Lawrence Block - The Burglar Who Studied Spinoza

"You'll find that out tomorrow, too."

"How am I gonna recover it? That's somethin' else I'll find out tomorrow. This is soundin' like those old radio programs. 'Tune in tomorrow an' see what happens to Jack Armstrong, the all-American boy.' Remember Jack Armstrong, Bern? Whatever did happen to him?"

"He's doing short time at Attica."

"Jesus, what a thought. How much of a reward are we talkin' about?"

"Ten grand."

He nodded, sucked his teeth. "But it's not offered officially," he said. "The guy could welsh."

"If it's not official it doesn't have to be reported, either. No taxes to pay. No splits with anybody higher up in the department."

His face took on a crafty look, and greed sparkled in his eyes. Spinoza may not have had a good word to say for avarice, but how would the wheels turn without it?

"The hell," he said. "We'll see how it goes."

"Have you got that list?"

He nodded, drew a folded sheet of paper from the pocket of the green sport shirt. "These here are burglaries committed in the past two years with an M.O. like the Colcannon job-forced entry and the place left like the burglars brought a cyclone with 'em. And it's the area you said- Manhattan south of Forty-second Street, west of Fifth Avenue and north of Fourteenth Street. Computers are wonderful. You just say what you want and you got it."

"You wouldn't believe how comforting it is to know the police have these tools at their command."

"I can imagine. You're not the first person to figure Rabbit Margate might have done this kinda thing before, you know. They been questionin' him left and right. Not goin' back two years, and not just the neighborhood you picked, but they been askin' him a question or two."

"Are they getting anywhere?"

"He still bein' Humphrey Bogart."

"Yesterday you said he was Jimmy Cagney."

"Same difference."

"You'll bring him tomorrow?"

"It's irregular. If he got loose and took a powder I'd have a little trouble explainin' it. I guess I could take a chance."

"And you don't know who was working with him?"

"Not yet. He'll talk sooner or later."

"Then I'll see you tomorrow," I said, and went over the time and place with him again.

"Anythin' I should bring? Besides Rabbit?"

"Your gun."

"I'm never without it."

"Not even in the shower? Let me think. Handcuffs, Ray. Bring plenty of handcuffs."

"Like I'm gonna arrest the whole Jesse James gang or somethin'. Well, you generally delivered in the past, Bern, so I'll play along. Anythin' else I can do for you in the meantime? Want a lift anywhere? Anythin' I can do to grease the skids for you a little?"

I thought it over, then resisted temptation. "No," I said. "I can manage."

I found Marilyn Margate at Hair Apparent. She was combing out a hard-faced woman with a headful of unconvincing auburn hair. "He admits he sleeps with his wife," the woman was saying, "but he insists he never enjoys it, that it's just a sense of duty. But my experience is they always tell you that, so how do you know what to believe?"

"I know just where you're coming from," Marilyn said. "Believe me, I know."

When she had a minute I drew her aside and gave her a slip of paper with the time and place of Abel's service. "It's important for you to show up," I said. "And bring Harlan Reese."

"Harlan? You think he went back and killed Wanda? That doesn't sound like Harlan."

"Just bring him."

"I don't know. He's not even leaving his room. And he was talking about splitting for the coast or something before the cops get onto him. I don't think he's gonna want to chase out to Brooklyn for some old guy's funeral."

"Get him to come anyway. Your brother'll be there."

"Rabbit's gonna be there? You mean they let him out?"

"They'll release him for the service. I arranged it."

"You-" Her eyes were wide, her expression respectful. "That's some kind of arranging," she said. "That's more than the lawyer could do. They wouldn't set bail for him. Wait'll I tell his lawyer."

"Don't tell his lawyer anything."

"Oh. All right."

"Just show up tomorrow with Harlan."

"If Rabbit's gonna be there, I'll get there. And I'll bring Harlan."

I called Narrowback Gallery and Denise answered. "I hope you're free tomorrow," I said. "I'd like you to come to a funeral in Brooklyn."

"I'll wear a smock and a smile. You want to talk to your partner in crime?"

"Please."

She put Carolyn on and I said things were going well, albeit hectically. "I have to get into Abel's building," I said, "and I decided not to ask Ray for help because I didn't want him to know what I was up to. Any bright ideas?"

"I guess it's a little late for another doctor's appointment."

"It's Saturday and it's close to dinnertime. That does make it tricky."

"If there's anything I can do-"

"I can't think of anything. I'll probably be tied up most of the night, assuming I find a way in. I thought maybe I'd drop over to your place after I'm done."

"Well, I sort of have a date, Bern."

"Oh. Well, I'll see you tomorrow at Abel's service. You'd better take down the address, or did I give it to you earlier?" I gave it to her again and she wrote it down. Then I asked her to put Denise on.

"Carolyn has the address for the service tomorrow. That's assuming that the two of you are speaking."

"You assume a lot."

"Uh-huh. What I wanted to say is I've got a batch of things to do tonight but I'll be done sooner or later, and I thought maybe I could drop over."

"Oh."

"Because I'd like to see you."

"Tonight's a bad night, Bernie."

"Oh. Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow in Brooklyn."

"I guess so. Okay to bring Gore and Truman?"

"They're already on my list."

A machine answered Murray Feinsinger's telephone, inviting me to leave my name and number or call back at nine Monday morning if I wanted to speak to the doctor. I hung up without leaving a message and read through the listing of Feinsingers in the Manhattan directory until I found a listing for one Dorothy Feinsinger at the same address and dialed the number. Murray himself answered it.

I said, "Dr. Feinsinger? My name's Bernard Rhodenbarr, I was in to see you yesterday afternoon. About my feet."

"That's why most people come to see me, Mr. Rhodenbarr. My office is closed for the day, and-"

"I don't know if you remember me. I had Morton's Foot, and you're going to be making orthotics for me."

"They're not ready yet, of course. It takes a couple of weeks."

"Yes, I understand that. But I gave you a deposit, just a small deposit really, and-"

"I'm afraid I've already sent the order in, Mr. Rhodenbarr. Is there a problem?"

"No problem at all," I said, "but I had a sudden cash windfall this afternoon, as a matter of fact I had a good day at the track, see, and I wanted to pay you the balance due before I blow it on necessities. And I'm in the neighborhood, so I thought maybe I could come up and pay you what I owe you, I guess it comes to two hundred and seventy dollars because I paid a thirty-dollar deposit, and-"

"That's very considerate of you, Mr. Rhodenbarr. Why don't you stop in Monday?"

"Well, Monday's a hard day for me, and for all I know the money might be gone by then. It wouldn't take a minute if I could just come up and pay you and-"

"I can't really take money outside of business hours," he said. "I'm at my apartment. My office is across the hall and it's closed, and I'd have to open up and make out a receipt for you and enter the cash in my books, and I'd rather not do all that."

"A receipt's not important to me. I could just pop up, pay you the cash, and off I'd go."

There was a pause. By now he must have been certain he was dealing with a lunatic, and why should he want to invite a lunatic upstairs? There should have been a way to get to see him, but I had evidently blown it, and everything I said now was only going to make it worse.