by John Lutz
“Bobinet managed some good shooting.”
“Yeah, didn’t he, though?”
Nudger drew a deep breath as he noticed Ervine was looking beyond him into the kitchen. He turned and saw Claudia in her blue terry cloth robe, its sash yanked tight around her slender waist. Her bare toes were curled tight against the tile floor. She’d been standing there listening.
“You don’t mind, ma‘am,” Ervine said, “I’d like to leave a couple of men here while I take Nudger a few blocks away so he can see what’s happenin’.”
Claudia looked at Nudger. Fear glinted in her dark eyes. And something else. She was angry.
He wanted to stay with her, but he knew she’d be under guard and safe. “It’ll be okay,” he told her. “I’ll be back soon.”
She shrugged and turned away.
Ervine motioned with his hand and there was a lot of clomping on the stairs.
A uniform and a plainclothes cop barged in, big men who made the kitchen and Claudia look small. Claudia seemed to gain assurance from their overwhelming bulk.
“This is Davis and ...” Ervine looked at the uniform.
“Humphreys,” the uniform said. He was in his thirties but had one of those faces that made him look nineteen at a glance. Nudger noticed the flap on his black leather holster was unsnapped. Bobinet had unnerved the troops.
Davis and Humphreys nodded to Claudia, who said, “Want some coffee?” What else did you say to two brontosaurus-size cops in your kitchen?
Ervine rested a hand on Nudger’s shoulder, guiding him out onto the dim landing. Nudger heard the door locks snick behind them as he followed Ervine down the narrow steps to the building’s back door.
The cruiser was angled with a front wheel up on the curb. As they walked toward it Nudger saw the glitter of glass around and behind it from the shot-out windshield. Three other cruisers were parked nearby. Also a couple of unmarked cars. About a dozen uniforms and cops in street clothes were milling around. Some looked bored. Others looked apprehensive.
Ervine touched Nudger’s elbow and stopped him when they were about twenty feet from the car. The tire that had jumped the curb was completely deflated and wrapped around the rim. Nudger could smell gasoline and hot oil now. He saw a dark puddle beneath the front of the car. One of the uniforms raised the hood. Another bent over with a fire extinguisher and began methodically spraying foam into the engine compartment. The extinguisher was making a soft hissing sound.
A cop nearby was standing off by himself, dabbing at a cut on his cheek with a white handkerchief. Apparently that was the only injury, a minor nick, probably from flying glass. Nudger hoped the two uniforms who’d been in the car knew how lucky they were not to have gotten closer before Bobinet opened fire.
Ervine looked hard at Nudger and said, “I wanted to get you away so’s we could talk outa earshot of your Miss Bettencourt. You think our guy knew you were staying overnight in her apartment?”
Nudger said, “Probably. It’s the kinda thing he’d know.”
“That’s what I figured. He musta realized the place was being watched, even at one in the morning, but still he tried to get inside.”
“I’m not surprised,” Nudger said. “Bobinet’s got the ego for it. Probably enjoyed the challenge of trying to get past you the back way.”
“Some balls,” Ervine said. “Badman with a set like that’s liable to do any fuckin’ thing.”
“It’s proving out that way,” Nudger said. He watched as a tow truck with a flashing yellow roof light rolled slowly down Grand toward the crippled police car. A heavy chain was clanking rhythmically against its steel boom. “Bobinet and the skeleton tried to get in touch with me earlier today. Beat up a friend of mine. Damn near choked him to death.”
“I heard,” Ervine said. “Danny something. Fella runs a doughnut shop.”
“Well, after they worked him over they told him they were looking for me.”
“Any idea what they want?”
“Not exactly.”
An unmarked Pontiac pulled to the curb beyond where the tow truck was backing toward the damaged car. It sat idling for a moment with its taillights bright red; the driver still had his foot on the brake pedal. Then the lights winked out and exhaust stopped trailing from the car’s tailpipe.
Hammersmith climbed out, looked around, and saw Nudger and Ervine. He walked toward them. When he got close, Nudger saw his gray hair was tousled and his eyes were puffy. Hammersmith didn’t look his usual obese yet sleek self. He nodded to Nudger and Ervine. “Claudia okay?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Ervine said. “She’s fine.”
Hammersmith kept looking at Ervine. “Well?”
Ervine told him what had happened, speaking bureaucratese but not wasting a word. A veteran cop. He made the night seem dull.
Hammersmith glanced at the damaged squad car being winched up so its front wheels cleared the pavement. Clumps of dirt dropped from its undercarriage, making even more of a mess on the street. After firing up a cigar, Hammersmith gazed over its glowing ember at Nudger. “This Bobinet’s a grade-A desperado, Nudge. He made me get outa bed. I want the bastard.”
Ervine said, “He must wanna see Nudger in the worst possible way.”
Hammersmith flicked ashes in a fiery cascade to the sidewalk. “Yeah. And for the worst possible reason.”
27
Nudger was able to get another few hours of sleep before Claudia shook him awake.
She was standing over him fully dressed. Her right hand was on his shoulder and a thin gold chain with a cubic zirconia stone was dangling from her neck, inches from his face. The mock diamond was realistic enough to shoot points of light like darts into his eyes as the stone jiggled on the chain each time Claudia shook him. “... Up, Nudger. You want to get up?”
“Humph? Why should I want that?”
“It’s almost eight o’clock. I’m leaving for work.”
Nudger rubbed his eyes. Scooted backward so his head was propped against the headboard. Squinted. “There’s daylight outside,” he said.
She smiled. “Been that way a few hours.”
He stared up at her. She was beautiful but there were fine lines of strain in her lean face. The faint sweet scent of her perfume drifted down to him. Flower of life. Wake up, Nudger. He said, “You get back to sleep last night?”
“No,” she admitted. “I lay there with my eyes open and kept hearing faint sounds. Like someone trying to get in. I almost woke you up a few times.”
“You should have.”
“No real reason. After what happened, I knew my imagination was in high gear. Anyway, you needed your sleep. Still do. I wouldn’t have woke you just now, only you have to leave soon to pick up Danny at the hospital.”
“Yeah,” Nudger said. “If I don’t get him out of there by ten o’clock they remove one of his vital organs and charge for another day.”
She kissed his forehead. Her lips were cool. The equally cool chain and stone brushed his nose. “I’ve gotta get out of here, Nudger. Coffee’s made.”
He’d known she’d made coffee; he’d smelled it beyond the whiff of perfume.
She let her fingertips walk over his shoulder, then her legs walked her toward the door. He watched the lazy switch of her hips.
“Be extra careful,” Nudger said. “This is real.”
“I realized that,” she said, “when I found the corpse in my car.”
She left the bedroom. He heard her high heels tap across the hardwood floor, go quiet as she crossed the carpet, Tap! Tap! again on wood. The apartment door opened and closed. She slammed it twice, making sure it was locked behind her.
Nudger dragged himself up to slump on the edge of the mattress. He ran his tongue around dry teeth and gums. Tasted foul. So foul it prompted him to stand up and trudge into the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth first thing and then used some kind of green mouthwash Claudia had bought. The label had an illustration of surf breaking over pine trees.
> After showering and dressing, he poured a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table with it, waiting for his toast to pop up. He turned on the radio and listened to the news while the coffee taste mingled with the strong minty aftermath of the mouthwash.
One of the lead stories was about the prowler in South St. Louis who’d been pursued by police and escaped when he’d shot and disabled a patrol car, slightly injuring one officer. No mention was made of who the prowler might have been, or even where specifically he’d been prowling. Hammersmith, or maybe Springer, holding cards close to the vest.
The toast popped up and stood at attention, emitting parallel curls of smoke. Nudger yanked both pieces out and away from the toaster and examined them to see how badly they were burned. He decided they were about twenty percent edible. Enough.
He broke off inedible portions, then scraped the charred surfaces with a knife. Spread strawberry jam over what was left and sat staring at it. He decided there wasn’t enough to bother with after all and deposited it in the sink and ran the garbage disposal.
He finished his coffee, then had a second cup to keep his heart pumping and his bodily fluids circulating. Then he switched off the radio, wiped crumbs from the table, and turned off the burner under the coffeepot.
He left the apartment to go and reclaim Danny from the hospital, still tasting mint.
It wasn’t all that difficult. Nudger signed this, signed that, and Danny was escorted by a young volunteer nurses’ aide to the lobby and exit. Which officially kept him under medical care until he walked outside into the summer heat, where, if he keeled over, the entire process of admission, treatment, and release would start over. The smiling young aide had handed Nudger a large rolled-up foam rubber pad with points all over it. “Mr. Evers can take this home,” she’d said, as if it were something of hers he’d long admired.
Nudger hugged the bulky roll of blue foam rubber to him. It had about it the size and unwieldiness of a misshapen beach ball. “What is it?”
“Special mattress pad,” Danny said. He was still hoarse, but he didn’t seem to be in any pain. “Really great for the back, Nudge. You oughta try one.”
Nudger thought he and a hospital might be in each other’s futures, the way things were going.
He made sure Danny was comfortable in the front seat of the Granada, then opened the trunk and stuffed the mass of blue foam rubber inside. Gave it an experimental prod with a fingertip. All those little rubber points, like a training mattress for an Indian fakir trying to work his way up to a bed of nails. It didn’t look or feel comfortable to Nudger, but who could tell? He slammed the trunk lid closed, then walked around the car and slid in behind the steering wheel.
“Making it okay?” he asked Danny.
“I feel all right, Nudge. Weak, is all. And my throat’s still sore from where that psycho tried to choke me.”
“You’re lucky you’re still alive,” Nudger told him.
Danny nodded slowly, as if he wasn’t so sure. Maybe he felt worse than he was letting on. He said, “Let’s head for the doughnut shop, Nudge.”
“Let’s head for your apartment,” Nudger told him. “You go back to hoisting Dunker Delites too soon and you might have a relapse.” Might even hurt your back and really need that blue pad.
“Nudge—”
“Bullshit, Danny! Do yourself a favor and leave the place closed for the day. What business you gonna lose? Your only regular customers are from the neighborhood; what are they gonna do, drive six miles to Dunkin Donuts?”
Danny stared out the windshield for a while. “Well, maybe I can get Ray to man the shop. just for today.”
Danny’s incredibly lazy cousin Ray subsisted on various kinds of government payments and welfare in the St. James Apartments, where Danny now lived, not far west on Manchester from the doughnut shop.
“Last time Ray tried to bake,” Nudger reminded him, “the fire department had to get in on the act.” Ever since Danny had moved into the St. James complex, Ray had been a pain in the ass, sponging off him and getting fat on leftover pastry. “Keep the place locked up for the day, Danny. Save yourself having to clean up after Ray. And your regular customers’ll understand.”
Danny settled back in the seat and closed his eyes. “I suppose you’re right, Nudge,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Probably take another day before my throat stops aching. Hey, you mind stopping by Walgreen’s Drugstore so I can get a prescription for pain pills filled?”
“Not at all,” Nudger said. “Now you’re being reasonable.”
“Well, I appreciate what you done for me, Nudge. Least I can do is follow your advice.”
“The least,” Nudger said.
“You had breakfast yet?”
“Why? Didn’t they feed you in the hospital?”
“No. They knew I was checking out.”
“Wanna stop someplace? Get some eggs or hotcakes down you?”
“I don’t think so, Nudge. I don’t feel quite up to that. What I had in mind, we could brew some coffee at my place. Have that and some Dunker Delites.”
“Last time you made a batch of Dunker Delites was yesterday morning,” Nudger said.
“I could microwave ‘em. How ’bout it, Nudge?”
“I guess not this morning,” Nudger said. “I already had toast.”
After getting Danny settled in his apartment, Nudger walked over to Ray’s, stood in the late morning sun, and rang the doorbell.
Ray hadn’t gotten out of bed yet today. He was wearing a ridiculously tight white undershirt and baggy gray boxer shorts, with a pattern of red, fork-tailed devils on them, when he opened the door. He scratched his head, yawned, and glared at Nudger. “Whaddaya want?”
Nudger explained what had happened and asked him to look in on Danny every few hours, noticing that the devils were each wielding a spear with a fancy point shaped like a woman. He wondered what Freud would have made of that.
Ray said, “Sure. Now disappear.” He scratched his crotch, yawned again, then shut the door.
He was no disciple of Miss Manners unless he wanted something.
Nudger knew Ray was returning to bed, so he leaned on the doorbell for at least a minute before turning and walking back to his car.
The apartment door remained closed as Nudger drove away, but he figured he’d made it impossible for Ray to go back to sleep.
He felt good about that.
28
The digital readout on Nudger’s answering machine told him he had three messages. He sat in the breeze of the air conditioner and waited for the office to cool off, knowing the kind of messages he’d be likely to receive would tend to generate heat of their own; better to wait before hearing them.
He stood up, paced to the window, and looked outside for the Maplewood police car he’d noticed as he was coming into the building. The white patrol car with the maple-leaf seal on its door was still parked half a block down Manchester. Nice to see. At least a measure of protection.
Nudger could put it off no longer. He finally slumped back down in his swivel chair, rolled up his sleeves, and punched the Play button on the machine.
The first message was from Eileen. Soon as he recognized her voice, he fast-forwarded to the second message. All the recorded Eileen got out was “Nudger, I—”
Message number two was short and simple: a request to call New York City detective Rico Stompano.
Nudger decided to return Stompano’s call before listening to the third message. He rummaged through the clutter on his desk until he found the slip of paper on which was scrawled Stompano’s number. Dialed direct.
He was put on hold. Thank God there was no Muzak.
A nasal East Coast voice said, “Nudger?”
“Still waiting,” Nudger said.
“This is Rico Stompano. Thought you oughta know something. Guy named Norville Coates gave us a call yesterday. He’s a bellhop at the Meridian Hotel. Turns out he’s in charge of gathering the hotel’s outgoing mail and transpor
ting it to the post office each day.”
Eeek! Nudger sat up straighter in his swivel chair.
Stompano continued. “Seems our friend Norville was in the habit of opening the supposedly sealed mail sack and examining interesting-looking parcels the guests mailed at the hotel, setting them aside so he could get into them later. If it looked like the package could be opened and resealed, he’d go through the contents and remove anything valuable. Then he’d put the package back together and send it out, more or less the way it had been, with the next day’s mail.”
“An industrious kinda guy.”
“But no rarity. We got hustlers up the ass in this city.”
Nudger was sure he knew where the conversation was going. “Then Winslow did mail the diamonds.”
“Sure. But don’t step out ahead of yourself, Nudger, or you might get run over by some fuckhead looks familiar. Norville had set aside Winslow’s package with a few others and was going to break into them in the wee hours when he was on the night shift. But when Winslow’s body was found, Norville got the chills and didn’t wanna play any part in a murder investigation. Also didn’t want his dips into the mailbag to come to light while said murder was being looked into. So he dropped everything with a stamp on it into the mailbox outside the hotel. Then, when we questioned him, he played dumb.”
“So why’s he talking now?” Nudger asked.
“Fingerprints.”
“Huh?”
“Friend Norville didn’t know we could lift fingerprints off wrapping paper. When he got worried and did a little research and found it was possible, he thought as soon as the Winslow package turned up in the investigation, his prints would be lifted from it and he might be nailed for the murder. Wanted to get a lawyer and set the record straight before that happened. All of a sudden tampering with the mail didn’t seem so serious.”