Lawrence Block - The Burglar Who liked to Quote Kipling

A while later I was sitting in the chair again. I was wearing clean clothes and I’d had a nice close shave with my own razor.

“I could get a paper,” Carolyn offered. “It’s after eleven. The Times must be out by now. The first edition.”

We’d just heard the news and there wasn’t anything about the Porlock murder. I pointed out that there wouldn’t very likely be anything in the paper, either.

“Our ad’ll be in, Bern. In the Personals.”

“Where’s the nearest newsstand open at this hour?”

“There’s one on Greenwich Avenue but they don’t get the early Times because they close around one or two. There’s an all-night stand at the subway entrance at Fourteenth and Eighth.”

“That’s too far.”

“I don’t mind a walk.”

“It’s still raining and it’s too far anyway, and why do we have to look at the ad?”

“To make sure it’s there, I suppose.”

“No point. Either somebody’ll see it or they won’t, and either the phone’ll ring or it won’t, and all we can do is wait and see what happens.”

“I suppose so.” She sounded wistful. “It just seems as though there ought to be something active we can do.”

“The night’s been active enough for me already.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“I feel like a little blissful inactivity, to tell you the truth. I feel like sitting here feeling clean. I feel like having maybe one more drink in a few minutes and then getting ready for bed. I don’t even know if people really read Personal ads in the Times , but I’m fairly sure they don’t race for the bulldog edition so they can read about missing heirs and volunteers wanted for medical experiments.”

“True.”

“I’m afraid so. The phone’s not going to ring for a while, Carolyn.”

So of course it picked that minute to ring.

We looked at each other. Nobody moved and it went on ringing. “You get it,” she said.

“Why me?”

“Because it’s about the ad.”

“It’s not about the ad.”

“Of course it’s about the ad. What else would it be?”

“Maybe it’s a wrong number.”

“Bernie, for God’s sake…”

I got up and answered the phone. I didn’t say anything for a second, and then I said, “Hello.”

No answer.

I said hello a few more times, giving the word the same flat reading each time, and I’d have gotten more of a response from Archie. I stared at the receiver for a moment, said “Hello” one final time, then said “Goodbye” and hung up.

“Interesting conversation,” Carolyn said.

“It’s good I answered it. It really made a difference.”

“Someone wanted to find out who placed the ad. Now they’ve heard your voice and they know it’s you.”

“You’re reading a lot into a moment of silence.”

“Maybe I should have picked it up after all.”

“And maybe what we just had was a wrong number. Or a telephone pervert. I didn’t hear any heavy breathing, but maybe he’s new at it.”

She started to say something, then got to her feet, popping up like a toaster. “I’m gonna have one more drink,” she said. “How about you?”

“A short one.”

“They know it’s you, Bernie. Now if they can get the address from the number-”

“They can’t.”

“Suppose they’re the police. The police could get the phone company to cooperate, couldn’t they?”

“Maybe. But what do the police know about the Kipling book?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, neither do they.” She handed me a drink. It was a little heftier than I’d had in mind but I didn’t raise any objections. Her nervousness was contagious and I’d managed to pick up a light dose of it. I prescribed Scotch, to be followed by bed rest.

“It was probably what I said it would be when I answered it,” I suggested. “A wrong number.”

“You’re right.”

“For all we know, the ad didn’t even make the early edition.”

“I could take a quick run over to Fourteenth Street and check-”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I picked up the book again and found myself flipping through its pages, remembering how I’d done so on an earlier occasion, sitting in my own apartment with a similar drink at hand and flushed with the triumph of a successful burglary. Well, I’d stolen the thing again, but somehow I didn’t feel the same heady rush.

Something nagged at me. Some little thought out there on the edge of consciousness…

I finished my drink and tuned it out.

Half an hour after the phone call we were bedded down for the night. I was bedded down, anyway; Carolyn was couched. The clock radio was supplying an undercurrent of mood music, all set to turn itself off thirty minutes into the Mantovani.

I was teetering on the edge of sleep when I half heard footsteps approaching the door of the apartment. I didn’t really register them; Carolyn’s was a first-floor apartment, after all, and various feet had been approaching it all night long, only to pass it and continue on up the stairs. This time the steps stopped outside the door, and just as that fact was beginning to penetrate I heard a key in the lock.

I sat up in bed. The key turned in the lock. Beside me, a cat sat quivering with excitement. As another key slipped into another of the locks, Carolyn stirred on the couch and whispered my name urgently.

We were both on our feet by the time the door opened. A hand reached in to switch on the overhead light. We stood there blinking.

“I’m dreaming,” Randy said. “None of this is really happening.”

Shoulder-length chestnut hair. A high broad forehead, a long oval face. Large eyes, larger now than I’d ever seen them, and a mouth in the shape of the letter O.

“Jesus,” Carolyn said. “Randy, it’s not what you think.”

“Of course not. The two of you were playing canasta. You had the lights out so you wouldn’t disturb the cats. Why else would you be wearing your Dr. Denton’s, Carolyn? And does Bernie like the handy drop seat?”

“You’ve got it all wrong.”

“I know. It’s terrible the way I jump to conclusions. At least you’re dressed warmly. Bernie, poor thing, you’re shivering in your undershorts. Why don’t the two of you huddle together for warmth, Carolyn? It wouldn’t bother me a bit.”

“Randy, you just don’t understand.”

“You’re dead right about that. I figured you knew what you were by now. Aren’t you a little old for a sexual-identity crisis?”

“Dammit, Randy-”

“Dammit is right. Dammit is definitely right. I thought I recognized Bernie’s voice on the telephone. And I was struck tongue-tied. After I hung up I told myself it was probably innocent, the two of you are friends, and I asked myself why I reacted with such paranoia. But you know what they say, Carolyn. Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean real little people aren’t following you.”

“Will you please listen to me?”

“No, you listen to me , you little shit. What I said was, well, screw it, Miranda, you’ve got a key, so go over and join the two of them and see how silly you’re being, or maybe you’ll get lucky and Carolyn’ll be alone and you can have some laughs and patch things up, and-God damn you, Carolyn. Here’s your set of keys, bitch. I won’t walk in on you two again. Count on it.”

“Randy, I-”

“I said here’s your keys. And I think you have my keys, Carolyn, and I’d like them back. Now, if you don’t mind.”

We tried to say something but it was pointless. There was nothing she wanted to hear. She gave back Carolyn’s keys and pocketed her own and stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the dishes on the kitchen table, stamping her way down the hall, slamming the vestibule door on her way out of the building.