He did not.

"About Gonzo," he repeated.

"Gonzo, Gonzo, what's with you and Gonzo, anyway?"

"A lot," he said. "I asked Gonzo to make that arrangement with you."

"Wha…" She stared at him, surprised. "You? You asked him to…?"

"Me," he said, and now he was grinning again.

Warily, she asked, "What arrangement are you talking about?"

"The arrangement with Gonzo and your brother."

"Go ahead," she said, "tell me more."

"Where you promised Gonzo you'd swear you saw your brother and this Byrnes kid arguing."

"Yeah?" she asked suspiciously.

"Yeah," he answered. "Gonzo was working on my orders. He gave you twenty-five dollars, didn't he?"

"Yes," Maria said.

"And he said there'd be more, didn't he, if you swore you heard them arguing."

"Yes," Maria said. She shivered and said, "I'm cold. I'm getting under the covers." Unselfconsciously, she slipped out of her skirt, and then ran to the bed in her brassiere and panties and pulled the covers to her throat. "Brrrrrrrr," she said.

"Did Gonzo tell you what it was all about?"

"Only that this would be a good deal, and that my brother was in on it."

"What about since your brother died? Has Gonzo said anything about that?"

"He said my brother fouled up the works. Listen, I'm cold. Come on over here."

"Do you feel any differently about the deal since your brother died?" he asked, walking toward the bed. He took off his overcoat and draped it at the foot of the bed.

"No," she said, "why should I? He committed suicide. So why should…"

The man was grinning. "Good," he said. "You keep thinking that way."

"Sure," she answered, puzzled by his grin. "Why shouldn't I? The deal had nothing to do with Aníbal's death."

"No," he said. "But just forget there ever was a deal, do you hear me? All you know is that your brother and this Byrnes kid argued, that's all. Do you understand? If anyone asks you—cops, reporters, anybody—that's your story."

"Who is this Byrnes kid, anyway?" He was sitting on the bed now. "Aren't you going to take off your clothes?" she asked.

"No, I'll leave them on."

"Well, Jesus, I…"

"Ill leave them on."

"All right," she said quietly. She took his hand and guided it to her breast. "Who is this Byrnes kid?"

"That doesn't matter. He argued with your brother."

"Yes, yes, all right." She was silent for a moment. "Now, that's not so small, is it?"

"No," he said.

"No," she repeated. "That's not so small at all, is it?" They were silent for several moments. He lay back on the bed, holding her.

"Remember," he said again. "Anyone who asks you; cops, anyone."

"I already spoke to one cop," she said.

"Who?"

"I don't know his name. A good-looking one."

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing."

"About the argument?"

"No. Gonzo said I should wait until I got the word on that. He said I should keep quiet until then. This cop…" She frowned.

"What?"

"He said… he said maybe Aníbal didn't commit suicide."

"What did you say?"

Maria shrugged. "He must have committed suicide." She paused. "Didn't he?"

"Sure, he did," the man said. He held her tighter now. "Maria…"

"No. No, wait. My brother. He… he didn't die because of this deal, did he? This deal had nothing to do with… I said wait!"

"I don't want to wait," he told her.

"Did he commit suicide?" she asked, trying to hold him away from her.

"Yes. Yes, damnit, he committed suicide!"

"Then why are you so interested in making me lie to the cops? Was my brother killed? Was my… oh! Stop, you're hurting me!"

"Goddamn you, can't you shut your mouth!"

"Stop!" she said. "Stop, please, you're hurting…"

"Then shut up about whether he was killed or he wasn't killed, who the hell gives a damn about that? What kind of a whore are you anyway?"