Doors

by Ed McBain

  “This wasn’t johns. This was two guys strong-arming you, that’s an entirely different thing.”

  “Come on, it didn’t mean nothing. I was just glad to get out of there, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, and suppose they come around again tomorrow, with another little bottle of water, and this time they got two dozen guys with them? You gonna do the same thing all over again?”

  “I don’t know what I’ll do tomorrow, let’s concentrate on today, all right?”

  “You already concentrated on today.”

  “How about a little concentration from you, huh?”

  “Go wash your mouth,” he said.

  She looked into his face. Her eyes seemed suddenly injured.

  “You hear me?” he said.

  “Yes, Alex.”

  “Then go do it.”

  Wordlessly, she got off the bed and went out of the room. He heard her padding across the living room to the hall toilet. He heard the water running. He heard her gargling. Fuckin cheap whore, he thought. By the time she came back into the bedroom, his mind was a million miles away. As she worked on him with her hands and her mouth, he thought of the ease with which he had picked the lobby-door lock, and then loided the lock on the Rothman back door, and slipped the chain lock. And he thought of the box, thought of how difficult it had been to get a start on the door, but he’d worked it, he’d stayed with it till he got the thing going, and that puff of smoke at last, Christ, that always was a kick in the ass, that smoke from the insulation puffing out of the hole.

  Well now, Henry had said, what do we have here?, and had put his jeweler’s loupe to his eye, and looked over the ring first to make sure it was the same ring he’d sold the Rothmans back before Christmas. Then he checked out the diamond bracelet, which he told Alex was worth six thousand dollars retail, it being an antique set with a hundred and two diamonds totaling eight carats—That give you another eighteen hundred dollars, Alex. And there was a pair of platinum earclips with twenty-eight round diamonds totaling three carats; and an eighteen-carat, white-gold, diamond and opal pendant; and a double strand of cultured pearls, seventy-seven in all, with a fourteen-carat yellow-gold clasp; and also an eighteen-carat gold Piaget lady’s watch with fourteen marquise diamonds set in the band. Mr. Rothman also kept some of his own stuff in the safe together with his wife’s jewels—a fourteen-carat, yellow-gold ring with a seven-carat star ruby, and a pair of eighteen-carat white-gold and jade cuff links, and a pair of plain, round gold links which Alex kept for himself. He also kept the gold earrings he had found in the dresser, the ones with the diamond chips. For the complete haul, he got the nine thousand Henry had promised him for the ring, and he also got an additional eighty-four hundred dollars as his thirty percent of the other stuff in the safe. It was a very nice score. Not your once-in-a-lifetime score, and in fact not even as good as his best score had been, but nothing to sneeze at for a few hours’ work.

  He turned his head away when she tried to kiss him on the lips.

  Afterward, she got out of bed and went out to the kitchen, and he heard her opening the refrigerator door. He put on his shorts and went out after her, and she was standing by the window, drinking beer from a bottle, just staring out the window and drinking the beer. Without turning to look at him, she said, “You gonna be wantin anything else?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m gonna be wantin my two grand back.”

  “You’ll get it, don’t worry,” she said.

  “I want it by next week.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Next Friday,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  She lifted the bottle to her mouth, drank some more beer, and then stared out the window again. He didn’t know what she was looking at out there. There were only rooftops out there.

  “My brother used to fly pigeons,” she said. Her voice was very low.

  “No pigeons out there,” Alex said.

  “I know. I’m just sayin. Used to be up the roof all day long, his fuckin pigeons. Somebody got in the coop one night, put poison or somethin in their feed. He went up next morning, found them all dead. Each and every one of them dead. Came downstairs and said Kitty, somebody killed the pigeons. I said Well, you get yourself some new pigeons, Oz. He said Yeah, and he went in the toilet, I heard him cryin behind the door. I knocked on the door, I said Hey, Oz, and he said That’s okay. Never did learn who killed his fuckin pigeons.” She put the beer bottle down on the counter top near the sink, then turned from the window and sighed heavily. “Well, got to move my ass,” she said, “I expect to make two grand by next Friday.”

  “I’m not kidding about wanting it back.” Alex said.

  “I know you ain’t.”

  “Just so you understand.”

  “Yeah, I understand,” she said, and then walked past him out of the kitchen. He went into the living room and turned on the television set, and sat watching a quiz show while she dressed in the bedroom. She came out a few minutes later and stood by his chair watching the quiz show with him, neither of them speaking. When the commercial came on, she said, “Well, see you next week, Alex.”

  “I’ll be here,” he said.

  At the front door, she paused, and turned to him, and said, “They were only like any two johns,” and opened the door and went out.

  When the doorbell rang a half-hour later, he thought it was Kitty coming back. He almost hoped it was. Now that she was gone, he missed her, was in fact kicking himself for not having made the most of her visit. The girl meant nothing to him anymore, why should he care what she did with anybody else? Still, what she’d done wasn’t right, it just wasn’t right. She should have fought them, she should have told them What interest, what the hell are you talking about, interest? Acid or no, she shouldn’t have knuckled under that way. Besides, it was probably water in that bottle. You show them you’re weak, that’s it, man. He’d learned that from Tommy up at Sing Sing, you just never showed them you were weak, or they’d get to you. Well, what the hell, she was just a whore. Still, he hoped it was her ringing the doorbell.

  He threw back the peephole flap.

  It was Anthony Hawkins standing outside there in the hall. Alex was still in his undershorts. He said, “Just a second, Mr. Hawkins,” and went into the bedroom to put on a pair of pants and a shirt. When he came back to the door and opened it, Hawkins said, “Did you stash the loot, Alex?”

  “What loot?” Alex said. “Come on in, Mr. Hawkins, I was just about to make some coffee.”

  “I could use a cup of coffee,” Hawkins said.

  “Come on in the kitchen.”

  Hawkins looked around the living room. “Nice place you’ve got,” he said.

  “That’s right, you’ve never been up here,” Alex said, and walked toward the kitchen, Hawkins following.

  “Very nice,” Hawkins said. “Maybe I’m on the wrong side, huh? Place I live in, you could fit in your living room here.”

  “Well, it’s big, yeah,” Alex said, “but the rent’s very cheap.”

  “How many rooms have you got?”

  “Five. That’s counting the kitchen,” Alex said. “Sit down, Mr. Hawkins.”

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?” Hawkins asked, pulling a chair out from the table.

  “No, I’ve been up a while. You mind instant?”

  “Instant’s fine,” Hawkins said. “Alex, what were you doing yesterday morning between ten o’clock and twelve noon?”

  “Yesterday?” Alex asked, and went to the sink and began filling the pot with water. “Was it raining yesterday?”

  “No, it was a nice day,” Hawkins said.

  “Oh, yes, I remember now. I slept late yesterday. I didn’t get up till maybe one o’clock. Why do you ask?”

  “I got a call from the Nineteenth. I don’t know why the hell they always call me. They must think I’m some kind of burglary expert,” Hawkins said.

  “Well, you are.”

  “Sure. Then let them promote me t
o first grade and put me on the Burglary Squad, I’m such a hotshot. Anyway, this man named Gregoriano, Gregoriani, I can never tell with those wop names what they end in. He’s a detective third up there at the Nineteenth, he had himself a burglary yesterday morning. Woman got back to her apartment a little after twelve, place was a mess.”

  “Gee, that’s too bad,” Alex said, and put the pot of water on the stove.

  “Woman named Rothman.”

  “That’s too bad,” Alex said again.

  “So Gregoriano, Gregoriani, whatever the hell, calls to ask does it sound like anybody I’m familiar with.”

  “Did it?” Alex asked.

  “The description sounded like you, yes.”

  “What description?” Alex asked immediately.

  “Well, what do you care? You were here asleep yesterday morning.”

  “That’s right,” Alex said. He was spooning instant coffee into the cups, and he looked up now and said, “Do you take sugar?”

  “Black,” Hawkins said. “The man did a very nice job on a wall safe they had there.”

  “Must’ve been a pro, huh?” Alex said.

  “Oh, no question.”

  “How’d he get in?”

  “Loided the back door, we figure. Mickey Mouse lock on it.”

  “You think these people would invest in good locks, huh?” Alex said, and shook his head.

  “Put you out of business,” Hawkins said.

  “Well, I ain’t in that business anymore, Mr. Hawkins.”

  “Oh, I know you’re not. What business are you in these days, Alex?”

  “I’ve been thinking of getting involved in the theater,” Alex said. “I helped out on a couple of shows when I was in the joint, I was thinking of doing something along those lines now.”

  “Yes, but what are you doing?”

  “That’s what I’m doing.”

  “No, that’s what you’re thinking of doing. In the meantime, how do you pay the rent?”

  “Well, I had a little put aside.”

  “So you’re thinking of becoming an actor, huh?”

  “No, no, an electrician.”

  “Oh, an electrician. That’s too bad, Alex, because you’re a very good actor. You’re one of the best actors I know, and I’ve seen some pretty good actors in my time.”

  “Mr. Hawkins,” Alex said, “you certainly don’t think I had anything to do with that burglary, do you?”

  “Well, the m.o. wasn’t yours,” Hawkins said. “But then again, it wasn’t exactly not yours, either.”

  “How could it be mine and not mine at the same time?”

  “Fellow loided the door. That sounds like you, Alex. Celluloid strip, plastic card, Venetian blind—sounds a lot like you.”

  “And also a hundred other burglars in this city.”

  “True. Fellow called the apartment a few times, though. Risked talking to the maid and also the victim. That sounds a lot like you, Alex. Most of your cheap thieves, they’ll call and hang up. Not you. You’ve got balls, Alex.”

  “Well, thanks,” Alex said, “but …”

  “I didn’t mean it as a compliment,” Hawkins said flatly. “Fellow broke off a toothpick in the front door, that’s you, too, Alex. But he left his tools behind, and that isn’t you.”

  “That’s right. Besides, I don’t own any tools, Mr. Hawkins.”

  “Sure, sure. And he didn’t do anything dumb like smashing a window from the inside. You learn very fast, Alex.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Alex said, and took the pot from the stove and filled the cups. He added milk to his own cup and then carried both cups to the table.

  “Thanks,” Hawkins said. “Also, we think the job was set up, Alex. Fellow went straight to the safe, though he tried to cover up afterwards, threw a few things around, swiped some crap from the dresser, like that. Still, the safe was the prime target, he must’ve spent most of his time on the safe because the lady was only out of the apartment for two hours, and it wasn’t an easy box to open. So it was a setup job, and we know you’ve had jobs set up for you in the past.”

  “No, that’s not true.”

  “We know people who’ve set up jobs for you, Alex.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like Vito Baloney.”

  “Vito Bolognese? You’ve got to be kidding? Vito runs a body repair shop.”

  “He’s also a fence.”

  “I didn’t know that. Why don’t you bust him?”

  “We’d bust him in a minute, if we could find his drop. Anyway, that’s not the point. I’m trying to tell you this was a setup job, which means a fellow like you—with such good connections—could’ve done it, and also could’ve peeled the safe, which took a little skill. It could’ve been you, Alex.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “The description was.”

  “What description?” Alex asked again.

  “Gregoriano talked to both the doorman and the elevator operator, asked them if they’d seen any suspicious characters lurking around the building.”

  “Did they?”

  “Doorman didn’t see anybody,” Hawkins said, and lifted his cup and sipped at the coffee. “Elevator operator saw somebody, though.”

  “He did, huh?”

  “Yeah. Saw somebody who sounds a lot like you. That’s how come Gregoriano called me, actually. He got to looking through the files at the I.S., finds a guy fits the description the elevator operator gave him, guy named Alex Hardy. Sees I made the bust, calls to find out what I know about you these days. Of course, there are lots of blond, blue-eyed people in this city, about your height and weight …”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who get lost looking for an address, and who go in checking the mailboxes.”

  “Must be millions of them,” Alex said.

  “Yeah, but not all of them are burglars.”

  “Are you trying to say I was at that building yesterday morning? The elevator operator saw me there yesterday morning?”

  “No. He saw you there Wednesday morning. Or somebody who looked an awful lot like you.”

  “Tell you what,” Alex said. “Whyn’t you have a lineup, ask the elevator operator to pick me out of it?”

  “Well, let’s say it was you. What could we prove?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Right. It’s no crime to be in the lobby of a building.”

  “Anyway, it wasn’t me, Mr. Hawkins.”

  “Who set it up, Alex?”

  “I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Alex,” Hawkins said, “I am going to get your ass.”

  “No one’s gonna get my ass, Mr. Hawkins. Mr. Hawkins, it’s always nice seeing you, but if you came all the way uptown to tell me about a crime I didn’t commit, you just wasted your time, Mr. Hawkins.”

  “I’ve got plenty of time,” Hawkins said.

  “So have I.”

  “I’ll bet you have. There was a ring in there worth thirty thousand. Your piece of that should last you a while, huh?”

  “I wish it was true, Mr. Hawkins. As it is, I’m struggling to make ends meet.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Hawkins said, and smiled like Burt Reynolds. “I don’t suppose the ring is still here, is it?”

  “Tell you what,” Alex said. “Whyn’t you go get a search warrant and come back and look for it?”

  “I may do just that.”

  “No, you won’t do that cause you know you won’t find a fuckin thing here. You know why, Mr. Hawkins? Cause you know I didn’t do that job, and you’re just hassling me all the time, anyway. Now why do you do that, Mr. Hawkins? Why don’t you just give me a break, huh?”

  “Thanks for the coffee,” Hawkins said, and rose, and shoved his chair back under the table.

  “I’m sorry it was instant,” Alex said.

  “Well, it’s better than what you get in jail, huh?” Hawkins said, and grinned again, and then went to the front door and let himself out.

  At the
mailboxes downstairs, Alex checked out Jessica Knowles’s apartment. 5C. That was just two floors down from him, very convenient. He debated going upstairs, drop in on her unexpectedly, Hello there, just thought I’d stop by, see how you were doing. Maybe catch her in a nightgown or something, what time was it, anyway? He looked at his watch. Twenty after twelve, maybe it was worth a shot. Kitty had left him feeling crummy. He didn’t know why, hell, she could do whatever she wanted to do, that was her business, he just didn’t give a damn. But why’d she have to tell him that story? Knock on the door, Hi there, Jessica, anything you need at the store? No, he’d better wait till tomorrow night. He didn’t want to rush her. Cool and easy. Patience, sweetie. That fuckin Kitty.

  He was carrying in his pocket seventeen thousand dollars in cash, and he went first to the Chemical Bank on Broadway and Ninety-first, where he deposited five thousand of it into his savings account there. Then he taxied down to Seventy-third and Broadway and deposited another five thousand into his checking account with Chase Manhattan. His third bank was on Fifty-ninth and Lex, the Dry Dock. He put fifty-five hundred into his second savings account, leaving himself with fifteen hundred in cash. He had to give Tommy five hundred of that, which would still leave him one thousand for spending money.

  Making the deposits almost wiped out the lousy feeling Kitty had left him with. He just couldn’t understand that girl. Getting herself in trouble that way to begin with, and then going down on those two wops when she should have picked up a letter opener from the desk, stuck it in somebody’s eye, fought her way out of it the way he’d done that one time at Sing Sing when the lifer got rough with him. You had to show them. You didn’t, why then they walked all over you. Hell with her. All he wanted from her now was his two thousand bucks back. And she’d be one sorry whore if she didn’t deliver.

  Tommy Palumbo lived downtown on Mulberry Street, in Little Italy. He lived with his mother and father, but neither of them was home during the day because they ran a grocery store on Mott Street. Tommy was on the front stoop with a couple of other guys when Alex drove up in the taxi. They all turned to see who this was, pulling up in a taxi.

  Tommy recognized him right away and came bounding off the stoop. He was twenty-two years old, but he was small and slight, and he looked more like seventeen. He was wearing dungaree pants, a white T-shirt, and a light blue poplin windbreaker. He was also wearing high-topped sneakers; looked like a teenager about to play some stickball.