by Ed McBain
“She’s having dinner at one of her friends’. She’ll be gone until eleven or so.”
“It bodes well,” Hank said.
“Does it? I haven’t been asked yet.”
“I don’t believe in asking my women. I just drag them into my cave by the hair.”
“If I were you, I’d go talk to the Committee for the Preservation of Green Lawns in Inwood first.”
“I intend to do that right now. Did you mix some Martinis?”
“I did.”
“Good. I’d like one.”
“They’re on the bar. I’d join you, but someone around here has to get dinner going.”
“Chill some wine,” he said.
“My, my,” Karin answered. “What brings on the sudden romanticism?”
“The very sight of you, my dove,” he said, and he winked and went into the living room.
“Well, well,” he said, “this is a surprise. John, Fred, how are you?”
Both men rose as he entered the room. John McNalley was in his early thirties, a tall sinewy man with prematurely gray hair. He worked for a chemical research plant in Yonkers. Fred Pierce was an advertising man, art director for a firm which specialized in photographic layouts. In contrast to McNalley, he was short and rotund, with the sloppy look of an artist living on the Left Bank. They shook hands with Hank, and then McNalley said, “Home from the wars, eh?”
“Busy day,” Hank said. “Busy day. Either of you care for a Martini? I’m going to have one.”
Pierce looked as if he were about to accept, but McNalley promptly said, “No,” for both of them. Hank went to the bar, picked up the pitcher there, held the swizzle stick to its lip and poured a hefty Martini into his glass. He plucked two olives from the open jar on the bar top and dropped them into the glass.
“Here’s luck,” he said.
“Drink hearty,” Pierce said, and then he glanced at McNalley as if wondering whether he had his approval to speak.
Hank loosened his tie and sat down. “What can I do for you, fellas?” he said. “Donation for the P.T.A.? Little League? What is it this time?”
“Well, nothing very serious,” McNalley said.
“Just a little friendly visit, that’s all,” Pierce said, glancing again at McNalley.
“Well, it’s always good to see you,” Hank said, and he watched them over the rim of his glass, wondering why they were here, suspecting at once that this was not “just a little friendly visit.”
“Good for neighbors to get together every now and then,” McNalley said.
“Especially in a neighborhood like this one,” Pierce said. “Where everybody knows everybody else. Where the people have been living on the same street for years. It’s a good neighborhood, Hank.”
“It certainly is,” Hank replied. He was, in truth, not overly fond of Inwood. But as a prosecutor for New York County, he was required to maintain residence within the county. They had thought of moving to Greenwich Village when he’d first got the job, but Karin had rightfully insisted that Inwood would provide a more countrified environment for Jennie, who was, at the time, only five and a half years old. Still, he had never really felt any deep-rooted ties with the community.
“We’d like to keep it good,” McNalley said.
“That’s a reasonable hope,” Hank answered, sipping at the Martini. He felt rather good. He’d felt this way ever since his talk with Mary. He was hoping these two rather forlorn-looking neighbors of his would go home for dinner so that he could go kiss his wife.
Out of a clear blue sky, Pierce said, “How would you like your daughter marrying one of those Puerto Ricans?”
Hank blinked. “What? What did you say?”
“Now, just a minute, Fred,” McNalley said. “I thought we agreed that I would do the—”
“I’m sorry, John. Only, we were talking about the neighbor—”
“I know what we were talking about. Boy, you’re about as subtle as a locomotive!”
“Well, I’m sorry if I—”
“Oh, just keep quiet and let me explain this to Hank. You’re going to give him the wrong idea, for God’s sake.”
“The wrong idea about what, John?” Hank asked.
“About the neighborhood. And the city.”
“Why, I think this is a nice neighborhood,” Hank said. “And a nice city.”
“Sure you do,” McNalley said.
“See, I told you he’d agree with us,” Pierce said.
“About what?” Hank asked.
“About keeping the neighborhood good. And the city.”
“I don’t think I know what you mean,” Hank said.
“Well, then let’s discuss it a little, Hank,” McNalley said. “Now you know that Fred and I and all the rest of our neighbors are not prejudiced people. We’re—”
“Of course not,” Hank said.
“Of course not. We’re normal American citizens who happen to believe that all men are created equal and that everyone’s entitled to his place in the sun. Am I right, Fred?”
“Absolutely,” Pierce said.
“Sure,” McNalley agreed. “And we don’t happen to believe there’s any such thing as a second-class citizen. But we do feel that certain elements in this city would be better suited to a rural rather than an urban culture. You can’t expect to take people who are used to cutting sugar cane and fishing, you can’t just take these people and throw them into the middle of the biggest city in the world and hope they’ll make an amicable adjustment to civilization. These elements—”
“Which elements?” Hank said.
“Well, Hank, I don’t have to bandy words with you, because I’m sure we see eye to eye and I know you won’t mistake me for a man with prejudices. I’m talking about the Puerto Ricans.”
“I see,” Hank said.
“Who are a fine people, that’s for sure. I understand there’s a very low crime rate on the island of Puerto Rico itself, and that it’s as safe to walk around down there as it would be in a hospital nursery. But down there isn’t up here. And it isn’t safe to walk around in Spanish Harlem, and there is a very high crime rate in Spanish sections, and those sections are spreading all over the city. And pretty soon it won’t be safe to walk anywhere without being afraid of getting knifed. And that goes for Inwood, too.”
“I see,” Hank said.
“Now obviously, we can’t tell these damn people where they should live. They’re American citizens—just like you and me, Hank, just like you and me—and they’re free men who are entitled to their place in the sun, and I wouldn’t deny it to them. But it seems, to me they should be taught that they can’t simply come into a civilized city and turn it into a jungle suitable only for jungle animals. I’m thinking of my wife and kids, Hank, and I guess you ought to be thinking of that lovely little daughter of yours because I sure as hell wouldn’t want her getting raped by some farmer from Puerto Rico some night.”
“I see,” Hank said.
“Which brings us to why we’re here. Now, none of us on this street condones murder, that’s for damn sure, and I hope you realize we’re all law-abiding citizens who are anxious to see justice done. But nobody goes into the jungle—and I know that particular word is overused these days—but nonetheless nobody goes into the jungle and hangs a hunter for having killed a dangerous tiger. Nobody would ever think of doing a thing like that, Hank.”
“I see,” Hank said.
“Okay, so we have these three young white boys who happen to be strolling in Spanish Harlem—which you’ll agree is a part of the jungle—and this jungle animal comes at them with a knife and …”
“Just hold it a minute, John,” Hank said.
“… it only seems reasonable to—Huh?”
“I hope I’m misunderstanding you so far. I hope I’m not getting the impression that you came in here in an attempt to tell me how to try the Rafael Morrez case.”
“We wouldn’t do a thing like that, Hank, and you know it.”
&n
bsp; “Then why did you come in here?”
“To ask you whether you’re seriously going to try to inflict the death penalty on these three white boys who—in self-defense—would not allow this Puerto Rican—”
“This Puerto Rican was as white as you are, John.”
“All right, have your little joke,” McNalley said, “but we happen to think this is serious. And we’re your neighbors.”
“Admittedly. So?”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to prosecute for first-degree murder as charged in the indictment handed down by the grand jury.”
“You’re going to try to hang these boys?”
“I’m going to try to convict them.”
“Why?”
“Because I believe they’re guilty.”
“And do you realize what this will mean?”
“What will it mean, John?”
“It’ll mean that every damn Puerto Rican in this city will think he can get away with murder! That’s what it’ll mean!”
“Haven’t you got your facts a little mixed up? It’s the Puerto Rican who was killed.”
“He came at them with a knife! Are you trying to tell me that decent citizens should be penalized for protecting their own lives? Or their property? For God’s sake, Hank, you’re opening the door for anarchy! You’re paving the way for jungle animals to take over the civilized world!”
“There’s an inscription outside the Criminal Courts Building downtown, John, at the south entrance hall. It says—”
“Oh, don’t quote inscrip—”
“It says, ‘Where law ends, there tyranny begins.’”
“What’s that got to do with what we’re discussing?”
“You’re talking about the civilized world. Law is the civilized world. Without law, we’ve got tyranny, and anarchy, and jungle animals. And you’re asking me to suspend law in favor of—”
“I’m not asking you to suspend anything! I’m asking you for justice.”
“What kind of justice?”
“There’s only one kind of justice,” McNalley said.
“Exactly. And she’s blind, and she doesn’t know the difference between a dead Puerto Rican and a dead native of this city. She knows only that the law has been broken.”
“How would you like your daughter marrying one of those Puerto Ricans?” Pierce said.
“Oh, nuts,” Hank answered.
“Well, how would you?”
“Stop worrying so damn much about the superiority of your sexual prowess. I imagine Puerto Rican men copulate much the same way that you do, no better, no worse. I doubt if we’re in any particular danger of losing our women to the alien hordes!”
“There’s no sense talking to him, John,” Pierce said. “There’s just no sense.”
“You can do what you want to,” McNalley said ominously. “I just want to tell you, Hank, that the opinion of this neighborhood—”
“The hell with the opinion of this neighborhood,” Hank said, rising, slamming down his glass. “And the hell with the opinion of the newspapers, which happens to be contrary to the opinion held by this neighborhood. I’m riding this particular jackass, and I don’t want to wind up in the river.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I’ll prosecute this case exactly as I want to, without any hints or advice from anybody! Is that clear enough?”
“It couldn’t be clearer. Come on, Fred.”
Without another word, both men stalked out of the house. Karin came in from the kitchen.
“Wow!” she said.
“Yeah. I’m going to have another Martini. You want one?”
“Yes.” She shook her head. “I had no idea … Have the newspapers been giving you trouble, too?”
“I saw a reporter this afternoon. Karin, there’s something you should know.”
“What’s that?”
He handed her the drink. “The mother of one of the boys—Mary Di Pace—is the girl … the girl I …”
“The girl you loved?”
“Yes.” He paused. “The newspapers will try to make something of it. I thought you should know.”
She watched him as he raised his glass. His hand was shaking. He downed the drink quickly and then poured another.
“I won’t even read the stories,” she said.
He shrugged and then wiped a hand over his face. Outside, the sky was beginning to darken with sudden summer rain clouds. He walked to the big picture window. Aimlessly, he said, “Rain coming.”
“Yes.”
She could see his face, could see the beginning of a tic at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t let them bother you,” she said. “McNalley or Pierce or any of the others. Just do your job.”
“Yes,” he said, and he nodded.
In the distance, lightning flashed across the sky, followed instantly by the low rumble of thunder. He turned to her.
“Karin?”
“Yes?”
“Could—could we go upstairs?”
“Yes, darling,” she said. She took his hand and led him to the steps. She could feel tension surging like electricity through his fingers. A lightning bolt crashed closer, and she felt him start unconsciously, wince when the thunder bellowed its near answer. He pulled her to him suddenly, fiercely. Standing on the step below her, he pressed his face to her bosom. His body was stiff, his jaws clamped together, the trembling visible.
“I need you,” he said. “Karin, I need you so much.”
She did not answer. She took his hand and led him to their bedroom and she could remember the first time he’d said those words to her, so long ago, the first time she began to know a little about the man she loved so much. They had driven out of Berlin on a Friday afternoon, a weekend pass tucked into the pocket of his blouse, the jeep bouncing along bomb-pitted roads under a sky as bright as blue enamel. He looked very handsome in his captain’s tunic, the twin silver bars gleaming on his shoulders, his eyes reflecting the blue of the flawless sky. They had found an inn a hundred kilometers from the city, the familiar Zimmer sign hanging out front. He had joked about the word on the drive to the inn, thinking it amazing that this family named Zimmer had managed to corner the market on all the hotels in Germany. They’d eaten dinner alone in the small dining room while the proprietor hovered over them, pouring from a bottle of French wine he’d managed to save from “the good days.” They’d gone up to the room then, and he’d begun unpacking his small bag while she undressed. He was taking out his pajamas when she whispered, “Hank.”
He turned to her. She stood naked, one arm crossed over her breasts, the other arm extended.
“Give me the top,” she said. “I want to wear your pajama top.” There was a curious look in her eyes. He went to her, sensing that it was very important that he give her the pajama top. Her eyes made it an important thing. He handed it to her, and she put it on and then hugged her arms across her body.
“It’s nice,” she said. “It’s very nice. I knew it would be nice.” She reached up to put her arms around his neck, shorter now without her high-heeled pumps, looking very small and very vulnerable in the overlarge pajama top. “May I kiss you, please?” she asked.
“What for?”
“To thank you.”
“What for?”
“For finding me. For taking me away from Berlin this weekend. For lending me your pajama top.”
“Karin …”
“Are you very tired?” she asked, a slight smile on her mouth.
“Tired?”
“After all that driving,” she said.
“No, I’m not.”
“I thought you might be tired,” she said.
“No,” he answered, returning the smile, “I’m not tired at all,” and she kissed him.
She could not remember afterward how many times she awakened him during the night. She could not sleep at all. Lying in the circle of his arms, she was sure this was not real, this untouched inn hung with medi
eval gables, leaded windows that had not been shattered by bombs, clean white sheets, and Hank beside her with a three-day pass, no rush to the base in the morning, this could not be real. In the darkness of the ancient room, the fat mattress cradling them, embracing them, the windows open, the town silent and still except for the occasional rumble of an airplane droning toward Berlin, she lay wide awake, her eyes saucer-wide, a small smile of childish disbelief on her mouth.
She woke him the first time to ask, “Are you real?”
He blinked at her in the darkness. “Yes,” he said sleepily. “I’m real.”
“Why don’t you make love to me?” she said.
“Now?”
“Can you think of a better time?”
“Yes. Tomorrow morning.”
“That’s a good time,” she agreed. “But now is a good time, too.”
She lay awake afterwards, thinking, He’s had a very tiring drive in a jeep, he must be exhausted, I mustn’t demand too much of him, but I want to touch him, I want him to be awake, I want to know that he is real, I want hours and hours and hours of him, I never want to leave this bed, I want to stay in this bed for the whole three days, I love his pajama top.
“Hank?”
“Mmmm?”
“I love your pajama top.”
“Mmmm.”
“You’ll never be able to wear it again without thinking of me.”
“Mmm.”
“Will you?”
“No. Won’t.”
“Do you want to sleep?”
“Don’t you?”
“I want to talk. Hank, we can sleep all day tomorrow. We have three whole days together. Can we talk?”
“All right.”
“Isn’t Mr. Vettiger nice?”
“The proprietor? Yes. Adorable.”
“Are you very sleepy?”
“No, no, notatall.”
“Do you think he knows we’re not married?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re not very talkative.”
“I’m listening.”
“I think he knows,” she said.
“I don’t think he cares,” Hank answered.
“He likes us. We’re a wonderful couple.”
“Mmm.”
“You looked so handsome today.”
“Go to sleep,” he said.
“I’ll wake you later.”