"Tell me, is this the only door to the apartment, or is there a fire door or a big window you could escape through?"
"Just the front door."
He pulled out a portable radio. "Dracula to blood bank. Set up the table on the fourth floor. All business comes in the front."
The radio crackled with static. "Copy, Dracula. I'm on my way. Call if you get thirsty. Jefferson is going to wait for the Roto-Rooter man at the bank. 10-4."
His partner, who had been looking over the apartment, returned to the front hallway. "This is the only door."
"No shit, O'Connell. You think the lady don't know that?"
"Just cause she know it don't mean you know it, DiNunzio."
"Well, I know it."
"Now you know it twice." O'Connell returned to the living room.
"OK, Ruth. This is what we're going to do. First of all, I don't want you making no phone calls or standing by the windows till he gets here. Just for security."
"What do you think I'm going to do, detective, tip off the man who killed my lover?"
"Just standard procedure. You know. Now, when you answer the door you got to get him inside far enough so me or O'Connell can get between him and the door. We'll take it from there. And the most important thing is this, Ruth: get the hell out of there. I don't want you getting hurt."
"Just tell me what you want me to say."
"Tell him to come into the kitchen. Tell him Ira's been feeling a little sick, and you gotta see if he's OK in the bathroom. Call Ira's name, and then get down the hall and stay there. All right, let's try it. I'll be Rufus."
"I'll be Ruth," said Ruth. I felt a stab of sympathy. She was a noble woman. "Just one more thing, detective. What makes you think he'll come back here?"
"Nothing's for sure in this business, Ruth. But I seen it lots of time when perps think they're so smart they'll never get caught and we're so dumb we'll never catch them. Those are the ones we catch."
While they rehearsed, I went to the living room. O'Connell was playing with the chessboard, jumping the pieces as if they were checkers.
I heard Ruth open the refrigerator, and a few minutes later the oven door squeaked and slammed. DiNunzio joined O'Connell in the living room. He moved the memorial candle to the window ledge as they discussed the positions they'd take for the collar. Now they had to wait.
DiNunzio opened his gym bag and tossed a white vest to O'Connell. "Might as well put these mothers on."
"I love spending Friday nights waiting for an armed and dangerous. Saves me from going out and eating too much pussy. I'm on a diet," said DiNunzio.
"Where is that broad?"
"In the kitchen."
"Is there a phone in there?"
"No. Relax."
"Relax," said O'Connell. He pulled out his revolver and spun the cylinder, checking the chambers. "You get a look at the caboose on her? Boy, did she get smacked with the ugly stick. I'm telling you, this ain't no homicide, it's a suicide." He put the gun back.
"Dumbest Hymie I ever heard of doing himself like that. You see the report on the stiff?" DiNunzio made a grim face as he pulled out the radio. He identified himself. "Waiting for perp. Have adequate floor plan. 10-4."
"When chicks get that fat the skin folds up, and mold and shit grows in there. It's fucking disgusting."
"Nothing wrong with flesh," said DiNunzio. "You know what they say: more cushion for the pushing."
"You fucking dagos. Nothing's too big for you."
And so their conversation went for nearly an hour. The smell of roast chicken was powerful now; resourceful Ruth had spiced it more heavily than usual. I began to wonder whether Rufus would show. He'd probably been tipped off two weeks ago by his network; as he always said, he was a businessman.
But at his usual time of arrival, the radio hissed on. "Calling Dracula. Man fitting script entering building: black male, tall, thin, in long green leather coat. Following him in. 10-4."
Ruth trotted into the living room. "That's him!"
The detectives flew off the sofa. O'Connell threw the gym bag behind the sofa. DiNunzio said, "OK, Ruth, nice and calm, everything's normal. Ask him into the kitchen, and pretend to check on Ira in the bathroom. It's gonna be easy."
She wrung her hands. "Should I turn off the chicken?"
"Don't worry about the chicken, Ruth. Just think about what you're doing. We'll be right there with you." I followed her back to the kitchen. The detectives hid nearby.
The doorbell rang. She took a deep breath, then went to answer. "Hello, Rufus."
"What's doin?" The door closed behind him. "Somethin' wrong with your eyes?"
"Oh," she said, dabbing at them. "Ira got me with the bug spray. It was an accident. He's not himself; he's got the runs. Come on into the kitchen, and I'll see if I can get him out of the bathroom without a disaster."
Rufus went into the kitchen unsuspecting, hands in pockets, humming. Ruth walked too fast toward the bathroom, obviously upset, but Rufus wasn't watching her. DiNunzio crept up the hall in his Nikes and O'Connell blocked the other end. Simultaneously they showed their shields with their left hands, guns drawn and cocked in their right. "Police," said DiNunzio.
Rufus was stunned. "What the fuck..."
He was cuffed and led to the door. DiNunzio said, "The bartender from Reggie's is in the morgue. Another client of yours, ain't he? He went out just like Mr. Fishblatt. Want to talk about it?"
We had risen!
RUTH HAD BEEN brave. Through all the forensic work, the busy week of Shiva, the phone calls and letters, she had been dry-eyed and controlled. Now the incident was closed; there was no more to do, and her suppressed grief overwhelmed her. She wailed, tears spotting her skirt. When she quieted and I thought she was spent, she would suddenly burst out with even greater intensity.
Watching from the doorway, I found the scene so heartbreaking that I almost regretted what I had done. I wanted to retire to the silence and solitude of the wall. But then I looked around at the huge airy spaces of the rooms, the furniture, the windows. I had won the apartment, not just the inside of a wall. All this was mine.
Perhaps best of all, I had won Ruth, as the ancient Hebrews won the women of the cities they conquered. I would keep her, and treat her gently, sensitively, but firmly, as Ira never had and never could. She would learn to obey me. She would come to love me. But if she refused me, I would dispose of her. I had reinherited the earth.
I climbed up her back and onto her head as she continued to sob. I stroked her hair. "Don't you worry, darling," I whispered. "There, there."
The End
The Roaches Have No King Page 23