Lawrence Block - The Burglar In The Closet

“Todras and Nyswander. Todras was the block of granite with the menacing smile. Nyswander was Wilbur the Weasel.”

“Well, if they were waiting for you, then you’d have something to worry about. But I don’t think-who’s that?”

The doorbell sounded again, right on cue.

I said, “I came here last night around one. I left about an hour ago. You don’t know anything about my being a burglar. I never really talk much about my work and we haven’t been going together that long. You’ve been seeing other men besides me, see, although you haven’t let me know that.”

“Bernie, I-”

“Pay attention. You can answer the bell in a minute. They’re downstairs and they’re not about to kick the door in. You’re Craig’s girlfriend, it might even be a good idea to volunteer that, but you like to play the field a bit and neither Craig nor I knows you’re seeing the other one. You’d better use the intercom now. I’ll have time to get out before any New York cop can drag his ass up three flights of stairs.”

She walked to the wall, depressed the switch to activate the intercom. “Yes?” she said. “Who is it?”

“Police officers.”

She looked at me. I nodded and she poked the buzzer to let them in. I went to the door, opened it, put one foot out into the hallway. “It’s official,” I said, “you’ve been harboring a fugitive, but you didn’t know it so it’s not your fault. For that matter, nobody told me I was a fugitive. I lied to the cops about my line of work, but why not, since I didn’t want you to know about it? I think we’ll both be all right. I’ll get in touch with you later, either here or at the office. Don’t forget to go through the files.”

“Bernie-”

“No time,” I said, and blew her a kiss and scampered.

I had ample time to climb one flight of stairs while Todras and Nyswander were climbing three. I loitered on the top step and listened while their feet led them to Jillian’s door. They knocked. The door opened. They entered. The door closed. I gave them a minute to get comfortable, then descended a flight and stood beside the door, listening. I heard voices but couldn’t make them out. I could tell there were two of them, though, and I’d heard both pairs of feet on the stairs, and I didn’t want to hang around until one of them got psychic and yanked the door open. I went down three more flights of stairs and took my tie out of my pocket and put it right back when I saw how wrinkled it was.

The sun seemed brighter than it had to be. I blinked at it, momentarily uncertain, and a voice said, “If it ain’t my old pal Bernie.”

Ray Kirschmann, the best cop money can buy, stood with his abundant backside resting upon the fender of a blue-and-white police cruiser. He had a lazy smile on his broad face. A smile of insupportable smugness.

I said, “Oh, hell, Ray. Long time no see.”

“Been ages, hasn’t it?” He drew the passenger door open, nodded at the seat. “Hop in,” he said. “We’ll have us a ride on a beautiful morning like this. It’s no kind of a day to be inside, like in a cell or anything like that. Hop in, Bern.”

I hopped.

Every block in New York sports several fire hydrants spaced at intervals along the sidewalk. These have been installed so that the police won’t have to circle the block looking for a parking space. Ray pulled away from one of them and told me I’d just missed a couple of friends of his. “A couple of fellows in plainclothes,” he said. “Myself, I’m happy wearin’ the uniform. These two, you musta missed each other by a whisker. Maybe they were in the elevator while you was on the stairs.”

“There’s no elevator.”

“That a fact? Just plain bad luck you didn’t run into them, Bernie. But I guess you made their acquaintance yesterday. Here they missed you, and now they’ll come downstairs and find that I took a powder my own self. Not that they’ll be sorry to see me gone. They come here on their own, you know, in their own blue-and-white, and I tagged along and I had the feelin’ they wanted to tell me to get lost. You take a cop and put a business suit on him and he develops an attitude, you know what I mean? All of a sudden he thinks he’s a member of the human race and not your ordinary flatfoot. You want a smoke, Bernie?”

“I quit a few years ago.”

“Good for you. That’s strength of character is what it is. I’d quit myself if I had the willpower. What’s all this crap about your aunt teaching school in the Bronx?”

“Well, you know how it is, Ray.”

“Yeah, that’s the truth. I know how it is.”

“I was trying to impress this girl. I just met her fairly recently, and one of those cops must have recognized my name and I didn’t want her to find out I’ve got a criminal past.”

“A criminal past.”

“Right.”

“But that’s all behind you, that criminal past. You’re Stanley Straightarrow now.”

“Right.”

“Uh-huh.” He puffed on his cigarette. I rolled down my window to let some smoke out and some New York air in, a pointless exchange if there ever was one. He said, “How do you tie in with this Sheldrake character?”

“He’s my dentist.”

“I got a dentist. They say to see him twice a year and that’s plenty for me. I don’t hang out at his office, I don’t try slipping it to his nurse.”

“Hygienist.”

“Whatever. You a big fight fan, Bernie?”

“I get to the Garden when I can.”

“This used to be a real fight town. Remember when they had a Wednesday card at St. Nick’s Arena? And then you had your regular fights out at Sunnyside Gardens in Queens. You ever used to get out there?”

“I think I went two, three times. That was some years ago, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, years and years,” he said. “I love it that you showed Todras and Nyswander a ticket stub. Just happened to have it with you. Jesus, I really love it.”

“I was wearing the same jacket.”

“I know. If it was me and I was settin’ up an alibi I’d have the stub in a different jacket and I’d take ’em back to my apartment and rummage through the closet until I came up with the stub. It looks better that way. Not so obvious, you know?”

“Well, I wasn’t setting up an alibi, Ray. I just happened to go to the fights that night.”

“Uh-huh. But if you just happened to stop there on your way home to pick up a stub that somebody else just happened to throw away, well, that would be interestin’, wouldn’t it? That would mean you were tryin’ to set up an alibi before the general public knew there was anythin’ to need an alibi for. Which might mean you knew about Sheldrake’s wife gettin’ bumped while the body was still warm, which would be a damned interestin’ thing for you to know, wouldn’t it?”

“Wonderful,” I said. “The only thing worse than not having an alibi is having one.”

“I know, and it’s a hell of a thing, Bern. You get suspicious when you’ve had a few years in the Department. You lose the knack of takin’ things at face value. Here all you did was take in a fight card and it looks for all the world like I’m fixin’ to tag you with a felony.”

“I thought it was open and shut. I thought you people figured the husband did it.”

“What, the murder? Yeah, it looks as though that’s how they’re writin’ it up. A man kills his ex-wife and leaves his own personal scalpel in her chest, that’s as good as a signature, isn’t it? If it was my case I might think it was a little too good, the way that ticket stub in your pocket was a little too good, but it ain’t my case and what does an ordinary harness bull in a blue uniform know about something fancy like homicide? You got to wear a three-piece suit in order to be up on the finer points of these things, so I just keep my own nose clean and let the boys in suits and ties take care of the homicides. I mind my own business, Bernie.”