Эд Макбейн - ’Til Death

“Kill an — but... but I only wanted to make him sick. And only him. Not Angela. Only him.”

“They’re married now, you goddamn idiot! They’ll drink from one bottle or both bottles or — you goddamn fool! What makes you think they’re going to follow your instructions for a honeymoon toast! Oh, you goddamn idiot! Cuff him to the radiator, Bert! I’ve got to stop the kids!”

Dancing had commenced under a starlit sky.

The Sal Martino Orchestra, having imbibed of good, clean, commercially bottled wines and champagnes and whiskies all afternoon and evening, having been treated to the sweet, exhilarating taste of Antonio Carella’s expensive elixir, played with a magnificently mellow lilt. Distant cousins embraced distant cousins with mounting fervor as the hours ran out. It would be a long time before the next wedding.

Steve Carella burst from the house and onto the dance floor, his eyes skirting his wife where she sat wriggling uncomfortably in her chair, darting over the dance floor in search of Tommy and Angela. They were nowhere in sight. He saw his mother dancing with Uncle Garibaldi from Scranton, and he rushed over to her and pulled her from the startled uncle’s arms and said, “Where are the kids?”

“What?” Louisa said.

“Tommy and Angela. Where are they?”

Louisa Carella winked.

“Mama, they didn’t leave, did they?”

Louisa Carella, who’d had a bit of the commercially bottled elixir herself, winked again.

“Mama, did they leave?”

“Yes, yes, they left. This is their wedding. What did you want them to do? Stand around and talk to the old folks?”

“Oh, Mama!” Carella said despairingly. “Did you see them go?”

“Yes, of course I saw them. I kissed Angela goodbye.”

“Were they carrying anything?”

“Suitcases, naturally. They’re going on a honeymoon, you know.”

“Che cosa?” Uncle Garibaldi from Scranton asked. “Che cosa, Louisa?”

“Niente. Sta zitto, Garibaldi,” she answered him, and then turned to her son. “What’s the matter?”

“Somebody put two small bottles of homemade wine on the table this afternoon. Did you happen to see them?”

“Yes. His and Hers. Very cute.”

“Did they have that wine with them when they left?”

“Yes. Yes, I think so. Yes, I saw Tommy put the bottles in one of the suitcases.”

“Oh, Jesus!” Carella said.

“Steve! I don’t like you to swear.”

“Where’d they go, Mama?”

“Go? How should I know? This is their honeymoon. Did you tell me where you went on your honeymoon?”

“Oh, Jesus,” Carella said again. “What did she tell me, what did she say? She talked about the hotel! Damnit, what did she say? Did she mention the name?”

“What’s the matter with you?” Louisa asked her son. “You act like a crazy man!”

“Bert!” Carella shouted, and Kling ran to where he was standing. “Bert, did you hear anybody mention the name of the hotel the kids were going to?”

“No? Why? Have they left with the wine?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Kling said.

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

“A big hotel, she said. I’m sure she said that. Hold it, hold it. One of the biggest hotels in the world, she said. Right in this city. She said that.” He clutched Kling’s shoulders desperately. “Which is one of the biggest hotels in the world, Bert?”

“I don’t know,” Kling said helplessly.

“Do you think someone might have seen them drive away?” He turned to his mother. “Mama, did they take a car?”

“No, a taxi, Steve. What is the matter? Why are you—?”

“Che cosa?” Uncle Garibaldi from Scranton asked again.

“Sta zitto!” Louisa said more firmly.

“Did you hear Tommy tell the taxi driver where they were going?”

“No. My God, they only left a few minutes ago. If I knew it was important, I’d have asked them to...”

But Carella had left his mother and was running toward the front of the house and the sidewalk. He stopped at the gate and looked in both directions. Kling pulled up to a puffing halt beside him.

“See anything?”

“No.”

“There’s somebody.”

Carella looked to where Jody Lewis, the photographer, was packing his equipment into the trunk of his car. “Lewis,” he said. “Maybe he saw them. Come on.”

They walked to the car. Lewis slammed the trunk shut and then came around the side of the car quickly. “Nice wedding,” he said, and he got into the car and started the engine.

“Just a second,” Carella said. “Did you see my sister and her husband leave here?”

“The happy couple?” Lewis said. “Yes, indeed. Excuse me, but I’m in a hurry.” He released the hand brake.

“Did you happen to overhear the address they gave the cab driver?”

“No, I did not,” Lewis said. “I am not in the habit of eavesdropping. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to finish my work and get to bed. Good night. It was a wonderful wedding.”

“Finish your...?” Carella started, and he turned to Kling, and the same excited look crossed both their faces in the same instant. “You going to take another picture of them?”

“Yes, I’m—”

“At the hotel? Putting their shoes out?”

“Yes,” Lewis said, “so you can see I’m in a hurry. If you’ll—”

“You’ve got company, mister,” Carella said, and he threw open the car door. Kling piled into the sedan. Carella was following him when he heard his mother’s voice on the path behind him.

“Steve! Steve!”

He hesitated, one foot inside the car, the other on the pavement.

“What is it, Mama?”

“Teddy! It’s Teddy! It’s her time!”

“What?”

“Her time! The baby, Steve!”

“But the baby isn’t due until next we—”

“It’s her time!” Louisa Carella said firmly. “Get her to the hospital!”

Carella slammed the car door shut. He thrust his head through the open window and shouted, “Stop the kids, Bert! My wife’s gonna have a baby!” and he ran like hell up the path to the house.

“What hotel is it?” Kling asked.

“The Neptune.”

“Can’t you drive any faster?”

“I’m driving as fast as I can. I don’t want to get a ticket.”

“I’m a detective,” Kling said. “You can drive as fast as you want. Now step on it!”

“Yes, sir,” Lewis answered, and he rammed his foot down on the accelerator.

“Can’t you drive any faster?” Carella said to the cab driver.

“I’m driving as fast as I can,” the cabbie answered.

“Damnit! My wife’s about to have a baby!”

“Well, mister, I’m—”

“I’m a cop,” Carella said. “Get this heap moving.”

“What are you worried about?” the cabbie said, pressing his foot to the accelerator. “Between a cop and a cabbie, we sure as hell should be able to deliver a baby.”

A convention of Elks or Moose or Mice or Masons or something was cavorting in the lobby of the Neptune Hotel when Kling arrived with Jody Lewis. One of the Elks or Moose or Mice or whatever touched Kling with an electrically charged cane, and he leaped two feet in the air, and then rushed again toward the reception desk, thinking he would arrest that man as a public menace as soon as he finished this business with Tommy and Angela. God, it was past eight-thirty, Claire would have a fit when he finally got around to picking her up. Assuming the kids hadn’t tasted that wine yet — why was he calling them kids? Tommy was about his age — but assuming they hadn’t tasted the wine, assuming a stomach pump and a rush to the hospital wouldn’t be necessary, holy Moses what had happened to what had started out as a quiet Sunday?