Blood on Their Hands

by Lawrence Block

  “We didn’t date that often, Libby. Three or four times—”

  “And then along came Del.” The smile reappeared. “I’m sure you realize it wasn’t a new situation. All through school, every boy I met faded out of my life after meeting Del.”

  “Did you resent her?”

  “How could I? Del was a natural force. Like thunderstorms. Besides, it was my litmus test for boyfriends. If they chased after Del, I lost interest in them.”

  “That was wise of you.”

  “Not always. There was the occasional exception.” She looked at her glass. It was empty. She filled it again.

  “Easy,” Austin said.

  “I can’t take it easy. I can’t say what I’m going to say without—what do they call it?—bottled courage?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve debated myself about this, Austin. Not just since Del died, but long before that. Whether or not you should know the truth. Whether ignorance was bliss for you. And most recently—whether I should follow the old advice about—never speaking ill of the dead...”

  Austin stiffened. What is it? Something about Delores?”

  “I’m sure she loved you. I’m just not sure how she defined ‘love.’ She was unfaithful, Austin. No, you didn’t have a rival. There was no ‘other man.’

  “There were many.”

  Austin wanted to deny it. He wanted to tell Libby she was lying, that her lifelong rivalry with her sister was behind this terrible slander…

  But he looked into her tear-filled eyes and knew it was the truth. Del, his Del, had been leading a secret life…

  “Tell me how you knew,” he said.

  “Because she told me about it,” Libby said. “Del always told me about the men in her life, ever since we were teenagers. It was important to her, to prove how desirable she was…”

  “My God, Libby...”

  “I thought it would be over when you married her. Remember those copper bracelets people wore because they believed it would cure arthritis? I thought that ring on her finger was going to be a cure, too.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “It seemed to be, that first year. Then one day...” She put down her glass. “She told me about this congressman she met when she was working in that bookshop. She giggled like a schoolgirl. I tried to talk her out of meeting him, and she accused me of jealousy.”

  “Don’t finish that glass, Libby. You’re going to be sick.”

  “There were a half-dozen men after that one. She changed them frequently, like bed linen. I thought of telling you, but I just couldn’t do it...”

  A terrible idea stabbed into his brain. “Libby—you’re not suggesting that—Willy—”

  “No!” she said vehemently. “All her men were ‘important.’ That was part of her game. They had to have ‘substance.’ And they had to be married... That was part of her satisfaction.”

  She went pale suddenly. “You know, I think you’re right. I’m going to be sick.”

  Austin took her home. She wouldn’t allow him to stay; she preferred to be sick in solitude.

  He returned to the hotel, trying not to think about what he had been told.

  Joe Lotts was in the lobby.

  Austin barely recognized him in the surroundings. But it was Joe, all right. Not looking apologetic.

  “What do you want?’’ Austin said harshly.

  “Maybe we better talk in private.”

  He brought Joe into his room, fully expecting him to ask for the money he hadn’t earned. But Joe surprised him. “I know where the kid is, Mr. Howard.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I could hardly believe my luck. I mean, first my bad luck, this zitface breaking out of that hospital. Then my good luck—”

  “Tell me where he is! And how you know!”

  “There’s a pal of mine, lives on East Avenue. Some kids in his neighborhood, like a gang, they prowl around the section where they’re tearing down buildings. For a housing project, you know? They spotted this blond guy sleeping in one of the condemned buildings. They rolled him, thinking he was a drunk. Only he didn’t have no money.

  “What happened to him? Where is he now?”

  “My friend goes to have a look for himself. He recognizes the prison outfit. He put two and two together.”

  “Where is he?” Austin said. “Where’s Willy Lauber?”

  “My friend, he’s sort of got this guy in what you call custody. Sometimes there’s a reward for turning in escaped cons.”

  “He won’t call the police, will he?”

  “Not if he gets a better offer.”

  “I’ll pay him,” Austin said. “I’ll pay you both five thousand if you take me to him! Will you do that?”

  Joe Lotts gave him a toothy smile. “Sure, Mr. Howard. Glad to help.”

  Austin said: “Are you carrying a gun, Joe?”

  “Who, me? Why?”

  “If you are, I’ll pay you another five thousand for it.”

  Joe looked delighted; it was his lucky day, all right. He put his right foot on a chair and rolled up his pants leg. There was a small automatic pistol strapped to his calf. He undid the straps and handed it over. “It’s loaded and ready to party.”

  Austin looked at the weapon as if it was a sacred relic.

  He took a taxi, and had himself dropped off three blocks from the demolition site.

  There was no one in sight when he crossed the rubble-strewn streets. He could see the building Lotts had described. He identified the faded letters on the old brick. Hacker’s Tobacco. He was grimly amused.

  There wasn’t a front door, just as Joe had said, but two boards had been nailed across the entrance. They were hanging loose. He pushed them aside and went up the stairs. They creaked loudly.

  The sound must have alerted Willy. He looked up from a crude palette of flattened packing cases and filthy rags.

  A faint smile appeared as Willy realized it wasn’t the police. It was a civilian, maybe another squatter like himself. It was only when Austin came within ten feet of him that Willy put a name to the face.

  “Mr. Howard…” he whispered.

  The boy had a starved look. His housewife-admirers wouldn’t have thought him handsome now. Through his open shirt, Austin could see the layers of bandage across his chest, tattered and dirty. If Joe Lotts’s automatic didn’t kill him, sepsis would probably do the job.

  “How’d you find me, Mr. Howard?” he said. “Are you going to call the police?”

  “I am the police,” Austin said. “I’m also the judge, the jury, and the guy who was going to give you that lethal injection. Do you understand?”

  “I don’t understand nothing,” Willy said. “Things just happen to me, Mr. Howard. Like your wife, you know? I didn’t want to hurt her, I swear I didn’t... Half of it was an accident. The other half...I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  Austin took out the gun.

  “Look at me, Willy.”

  Willy looked, and asked: “You going to shoot me, Mr. Howard?”

  “The word is execute. You know you deserve to die. My wife didn’t, but you killed her anyway.”

  “She drove me crazy, Mr. Howard! It was her own fault.”

  “Did your mother ever teach you to pray? Now’s a good time.”

  He lifted the gun and aimed it at Willy’s forehead.

  “She never should have done it!” the boy cried. “If she didn’t want me to be friendly, she never should have sent me that note!”

  The muzzle of the automatic shifted an inch.

  “What ‘note’? What are you talking about?”

  “He should have told them about it! Mr. Lenrow! I asked him to show them the note Mrs. Howard wrote, but he said it wouldn’t do any good!”

  “My wife never wrote to you, Willy, that’s just a lie!”

  “But she did, she did! She slipped it into the basket I carry the milk in! I got all excited when I read it, when she told me she’d be expec
ting me, when she said she couldn’t wait—”

  Austin almost fired the gun then, his anger concentrated in his trigger finger.

  “You ask Mr. Lenrow,” Willy said, tears on his gaunt cheeks. “Mr. Lenrow has the note. I swear he does!”

  Austin was frozen in space and time, and he wondered—did David Lenrow have such a note? Or—had he sold it?

  Ever since his divorce, Paul Manners worked late, killing the lonely hours with torts and affidavits. Austin knew he would find him at his office, even at ten minutes past eight.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Paul looked at Austin’s soiled suit, the plaster dust coating his shoes.

  Austin didn’t bother to answer. He said: “Tell me about the note, Paul.”

  “What note?”

  “The one Del sent Willy Lauber. The note you bought from the defense with a hundred thousand dollars of my money.”

  Paul’s lips tightened. “Is that what Dave Lenrow told you?”

  “It was Willy who told me. Willy Lauber.”

  “Then they’ve caught him? He’s back in prison?”

  Yes,” Austin said. “Willy’s in the hospital. They say he would have died if he didn’t get treated. Funny, isn’t it? I start out to kill him and end up saving his life.”

  “But how—?”

  “I found Willy and turned him in. But not before he told me about Del’s note.”

  “Exactly what did he tell you?”

  He said Del invited him to a rendezvous that morning...I told him he was a rotten liar, and he said Lenrow had the note that proved it. He didn’t understand why it wasn’t used at his trial. But we do, don’t we?”

  The lines in Paul’s face deepened. “I had to buy it, Austin. For your sake. The shock of Delores’s death half-killed you. If you knew about that note, if you had sat in that courtroom and heard it read aloud...I thought that might finish you off.”

  Austin sat down. “Libby told me the truth. About Del, about this madness inside her... And I didn’t know! Can you believe that, Paul? That she was cheating on me, big time, with so many men—”

  “You don’t know how bad it was, and I doubt Libby knows either. If you ask me, Libby was always jealous of her sister—”

  “All I’m asking you for is that note! I paid for it—I’ve got the right to know what it says!”

  “The note’s gone, Austin, I destroyed it. And I didn’t try to memorize it. I knew it was best forgotten.”

  Austin was fighting tears. Paul’s next words were gentle. “You’ve got to forget it, too. You’ve got to put Del and Willy and this whole terrible year behind you...”

  Dave Lenrow was at his desk at eight the next morning. Just as Paul Manners worked late, Lenrow began his day early, a habit he had picked up from a diligent father.

  “I told you there was nothing I could tell you, Mr. Howard—”

  “But I have something to tell you. Do you know about the Complaint Review Board in this state? Do you know you could lose your license because of what you did? Suppressing evidence?”

  “What is it you want from me? This note you’re talking about, it’s in your lawyer’s possession—”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t make a copy.”

  A few minutes later, it was in his hand. Austin read:

  Come early! About nine o’clock! Austin has a meeting, so he’ll be out of the house no later than eight-thirty. We’ll have the whole house to ourselves, but the bedroom will be enough...I can hardly wait...

  Willy was looking better against the clean sheets of his hospital bed, but his eyes were still apprehensive when Austin appeared.

  Austin showed him the Xeroxed note. “Was this it, Willy? Is this what you found in that empty milk basket?”

  Willy studied it for a long moment, and said: “Yes...this is the note she wrote me. Only...”

  “Only what?”

  A blush added some color to his white face. “I didn’t tell you the truth, Mr. Howard, the whole truth, I mean. I didn’t find the note in my basket, like I said. He gave it to me.”

  “He?”

  “I guess he didn’t want anyone to know how Mrs. Howard liked me. That’s why I made up the story about her putting the note in the milk basket. But he gave it to me. In person.”

  The real estate lady had just left when Libby appeared at the front door. “I just heard—about Willy being caught again. They said you were responsible.”

  “It was nothing heroic. Willy was no threat to anybody. And as it turned out, I was no threat to Willy.”

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am!” She embraced him. Then she moved away suddenly and said: “You went there to kill him, didn’t you?”

  “You’re a mind-reader, Libby.”

  “The gun’s still in your pocket. I could feel it.”

  Austin patted the bulge of the automatic and shrugged. “I have to go. I’ve got an appointment.”

  “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

  “All right,” Austin said. “I’ll meet you Cielo’s at what? Seven-thirty?”

  There was no one at the secretarial desk when Austin walked into Paul Manners’ office. Paul was sorting through a stack of files, looking annoyed.

  “Simone off today?” Austin asked.

  “The old bursitis dodge,” Paul grunted. He pushed the files aside and sat down. “You look better than you did last night.”

  “I don’t feel any better,” Austin said. “Not after seeing Willy in the hospital.”

  “You’re getting awfully chummy with Del’s killer,” Paul said dryly. “First you save his life, then you bring him flowers.”

  “The visit was worthwhile. I got the whole truth out of him, about the note Delores wrote.”

  “Austin, stop chewing on this bone! I told you last night—put it all behind you, get a life—a new life.”

  “Willy said someone gave him that note. Handed it to him personally.”

  “You can’t believe a dimwit like Willy Lauber!”

  “The note was a lie, Paul. Libby was right. Del would never seduce a lowlife like Willy. She was after big game. Hot-shot executives, men with money, big jobs—wives.”

  “You know what I think about Libby’s opinions.”

  “And now I know why she never liked you. Because you were supposed to be my best friend. And you were having an affair with my wife.”

  “My God, Austin, you can’t really believe that!”

  “You gave Willy the note. The note that had once been written to you. Only you told Willy it was addressed to him—”

  “No! I swear I never did such a thing—”

  “You wanted to punish her for dropping you the minute your divorce came through... Del didn’t get any kicks out of affairs with divorced men. They were too easy…”

  Austin took the gun out of his pocket.

  “I’d like you to get down on your knees, Paul.”

  “For God’s sake, put that thing away!”

  “On your knees, in front of me.” He pointed the gun. “Or else I’ll ruin that nice leather chair of yours. Go on!”

  The lawyer came around the desk and dropped to his knees. When Austin put the cold muzzle of the gun against his forehead, he began to sob.

  “I didn’t mean it to work out the way it did! So help me God, I didn’t! I was angry with Del! I wanted to play a joke on her! That was all! Please, Austin, please!”

  Austin didn’t appear to be listening. He was looking at Paul’s desk calendar.

  “Do you know what day it is, Paul? It’s the 31st.”

  He squeezed the trigger. The click made Paul cry out.

  Austin said: “I emptied the magazine after I saw Willy. I didn’t think I needed bullets anymore.”

  He put the gun back in his pocket and went to meet Libby at the restaurant. For the first time in months, he was hungry.

  Another Night to Remember

  William E. Chambers

  My car was parked half a block away from the pub
I own in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, a “Mixed-Use” neighborhood of old apartment buildings, private homes, small shops, and some heavy industry. All the surrounding businesses, except mine, closed early because it was Christmas Eve, and the shadowy street seemed deserted. But just as I stuck my key in the Oldsmobile’s door, a voice from behind said, “Don’t move. I’m holding a gun.”

  “I’m not moving,” I assured the voice in as nonchalant a tone as I could muster. “What do you want?”

  “Your money.”

  “I’ve got about three hundred bucks—” I felt something hard touch the back of my leather jacket, “—in my pocket.”

  The voice patted me down from behind, found I was clean, and said, “Unlock the car. Front and back doors.”

  I opened the front door, reached over the seat, and pulled up the button that locked the rear door of my aging Delta 88. The voice said, “Get in.”

  My unwanted companion climbed into the back seat while I slid behind the wheel. When both doors were locked, he explained, “We’re gonna drive to a place with no phones. Then you’re gonna get out and walk while I ride away in this heap with your money.”

  The face in the rearview mirror was pale, early thirties, and somewhat familiar looking. The fact that he didn’t mind my seeing his features bothered me. He asked if I knew the West Street piers, and when I told him I did, he named a certain one and ordered me to take him to it.

  My mind spun like tires on ice as I began driving. I prayed a police car would pass by so I could plow this hunk of steel into it. None did. I thought of doing the same thing to any car at all, but felt it was too risky. While he might hesitate to shoot me if cops were involved, I wasn’t sure civilians would be a deterrent.

  He might even kill them.

  West Street was poorly lit and empty of cars and people. When I turned down the block leading to the pier, he said, “So far, so good, Callahan. You can stop at the edge of the dock.”