David Handler: The Cold Blue Blood

“Man, if you don’t get to the point, and fast, I am going to get way ugly!”

“Okay, okay-what happens is these two teenage girls are home one night making harmless prank phone calls. They pick numbers out of the book at random, call people up and say ‘I saw what you did.’ And then hang up giggling, right?”

“Right…”

“Only, by accident, they happen to call a guy who has just murdered his wife. And he totally freaks out because he thinks they saw him do it. And he comes after them to shut them up. Neat idea, right?”

“Right…”

“In my case, I go with a note. Something simple and direct: I am on to you. I slide it under each of their doors. They freak out. They come after me, thereby showing their hand, and, bam, we’ve got ’em. Perfect, right?”

Des peered across the table at him. “Okay, I’ve really got to nail something down here right now.”

“Not a problem. Go right ahead.”

“Are you goofing on me or what?”

Mitch seemed startled by her question. “I’m being totally serious. Why would you think I’m goofing on you?”

“Because this is real life, not a freaking movie!” Des cried out. Heads at nearby tables immediately turned. She lowered her voice. Or at least she tried to. “You can tell the difference, can’t you? Because they have a technical term for people who can’t-they’re called meshugah!”

“It’ll work,” he insisted stubbornly.

“Mitch, it’s a bad idea.”

“It’s the only way.”

“Mitch, forget it.”

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, Lieutenant.” He ran a hand over his face. He suddenly looked terribly concerned. “You see, I already did it. I’ve set the wheels in motion.”

“You what?!” Out of control. Her life was truly spinning out of control. “When?!”

“Last night,” he replied, swallowing. “Right after we spoke on the phone. I put notes under each of their doors. Anyone who’s innocent will have no idea what it means. Anyone who’s guilty is probably plotting my demise at this very minute.”

“My God,” she gasped. “You are insane.”

“No, I’m not,” he said with quiet determination. “I just happen to like Big Sister. These guys have done something truly awful out there. And they’ve ruined your career. And I don’t think they should get away with it. Any of it.”

“And what if they actually try to kill you?” Des demanded. “Have you given any thought to what happens then?”

“Of course. You’ll arrest them. I have total confidence in you.”

Des took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Mitch, I want you to listen to me very, very carefully. What you’re proposing falls under the legal heading of entrapment. Anything I learned under such circumstances would be considered inadmissable in a court of law. A judge would drop-kick it right out the door. And me with it. I cannot have anything to do with this. I am already under investigation by Internal Affairs. If I am even remotely associated with such a loony-toons stunt, my career in law enforcement will be over and out.”

“And you’ll have to concentrate on your art, instead. Worse things could happen.”

“That’s my decision to make. It’s my career, my art and my life!”

“And I’m not trying to run your life, Lieutenant. Honestly, I’m just trying to help.”

“Why, damn it? Why are you doing all of this? I mean, how did I get to be so lucky?”

“Because Lacy was right,” he explained.

“Who in the hell is Lacy?!”

“My editor. She was positive I’d met someone. I was positive she was wrong. But she wasn’t. I had met someone. And that someone was you.”

All of the air went right out of Des’s body. She was speechless, her mouth dry, her heart racing so fast that she felt light-headed.

“I wanted to see you again,” he continued. “I wanted to get to know you better. Frankly, this all seemed to me like a perfect convergence of priorities.”

She reached for her coffee and took a sip, wondering if he could see how her hand was trembling. “If you wanted to see me again why didn’t you just ask me out?”

“You mean like on a date?”

“What I’m talking about.”

“Would you have said yes?”

“Well, no…”

“There, you see? My point exactly.”

“But there are ways for sane adults to behave, Mitch. And this isn’t one of them. This is not some old Preston Surtees movie-”

“Sturges. It’s Preston Sturges.”

“Shut up! You can’t just go around throwing yourself in front of a moving car because you want to get busy with the driver.” She shook her head at him disapprovingly. “Man, I am so not happy that I ever met you.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time,” he said, beaming at her proudly. At that particular moment, Des felt quite sure she knew exactly what he’d looked like when he was a round little boy with grape jam all over his face.

“Why didn’t you check with me before you did this?” she asked him. “You should have checked with me.”

“You’re absolutely right,” he acknowledged readily. “Next time I’ll check with you.”

“There isn’t going to be any next time, fool! Not if you’re right-they are going to kill you!”

“Will you watch my back for me?” he asked her imploringly. “Will you be there for me.?”

“I just told you-I can’t! You know I can’t!”

“All I know is you have two choices,” Mitch Berger said to her in a low, grim voice. “You can say yes or you can say no. Which is it going to be, Lieutenant?”

MITCH KNEW THE STORM was going to be a genuinely nasty one when he got a good look at those gray clouds as he drove back over the causeway in his pickup.

They were converging upon each other from opposite ends of the sky like two big, hulking fighters in a ring. Mitch had never seen cloud formations do that before in his entire life. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. The air was heavy and charged with electricity. The wind was gusting. And the surf was so angry that cold salt spray was carrying right up and over the causeway.

He found Clemmie burrowed under his bed covers with her ears pinned back. Cats did not like wind. Or thunder. Cats were not stupid.

Mitch immediately closed all of his windows and filled every pot and pail he owned with water from the tap. He poured oil in his hurricane lamp and put fresh batteries in his flashlight, fetched two big armloads of firewood from the woodpile in the barn, brought his garden chairs inside. It was, he felt, very important for him to behave as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

Even though everything was. Mitch Berger was not an old hand at derring-do. At least, not when he himself was playing a featured role in the adventure. And had no idea how it would play out. Or if he would prove to be its hero or its victim. In truth, he was petrified. But he had not wanted the lieutenant to know this.

It was very important that she not know this.

By now the sky was turning black and fat raindrops were beginning to fall. Thunder shook the entire island. Lightning crackled. And then, with sudden ferocity, the heavens opened up and hail stones the size of pea gravel began pelting his roof.

The electricity went out with a pop right after that, plunging him into the dark of night even though it was only late afternoon.

The phone went out, too.

The hail quickly turned into a hard, driving rain. Mitch made a fire against the damp and curled up in his living room chair to read Manny Farber by the light of his hurricane lamp. He could not concentrate. The words were nothing more than meaningless squiggles on the page. He flung the book aside, lit a burner and made coffee. He drank a cup. He listened to the storm rage outside, the wind gusting so hard that Mitch wondered if it would tear the roof right off of his house. He heard a tree come down somewhere very close by. It was a frightening sound-like someone ripping a piece of canvas cloth-followed a second later by a heavy thud that shook the ground the way a wrecking ball did when it slammed into the side of a brick building. He thought about seeking safety down below in his crawl space, but decided he’d rather be blown all the way to Oz than go back down in that horrible place.