Lawrence Block - The Burglar on the Prowl

"Creepy's the word for it."

"My jewelry was arranged differently from the way I'd left it. But he must have just poked around, because he didn't take anything. But you know what he did take?"

"What?"

"Well, you're going to think I'm crazy, but he took my electric shaver."

"I don't think you're crazy. I think he's crazy. Why would he-"

"I know, it's strange, isn't it? But I looked everywhere and I can't find it, and it's always in the same spot, on the shelf in the bathroom. A little Lady Remington, shaped to fit a dainty feminine hand. I mean, what kind of man would want something like that?"

I took her dainty feminine hand in mine. "Not the kind who'd want to come home with you in the first place."

"Exactly. The only thing I could think of is he took it home for his girlfriend."

"Talk about creepy."

"Well, if he wanted a souvenir, wouldn't he take something more intimate, like panties or a bra?"

"That's a point."

"He went through my purse, but he didn't take any money. I actually had more money than I thought I did. So he wasn't your basic crook. Have you ever been robbed?"

A couple of times, but rather than recount either of them I made one up. "A few years ago," I said. "A burglar came in off the fire escape. He dragged my TV over to the window, but I guess he decided it was too heavy to carry and left it there. He took a combination radio and CD player that I'd just bought, along with the CD that was in it at the time, and which I had a hard time replacing." It's funny how a lie can build up a momentum all its own. I reined it in, and, if you'll allow a change of metaphors, turned the wheel hard right. "He got a few dollars, too, whatever I had around the house. But the thing that bothered me, because there was no way I could replace it, is he took my high school ring."

"That's really funny."

"It is? It didn't seem funny at the time."

"No, funny peculiar, not funny ha-ha. Because I can't find my class ring."

"You're kidding. You don't think it was the same guy, do you?"

We both laughed, and she said she wasn't sure he'd taken it, that it might have disappeared a while ago. "Because he left a really good pair of earrings, and a watch, and a bracelet I never wear, but it's gold, and there are all these gold coins on it. I mean, anyone who looked at it would know it was worth some money. And class rings, well, the gold is no better than ten karat, and the stone is glass."

"Sounds like the one I lost. If it brought ten bucks in a hock shop, the pawnbroker was generous. What color was it? Maybe he liked the way it went with your pink electric shaver." I rolled onto my side, put a hand on her. "Barbara, those GTs have worn off by now, right? I mean, you'll remember this in the morning?"

"How could I forget?"

"I was just thinking that maybe we should make sure."

"Oh," she said, and reached for me. "Oh, my. What a lovely idea."

Afterward I got into my clothes while she lay in bed with her eyes closed. She'd taken her hair down when we'd walked in the door, just before she turned to come into my arms, and it was spread out on the pillow now the way it had been when I got my first look at her. She'd been naked then, too, but this time I didn't feel the need to cover her with the sheet. Somehow it no longer felt invasive to enjoy the view.

I was heading for the door when she said, "Bernie? How'd you know it was pink?"

I didn't know what she was talking about. The only pink thing I could think of at the moment…well, never mind.

"My shaver," she said. "The one he took. How'd you know it was pink?"

Oh, hell. "You said it was pink," I said.

"I did?"

"You must have."

"But I always thought of it as fuchsia. That's what the manufacturer called it, so if I described it that's what I would have said."

"Maybe you did, and I just registered it as pink."

"Yeah, but I don't think I did."

"Oh," I said. "Are you sure you didn't black it out? No, really, I may have just assumed it was pink. I don't think I've ever seen a woman's razor that wasn't. Do they even come in other colors?"

"Sure."

"Oh. I thought they were all pink. Why? What difference does it make?"

"No difference," she said, sleepily. "I just wondered, that's all."

The trouble with Thank God It's Friday, I've occasionally thought, is that it's all too often followed by Oh Rats It's The Weekend. Free time is only a godsend when you've got something interesting to do with it. If you've got nothing to do, decent weather lets you do it outdoors, and if you've got time on your hands at the beach or in the park, you may not even notice how bored you are. But when all it does is rain there's no escaping it.

It started raining an hour or two before dawn Saturday, just about the time I was getting out of a cab on West End Avenue. Edgar was manning the door, and he greeted me with a warm smile and an umbrella, though without a mustache. He told me I hadn't had any visitors, and I was glad to hear it.

I went to bed, and when I got up it was still raining, and the apologetic young woman on the local news channel said it was likely to keep on doing just that until Monday morning at the earliest. The sports guy said something about dampened enthusiasms, and the anchorman groaned, and I turned off the set.

I went out for breakfast, although what they were serving by then was lunch. Whatever they wanted to call it, I ate an omelet and drank some coffee and read theTimes. The news was boring or horrible or both, and the movie listings held nothing that I felt like seeing.

When I got home the phone was ringing. It was Carolyn, reporting that no one had broken in to raid the bathtub while she slept. "But don't think I didn't check," she said, "and I didn't just lift the lid. I stuck my arm down into the Kitty Litter and made sure there were bags under there."

"I'm surprised you didn't haul them out and count the money."

"I might have, if I'd thought of it. Listen, when can we get rid of it?"

"Get rid of it?"

"You know what I mean. Oh, before I forget-I don't know if you're planning to open up the bookstore today, but I fed your cat, so don't let him con you into opening a second can for him."

"That cinches it," I said. "Nobody's going to brave a downpour to buy a secondhand book. I'm not going to bother opening up. How about you? You doing any business?"

"I'm not even trying. I decided to give myself a mental health day. And no, I didn't make a special trip just to feed Raffles. I had some appointments booked, and I needed to call them and cancel. They were relieved, because who wants to take out a dog on a day like this?"

"The Mets are rained out at Shea," I said, "and I couldn't find a movie I want to see."

"There's always the John Sandford. Oh, you left it down here. And you've got another copy at the store, don't you? But you're not going there. Well, as of last night you're in the chips, Bern. Do you feel rich enough to buy another copy?"

"Rich enough, but not crazy enough. I don't want three copies. I've only got two eyes."

"And one pair of lips to move. You should have taken my copy along with you last night. In fact I thought you did, but it's right here where you left it."

"I didn't want to carry it around."

"What, carry? Didn't you just get in a cab?"

"Right."

She thought about it. "But you didn't go straight home."

"Right again."

"Oh, that's right-you said you were going to a bar. You also said you weren't going to get drunk."

"And I didn't. And I know you're going to find this contrary to nature, but all I had was one drink."

"So you got home at a reasonable hour."

"No," I said, "because I didn't go straight home from the bar."