Lawrence Block - The Burglar who thought he was Bogart

“Running yet,” Max Fiddler said. “Can’t be the herbs. How could they work so fast? He makes miracles, this Chinaman, but even miracles take a little time to work. When did I see you, three, four nights ago?”

“Something like that.”

“No, it was two nights ago. I know it for a fact, because right after I dropped you off the second time I picked up the woman with the monkey. Where to?”

“Seventy-first and West End.”

“Right where I dropped you and then picked you up again. And then we took the Transverse and I dropped you at-gimme a minute-”

“Take all the time you want,” I said.

“-Seventy-sixth and Lexington,” he said triumphantly. “Am I right or am I right?”

“You’re right.”

“Some memory, eh?”

“I’m impressed.”

“Ginkgo.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ginkgo biloba,” he said. “An herb! Comes from the ginkgo trees, you see ’em around town, got a funny little leaf shaped like a fan. I take these pills, my Chinaman told me about them, you get ’em in any health food store. I used to have a memory like Swiss cheese, now I got a memory like a hawk.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“You want to test me on state capitals, names of the presidents, be my guest.”

“No, that’s all right.”

“Or New York streets, anywhere in the five boroughs. Or something else. Go ahead, try and stump me.”

“Well, here’s an easy one. Did I happen to leave my attaché case in your cab the other night?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “You want to know how I remember? I got this picture in my mind, you’re limping away from the cab, the case is knocking against your leg with each step you take.”

“That’s amazing,” I said. And even more amazing, I thought, was that I had managed to forget for a moment there that I already knew where the attaché case was. Ray Kirschmann had shown it to me yesterday, with an incomprehensible six-letter word printed on its side in blood.

“Ginkgo,” he said. “I recommend it.”

“Maybe I’ll get some. Except it’s not my memory that bothers me so much as the feeling I get sometimes that I’m not thinking too clearly.”

“It’s good for that, too. Mental clarity!”

“That’s what I could use.”

“Also a ringing in the ears.”

“It gives it to you or gets rid of it?”

“Gets rid of it!”

“Well, that’s good to know,” I said, “although that’s not something I’ve had to worry about.”

“Yet.”

“Yet,” I agreed. “Tell me about the woman and the monkey.”

He told me about the woman and the monkey in considerable detail, but I don’t know that it constituted much of a testament to his memory, or to the efficacy of ginkgo biloba. I’ve never touched the stuff myself, and I expect to remember the whole episode long into my dotage. All I’ll say is this-the woman had a well-developed figure (“Cantaloupes!” Max Fiddler said), while the monkey was a scrawny specimen with a mean little sour apple of a face. And they both should have been ashamed of themselves.

The story of their courtship carried us all the way to my corner. He was reaching to throw the flag when I told him to wait a minute.

“You said New York streets,” I said. “Anywhere in the five boroughs, you said.”

“So?”

“How about Arbor Court?”

“ Arbor Court,” he said. “There’s only one Arbor Court and it’s in Manhattan. Is that the one you mean?”

“That’s the one.”

“In the Village, right?”

“Right.”

“Child’s play,” he said. “I thought you’d give me something hard, like Broadway Alley or Pomander Walk, but the best you can do is Arbor Court. Do I know Arbor Court? Of course I know Arbor Court, and you could take away my ginkgo and I’d still know it.”

“You know how to get there from here?”

“Why wouldn’t I know? Over to Broadway, then down Columbus and Ninth Avenue and Hudson Street, and then you pick up Bleecker and take it until you swing right on Charles, and-”

“Fine,” I said. “Let’s go.”

He put a hand on the back of his seat, turned around, and looked at me. “You want to go there?”

“Why not?”

“You want me to wait, and you’ll go inside and get whatever you came here to get?”

“No,” I said, sinking back into my seat. “Let’s just go straight downtown.”

“To the Village. To Arbor Court.”

“Right.”

“You’re the boss,” he said, and pulled away from the curb. “ Arbor Court, coming up. You know what I think? I think there’s a pattern developing here. Night before last I picked you up on Broadway and Sixty-seventh and brought you here, and ten minutes later I picked you up here and took you somewhere else. Tonight I pick you up and bring you here, and this time you don’t even get out of the cab before we’re off to someplace else. Next time you know what? You’re going to be able to skip this intersection altogether.”

“You may be right.” It was going to be a long ride. “Say,” I said, “I was wondering. Have you ever had anything else happen in your cab like what happened with the woman and the monkey?”

It took three anecdotes to get us all the way to Carolyn’s place, and I’m not sure I believe the one with the two sailors and the little old lady. I suppose it’s possible, but it certainly strikes me as highly unlikely. Still, it passed the time.

The ARNOW bell went unanswered, and I didn’t let myself in. I could have, and wouldn’t have needed my tools, as Carolyn and I have keys to each other’s stores and apartments. But I figured it would be quicker to go looking for her, and I found her in the second place I tried, a bar called Henrietta Hudson’s. When I went in I got a whole batch of looks ranging from wary to hostile, and then Carolyn spotted me and called me by name and the other women relaxed, knowing it was safe to ignore me.

Carolyn was at the bar drinking Scotch and listening to a willowy woman with improbable red hair. Her name was Tracey and I’d met her before, along with her lover, Djinn, who could have posed as her twin except that her equally unconvincing hair color was ash blond. You rarely saw one without the other, but they had evidently had a falling-out, which was why Tracey was knocking back shots of Jaegermeister and telling Carolyn her troubles, which seemed to be legion.

Carolyn introduced me, and Tracey was polite enough, but when it was clear that I wasn’t just passing through she turned gracefully away from Carolyn and joined a conversation on her other side. “Move down a little ways, Bern,” Carolyn suggested. “That’ll give us more room.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Am I interrupting something?”

“You are,” she said, “which means I owe you a big one. It’s all over between her and Djinn, and she’s about one drink away from inviting me to go home with her, and I’m about two drinks away from agreeing. Where are you going?”

“Home,” I said, “so you can have a chance to get on with your life.”

“Get back on your stool, Bern. The last thing I want is to go home with her.”

“Why? I think she’s gorgeous.”

“No argument there, Bern. She’s a beauty. So’s Djinn, and when they broke up forever a year ago last November it was Djinn who told me her troubles and went home with me, and within a week the two of them were back together again and it was months before Tracey would speak to me. They break up three times a year and they always get back together again. Who needs it? That’s not what I’m looking for these days, a quick little tumble in the feathers. I want something meaningful, something that might lead somewhere. Like you and Ilona might have, from the way you were talking this morning.” My face must have shown something, because hers darkened. “Uh-oh,” she said. “I stepped in it, didn’t I? If I stopped to think, I would have wondered what you were doing in a dyke bar at one in the morning. What happened to the course of true love? It’s not running smooth?”