Стюарт Вудс - Barely Legal

Yvette had barely gotten off the phone with the front desk when the doorbell rang. How could Donnie be so fast? The doorman must have sent him up while he was calling. She would have to ask Herbie to speak to him about that. He should wait for approval before sending anyone up.

She flung the door open, stopped, and gasped.

Two goons stood in the doorway. They looked as startled to see her as she was to see them.

The big one just said, “Huh?” but the other one registered recognition.

“Hey, it’s her!” Carlo said.

Ollie the Ox said, “Oh.” It took a few moments for his brain to wrap itself around the concept. He reached under his coat, pulled out a pistol.

Yvette gawked.

The silencer screwed onto the barrel made it look as long as a blowpipe, so at first she didn’t realize what it was. It was only at the last second, before the shot fired, that her face registered fear. Within seconds her eyes rolled back, she sank to the floor, and everything went dark.

“Come on, let’s get her boyfriend,” Carlo said.

“What’s he doing?”

“I don’t care, as long as he’s not calling nine-one-one. Come on. Knock him out and set the scene.”

But when the two men walked into the bedroom, they found they didn’t have to knock him out. Herbie was stark naked and dead to the world.

“Excellent. Get the girl.”

Ollie went out to the foyer and came back with Yvette. “Where do you want her?”

“Other side of the bed.”

Ollie flopped her down.

Carlo arranged her on the pillow. “We won’t need this,” he said. He pulled off the negligee and threw it in the corner. “Okay, here she is, hot to trot, and here’s her lover who thinks she’s been with another man.”

“Why does he think that?”

“Guys do. Okay, here we go.” He put the gun in Herbie’s hand. “He popped her, and passed out.”

Ollie frowned. “He shoots a stark naked girl and goes to sleep?”

Carlo wrapped Herbie’s fingers around the gun, pulled the trigger, and fired a shot into the headboard.

“What did you do that for?” Ollie said.

“Framing the guy. That’s what this is all about. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They went out the front door.

“We got to take the fucking stairs?” Ollie said.

“Down is easy. Come on.”

“Aw, fuck!”

They disappeared down the stairwell just as the elevator arrived on the floor.

Donnie stepped out of the elevator and found the front door open. He was not surprised. If the guy was unconscious, there was no need to be careful. Nevertheless, he tapped his knuckles on the door frame to make sure the coast was clear.

There was no answer.

What the hell was Yvette doing?

He wandered through the apartment, made his way into the master bedroom, and stopped dead.

Yvette was spread out on the bed stark naked. Red blood ran down the side of her face. It made a stripe across her breast and ended in a small pool on the sheet.

The guy was stark naked, too, and clutching a gun. A murder-suicide? No, he was out, from the knockout drops. How did that compute? He realized he’d been doped and pulled a gun? But Yvette had called him, said the guy was out. Had he come to after that, just long enough to shoot her to death?

The whole thing was all a bad dream. She was dead, and the cops would be coming...

He had to get out of there, but he wasn’t going to leave empty-handed, not after everything he’d been through.

According to Yvette, Herbie kept his stuff in a walk-in closet opposite the bath.

Donnie poked his head into the master bath, which boasted a large Jacuzzi tub and a glassed shower with multiple sprays, then pushed his way through the double doors to the walk-in closet.

He was greeted by racks of expensive suits. Donnie had no use for suits, even if they weren’t hot. He needed things easily fenced for ready cash. Jewelry, that’s what Yvette had said. The guy had cuff links worth more than a car, several watches, and some rings.

Donnie had brought a messenger bag. He emptied the jewelry case into it and looked around for more. There was no reason to be circumspect. The long con was gone. What else did the guy have?

Donnie searched the closet. A metal petty cash box looked promising. Inside was a cash envelope, the type the bank issued, full of bills. He reached in, jerked them out. They were hundreds.

Jackpot.

Donnie shoved the money in his pocket and hurried to the front door. He listened before opening it a crack. There was no one there.

Stairs or elevator? What difference did it make? The doorman had seen him already. He’d seen him go in, now he’d see him go out. If they didn’t find the body for a while, they’d think it happened after he left. Hell, the pizza was gone, just a couple of crusts in the discarded box. It would look like they’d eaten long before it happened.

Donnie rode down in the elevator, breathing in and out, trying to calm himself.

Come on, method actor, you’re a pizza delivery boy. This is a piece of cake. What does a pizza delivery boy do? Oh, yeah. That’s right. He sorts his tip money.

Donnie jerked a roll of bills out of his pocket just as the elevator doors opened. He was halfway across the lobby before he noticed they were hundreds. Donnie hunched over, hiding the denominations from the doorman as he pretended to count his tips.

When Carlo got back to the office, Mario was going over the account of Martin Kendrick, who had no idea why he was there. Mr. Kendrick was a steady customer who had borrowed small amounts of money over the years, and had always paid it back on time if not sooner. Mario was looking up the instances in which Martin Kendrick had been early with his payments, and giving him credit in each case. This totally baffled Mr. Kendrick, who couldn’t help feeling he had done something wrong.

Martin Kendrick had a right to be confused, because he was actually there for no good reason, at least not involving Mario’s accounts. He was there solely to provide Mario with an alibi for Yvette’s murder. Mario didn’t need an alibi, but he always liked to have one. It was kind of like insurance. If he had one, he wouldn’t need one.

Carlo barged in and said, “You wanted me, boss?”

Mario looked up and smiled. “Yes, yes. We’re almost done here. Good work, Mr. Kendrick. I need more customers like you. Would you mind waiting outside for a moment? I need to talk to Carlo here.”

From his expression, Kendrick expected to be whacked. His hand was shaking as he opened the door.

“So, how did it go?” Mario said.

Carlo shrugged. “Smooth as silk.”

“Did he recognize you before you put him out?”

“Didn’t have to put him out. Guy was out when we got there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“You’re sure he wasn’t faking?”

“Believe me, he was out. He looked like he’d been drugged. Hell, I thought he was dead.”

Mario nodded. “Did you make the phone call?”

“No. I came here.”

“Make the phone call.” Mario rolled his eyes and jerked his thumb at the corridor. “I’d like to send this guy home before he bores me to death.”

Carlo left Mario to wrap up his non-meeting with Martin Kendrick, and went out to make the call. Working pay phones were scarce, but Carlo had scoped one out that afternoon on the corner of Thirty-sixth and Ninth. It was still working, no sure thing for a street phone. Carlo got a dial tone and called 911.

“I’d like to report a domestic disturbance on Park Avenue.”

The first cops through the door were uniformed officers responding to a domestic disturbance call. The doorman hadn’t heard anything, and no one had complained to him, but he rang the apartment and got no answer, so the cops went up to check it out.