Эд Макбейн - Let’s Hear It For The Deaf Man

“No,” he said. “Lots of things, but never a hammer.”

“Have you ever been shot?”

“Yes.”

“Is that what this is?” she asked, and pointed with the hammer at the scar on his shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Think I’ll kiss it,” she said, and bent over from the waist and kissed his shoulder lightly, and then sat up again. “You’re dealing with the Mad Hammer Hitter here,” she said. “One more word about how good-looking I am and, pow, your friends’ll be investigating a homicide. You got that?”

“Got it,” Kling said.

“This is the obligatory sex scene,” she said. “I’m going to drive you to distraction in the next ten minutes. If you fail to respond, I’ll cleave your skull with a swift single blow. In fact,” she said, “a swift single blow might not be a bad way to start,” and she bent over swiftly, her tongue darting. “I think you’re beginning to get the message,” she murmured. “Must be the goddamn hammer.”

“Must be,” Kling whispered.

Abruptly, she brought her head up to the pillow, stretched her legs, and rolled in tight against him, the hammer still in her right hand. “Listen, you,” she whispered.

“I’m listening.”

“We’re going to be very important to each other.”

“I know that.”

“I’m scared to death,” she said, and caught her breath. “I’ve never felt this way about any man. Do you believe me, Bert?”

“Yes.”

“We’re going to make love now.”

“Yes, Augusta.”

“We’re going to make beautiful love.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, touch me,” she said, and the hammer slipped from her grasp.

The telephone rang four times while they were in bed together. Each time, Augusta’s answering service picked it up on the first ring.

“Might be someone important,” Kling whispered after the last call.

“No one’s more important than you,” she whispered back, and immediately got out of bed and went into the kitchen. When she returned, she was carrying a split of champagne.

“Ah, good,” he said. “How’d you know I was thirsty?”

“You open it while I think up a toast.”

“You forgot glasses.”

“Lovers don’t need glasses.”

“My grandmother does. Blind as a bat without them.”

“Is she a lover?”

“Just ask Grandpa.”

Kling popped the cork with his thumbs.

“Got that toast?” he asked.

“You’re getting the bed wet.”

“Come on, think of some people we can drink to.”

“How about John and Martha Mitchell?”

“Why not? Here’s to...”

“How about us?” Augusta said. She gently took the bottle from him, lifted it high, and said, “To Bert and Augusta. And to...” She hesitated.

“Yes?”

Solemnly, she studied his face, the bottle still extended. “And to at least the possibility of always,” she said, and quickly, almost shyly, brought the bottle to her lips, drank from the open top, and handed it back to Kling. He did not take his eyes from her face. Watching her steadily, he said, “To us. And to always,” and drank.

“Excuse me,” Augusta said, and started out of the room.

“Leaving already, huh?” Kling said. “After all that sweet talk about...”

“I’m only going to the bathroom,” Augusta said, and giggled.

“In that case, check the phone on the way back.”

“Why?”

“I’m a cop.”

“Hell with the phone,” Augusta said.

But she nonetheless dialed her service, and then reported to Kling that the third call had been for him.

“Who was it?” he asked.

“A man named Meyer. He said Mrs. Ungerman is ready to make a positive identification.”

Kling knocked on the door of Mike Ingersoll’s Calm’s Point apartment at ten minutes past eleven. He had heard voices inside, and now he heard footsteps approaching the door.

“Who’s there?” Ingersoll asked.

“Me. Bert Kling.”

“Who?”

“Kling.”

“Oh. Oh, just a second, Bert.”

Kling heard the night chain being slipped off, the lock turning. Ingersoll, wearing pajamas and slippers, opened the door wide, and said, “Hey, how are you? Come on in.”

“I know it’s late,” Kling said. “You weren’t asleep, were you?”

“No, no, I was just watching the news on television.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yeah,” Ingersoll said. “Come in, come in. Can I get you a beer?”

“No, Mike, thanks.”

“Mind if I have one?”

“Go right ahead.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” Ingersoll said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Kling went into the living room and sat in an easy chair facing the television set. Ingersoll’s gun and holster were resting on top of the cabinet, and a newscaster was talking about the latest sanitation strike. A cigarette was in an ashtray on an end table alongside the easy chair. There were lipstick stains on its white filter tip. In the kitchen, Kling heard Ingersoll closing the refrigerator. He came into the room a moment later, glanced at a closed door at the far end, tilted the beer bottle to his lips, and drank. Briefly, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and then said, “Something new on the case?”

“I think so, Mike.”

“Not another burglary?”

“No, no.”

“What then?”

“A positive identification,” Kling said.

“Yeah? Great, great.”

“That depends on where you’re sitting, Mike.”

“How do you mean?”

“Mrs. Ungerman called the squadroom earlier tonight. I was out, but I spoke to her just a little while ago.” Kling paused. “She told me she knew who the burglar was. She hadn’t made the connection before because she’d only seen him in...”

“Don’t say it, Bert.”

“She’d only seen him in uniform. But the other day, in the squadroom...”

“Don’t, Bert.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

Ingersoll did not answer.

“Mike? Is it true?”

“True or not, we can talk it over,” Ingersoll said, and moved toward the television set.

“Don’t go for the gun, Mike,” Kling warned, and pulled his own service revolver.

“You don’t need that, Bert,” Ingersoll said with an injured tone.

“Don’t I? Over there, Mike. Against the wall.”

“Hey, come on...”

“ Move it!”

“All right, take it easy, will you?” Ingersoll said, and backed away toward the wall.

“What’d you do, Mike? Steal a set of skeleton keys from the squadroom?”

“No.”

“Then how’d you get them?”

“I was on a numbers investigation last October. Remember when they brought a lot of us in on...”

“Yes, I remember.”

“We put in wires all around town. I was working with the tech guys who planted the bugs. That’s when I got hold of the keys.”

“What else are you into, Mike? Are you just burglarizing apartments?”

“Nothing, I swear!”

“Or are you selling dope to school kids, too?”

“Come on, Bert, what do you think I am?”

“I think you’re a cheap thief!”

“I needed money!”

“We all need money!”

“Yeah, so name me a cop in the precinct who isn’t on the take. When the hell did you get so fucking pure?”

“I’ve never taken a nickel, Mike.”

“How many meals have you had on the arm?”

“Are you trying to equate a free cup of coffee with a string of felonies? Jesus Christ!”

“I’m trying to tell you...”

“Yeah, what , Mike?”

The room went silent. Ingersoll shrugged and said, “Look, I wanted to keep you out of this. Why do you think I suggested the stakeout? I didn’t want anybody to think you were connected. I was...”