A Ticket to the Boneyard

by Lawrence Block

Page 3

 

  They couldnt reach me, but I called in myself within the half hour and they gave me the message. After I spoke with her I found an officer I could trust and we rode up to her apartment. With Elaines help, we got the poor bastard into his clothes. Hed been wearing a three-piece suit, and we dressed him up all right, knotting his tie, tying his shoes, hooking his cuff links. My buddy and I each looped one of his arms over our shoulders, and we walked him out to the freight elevator, where one of the buildings porters had the car waiting. We told him our friend had had too much to drink. I doubt that he bought it- the guy we were dragging looked a lot more like a stiff than a drunk- but he knew we were cops and he remembered the kind of tips Miss Mardell passed out at Christmas, so if he had any reservations he kept them to himself.

  I was driving a department vehicle, an unmarked Plymouth sedan. I brought it around to the service entrance and we wrestled the dead lawyer into it. By the time we had him in the car it was past five oclock, and by the time we fought our way down to the Wall Street area the offices were closed and most of the workers on their way home. We parked across the entrance to a narrow alley off Gold Street, maybe three blocks from the mans office, and we left him in the alley.

  His appointment book had the notation "E. M. - 3:30" under that days date. That seemed cryptic enough, so I returned the book to his breast pocket. I checked his address book, and she wasnt listed under the Ms, but he had her number and address with the Es, listed by her first name only. I was going to tear out the page, but I noticed other female first names listed here and there, and I couldnt see any reason to inflict all that on the widow, so I stuck the address book in my pocket and ditched it later on.

  He had a lot of cash in his wallet, close to five hundred dollars. I took all of it and split it with the cop who was helping me out. I figured it was just as well to let it look as though someone had rolled our friend. Besides, if we didnt take it the first cops on the scene would, and look at all wed done to earn it.

  We got out of there without attracting any attention. I drove us up to the Village and bought my buddy a couple of drinks, and then we called it in to Headquarters anonymously and let them route it to the local precinct. The ME didnt miss noticing that the deceased had died elsewhere, but death itself was clearly a result of natural causes, so nobody had any reason to make waves. The old whoremaster died with his reputation unbesmirched, Elaine stayed out of trouble, and I got to be a hero.

  Ive told that story a couple of times at AA meetings. Sometimes it comes out funny, and other times its anything but that. It depends, I guess, on how its told, or how you listen.

  * * *

  Elaine lived on Fifty-first between First and Second, on the sixteenth floor of one of those white brick apartment buildings that went up all over town in the early sixties. Her doorman was a West Indian black, very dark-skinned, with perfect posture and the build of a wide receiver. I gave him her name and mine and waited while he spoke on the intercom. He listened, looked at me, said something, listened again, and handed me the phone. "She wants to talk to you," he said.

  I said, "Im here. Whats up?"

  "Say something. "

  "What do you want me to say?"

  "You just mentioned a man who blew a fuse. What was his name?"

  "What is this, a test? Cant you recognize my voice?"

  "This thing distorts voices. Look, humor me. What was the fuse mans name?"

  "I dont remember his name. He was a patent lawyer. "

  "Okay. Let me talk to Derek. "

  I handed the thing to the doorman. He listened for a moment while she assured him I was okay, then motioned me to the elevator. I rode up to her floor and rang her bell. Even after the ritual over the intercom, she checked the judas peephole before opening the door for me.

  "Come in," she said. "I apologize for the dramatics. Im probably being silly, but maybe not. I dont know. "

  "Whats the matter, Elaine?"

  "In a minute. I feel a lot better now that youre here, but Im still a little shaky. Let me look at you. You look terrific. "

  "You look pretty good yourself. "

  "Do I? Thats hard to believe. Ive had some night. I couldnt stop calling you. I must have called half a dozen times. "

  "There were five messages. "

  "Is that all? I dont know why I thought five messages would be more forceful than one, but I kept picking up the phone and dialing your number. "

  "Five messages may have been better," I said. "They made it a little harder to ignore. Whats the problem?"

  "The problem is Im scared. I feel better now, though. Im sorry for the inquisition before but its impossible to recognize a voice over my intercom. Just for your information, the patent attorneys name was Roger Stuhldreher. "

  "How could I ever have forgotten it?"

  "What a day that was. " She shook her head at the memory. "But Im being a terrible hostess. What can I get you to drink?"

  "Coffee, if youve got some. "

  "Ill make some. "

  "Its too much trouble. "

  "Its no trouble at all. You still like it with bourbon in it?"

  "No, just black. "

  She looked at me. "You stopped drinking," she said.

  "Uh-huh. "

  "I remember you were having some trouble with it the last time I saw you. Is that when you stopped?"

  "Around then, yes. "

  "Thats great," she said. "Thats really great. Give me a minute and Ill get some coffee made. "

  The living room was as I remembered it, done in black-and-white with a white shag rug and a chrome-and-black leather couch and some matte black mica shelving. A couple of abstract paintings provided the rooms only color. I think they were the same paintings shed had before, but I couldnt swear to it.

  I went over to the window. There was a gap between two buildings that afforded a view of the East River, and the borough of Queens on the other side of it. Id been over there a matter of hours earlier, telling funny stories to a bunch of drunks in Richmond Hill. It seemed ages ago now.

  I stayed at the window for a few minutes. I was in front of one of the paintings when she came back with two cups of black coffee. "I think I remember this one," I said. "Or did you just get it last week?"

  "Ive had it for years. I bought it on impulse at a gallery on Madison Avenue. I paid twelve hundred dollars for it. I couldnt believe I was paying that kind of money for something to hang on the wall. You know me, Matt. Im not extravagant. I always bought nice things, but I always saved my money. "

  "And bought real estate," I said, remembering.

  "You bet I did. When youre not handing it to a pimp or sucking it up your nose, you can buy a lot of houses. But I thought I was crazy, paying all that money for a painting. "

  "Look at the pleasure its brought you. "

  "More than pleasure, honey. You know what its worth now?"

  "A lot, evidently. "

  "Forty thousand, minimum. Probably more like fifty. I ought to sell it. Sometimes it makes me nervous, having fifty grand hanging on the wall. For Christs sake, when I first hung it I got nervous having twelve hundred dollars on my wall. Hows the coffee?"

  "Its fine. "

  "Is it strong enough?"

  "Its fine, Elaine. "

  "You really look great, you know that?"

  "So do you. "

  "How long has it been? I think the last time we saw each other must have been about three years ago, but we havent really seen anything much of each other since you left the police department, and that must be close to ten years. "

  "Something like that. "

  "You still look the same. "

  "Well, Ive still got all my hair. But theres a little gray there if you look closely. "

  "Theres a lot of gray in mine, but you can look as close as you like and you wont see it. Thanks to modern science. " She drew a breath. "The rest of the package hasnt changed too much, though. "

  "It hasnt c
hanged at all. "

  "Well, Ive kept my figure. And my skins still good. Ill tell you, though, I never thought Id have to put so much work into it. Im at the gym three mornings a week, sometimes four. And I watch what I eat and drink. "

  "You were never a drinker. "

  "No, but I used to drink Tab by the gallon, Tab and then Diet Coke. I cut out all of that. Now its pure fruit juice or plain water. I have one cup of coffee a day, first thing in the morning. This cups a concession to special circumstances. "

  "Maybe you should tell me what they are. "

  "Im getting there. I have to sort of ease into it. What else do I do? I walk a lot. I watch what I eat. Ive been a vegetarian for almost three years now. "

  "You used to love steak. "

  "I know. I didnt think it was a meal unless there was meat in it. "

  "And what was it you used to have at the Brasserie?"

  "Tripes ? la mode de Caen. "

  "Right. A dish I never liked to think about, but I had to admit it was tasty. "

  "I couldnt guess when I had it last. I havent had any meat in close to three years. I ate fish for the first year, but then I dropped that, too. "

  "Ms. Natural. "

  "Cest moi. "

  "Well, it agrees with you. "

  "And not drinking agrees with you. Here we are, telling each other how good we look. Thats how you know youre old, isnt that what they say? Matt, I was thirty-eight on my last birthday. "

  "Thats not so bad. "

  "Thats what you think. My last birthday was three years ago. Im forty-one. "

  "Thats not so bad either. And you dont look it. "

  "I know I dont. Or maybe I do. Thats what somebody told Gloria Steinem when she turned forty, that she didnt look it. And she said, Yes I do. This is what forty looks like now. "

  "Pretty good line. "

  "Thats what I thought. Sweetie, you know what Ive been doing? Ive been stalling. "

  "I know. "

  "To keep it from being real. But its real. This came in todays mail. "

  She handed me a newspaper clipping and I unfolded it. There was a photograph, a head shot of a middle-aged gentleman. He was wearing glasses and his hair was neatly combed, and he looked confident and optimistic, an expression that seemed out of keeping with the headline. It ran across three columns, and it said, area businessman slays wife, children, self. Ten or twelve column inches of text elaborated on the headline. Philip Sturdevant, proprietor of Sturdevant Furniture with four retail outlets in Canton and Massillon, had apparently gone berserk in his home in suburban Walnut Hills. After using a kitchen knife to kill his wife and three small children, Sturdevant had called the police and told them what he had done. By the time a police cruiser arrived on the scene, Sturdevant was dead of a self-inflicted shotgun wound to the head.

  I looked up from the clipping. "Terrible thing," I said.

  "Yes. "

  "Did you know him?"

  "No. "

  "Then-"

  "I knew her. "

  "The wife?"