A Dance at the Slaughterhouse (32 page)

"Don't be so sure."

"And I'm circumcised."

"Maybe you can get a transplant. No, you're like him on the inside, you both have the same hardness. You were a cop."

"That's right."

"Did you ever kill anybody?"

"Why?"

"You did. You don't have to answer, I can feel it in you. Did you like it?"

"Not particularly."

"Are you so sure that's the truth?"

" 'What is truth?' "

"Ah, an age-old question. But I think I will sit across the table from you. If we are going to talk business it's better if we can look at each other."

I told her I wasn't greedy. I wanted a single payment of fifty thousand dollars. They had paid that much to Leveque, although they hadn't allowed him to keep it. They could pay the same to me. "You could be like him," she said. "He had a copy, even though he swore he didn't."

"He was stupid."

"To keep a copy?"

"To lie about it. Of course I've made a copy. I've made two of them. One's with a lawyer. The other's in the safe of a private detective. Just in case I get mugged in an alley, or fall out a window."

"If you have copies you could extort more money from us."

I shook my head. "The copies are my insurance. And my own intelligence is your insurance. By selling you the tape once I'm not extorting money from you. I'm doing you a favor. If I tried it a second time you'd be better off killing me, and I'm smart enough to know that."

"And if we don't pay the first time? You go to the police?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because the tape's not enough to put you away. No, I'd go to the press. The tabloids could run with the story. They'd know you've got too much blood on your hands to bring a libel suit. They'd make things awfully hot for you. You might never face a criminal charge, but you'd get more attention than you'd ever be comfortable with. Your husband's friends in California wouldn't be very happy to see you in the limelight that way, and your neighbors might look at you funny in the elevator. You'd pay fifty grand to avoid that kind of publicity, wouldn't you? Hell, anybody would."

"It's a lot of money."

"You really think so? I don't know if I could get that much from a tabloid, but I could get half that. If they can't sell papers with a story like that they're in the wrong business. I could walk into an office this afternoon and walk out with a check for twenty-five thousand and nobody'd say I was a blackmailer, either. They'd call me a hero investigator, and they'd probably give me an assignment to go out and dig up more dirt."

"I will have to talk to Bergen. You say it's not so much money, but it will take time to get it together."

"The hell it will," I said. "When a man runs a money laundry it's not terribly hard for him to put his hands on some cash. You probably keep five times that sitting around the apartment."

"You have some funny ideas about how business works."

"I'm sure you can have the money tomorrow night," I said. "That's when I want it."

"God," she said, "you're so much like Bergen."

"Our tastes are different."

"You think so? Don't be so sure what your tastes are until you've sampled everything on your plate. And you haven't yet, have you?"

"I haven't missed too many meals."

" Bergen will want to meet you."

"Tomorrow night, when we carry out the transaction. I'll bring the tape so you can see what you're buying. Do you have a VCR in Maspeth?"

"You want to make the exchange there? At the arena?"

"I think it's the safest spot for both sides."

"God knows it's private," she said. "Except for Thursday nights the whole area is a wasteland. And even Thursdays it's not so busy. Tomorrow is what, Wednesday? I think perhaps that's possible. Of course I'll have to talk with Bergen."

"Of course."

"What time would you prefer?"

"Late," I said. "But I can call you later on and we'll work out the details."

"Yes." She looked at her watch. "Call me around four."

"I will."

"Good." She opened her purse, put money on the table for our drinks. "I'll tell you something, Scudder. I really wanted to go upstairs with you before. I was sopping wet. I wasn't just putting on an act."

"I didn't think you were."

"And you wanted me just as much. But I'm glad we didn't do anything. You know why?"

"Tell me."

"Because this way we've still got the sexual tension going between us. Can you feel it?"

"Yes."

"It won't go away, either. It will still be there tomorrow night. Maybe I'll wear the crotchless pants to Maspeth. Would you like that?"

"Maybe."

"And long gloves, and high heels." She looked at me. "And no shirt."

"And lipstick on your nipples."

"Rouge."

"But the same shade as your lipstick and nail polish."

"Perhaps we'll play," she said. "After we've made the switch. Perhaps we'll have some fun, the three of us."

"I don't know."

"You think we'd try to take the money back? You'd still have the copies. One with the lawyer, one with the private detective."

"That's not it."

"What then?"

" 'The three of us.' I was never one for crowds."

"You won't be crowded," she said. "You'll have all the room you need."

I called at four o'clock. She must have been sitting right next to the phone. She picked it up the second it rang.

"It's Scudder," I said.

"You're punctual," she said. "That's a good sign."

"Of what?"

"Of punctuality. I spoke to my husband. He's agreed to your terms. Tomorrow night is acceptable. As far as the time is concerned, he suggests midnight."

"Make it one."

"One A.M.? Just a moment."

There was a pause, and then Stettner took the phone. He said, "Scudder? Bergen Stettner. One in the morning is fine."

"Good."

"I'm eager to meet you. You made quite an impression on my wife."

"She's pretty impressive herself."

"I've always thought so. I understand we already met, in a manner of speaking. You were the boxing fan looking for the lavatory in all the wrong places. I have to admit I don't have any recollection of what you look like."

"You'll know me when you see me."

"I feel I know you already. I have one problem with our arrangement, as Olga explained the situation. You have extra copies with a lawyer and an agent, is that correct?"

"A lawyer and a private investigator."

"To be opened by them in the event of your death, and certain specified wishes of yours to be carried out. Is that correct?"

"Right."

"An understandable precaution. I could assure you it's unnecessary, but that might not put your mind at rest."

"Not entirely, no."

" 'Trust everybody but cut the cards.' Isn't that what they say? Here's my dilemma, Scudder. Suppose we conclude our transaction to the satisfaction of all concerned and you go your way and we go ours, and five years from now you step off a curb and get run over by a bus. You see what I'm getting at?"

"Yes."

"Because if I keep faith with you-"

"I get the point," I said. "I knew someone in a similar situation once. Give me a minute, I want to see if I can remember how he handled it." I thought for a moment. "All right," I said. "See how this sounds to you. I'll instruct both parties that, if I should die a year or more after today's date, they are to destroy the material left with them unless special circumstances exist."

"What sort of special circumstances?"

"If there's a strong suspicion that I've died as a result of foul play, and if the murderer has not been either identified or apprehended. In other words, you're clear if I'm run over by a bus, or shot by a jealous lover. If I'm murdered by person or persons unknown, then you're in the soup."

"And if you die within the first year?"

"You've got a problem."

"Even if it's a bus?"

"Even if it's a heart attack."

"Jesus," he said. "I don't like that much."

"Best I can do."

"Shit. How's your health?"

"Not bad."

"I hope you don't do a lot of coke."

"I can't drink too much of it because of the bubbles."

"That's funny. You don't do skydiving or hang gliding, do you? Don't fly your own plane? God, will you listen to this? It sounds like an insurance examination. Well, you take good care of yourself, Scudder."

"I'll stay out of drafts."

"You do that," he said. "You know, I think Olga's right, I think I'm going to enjoy you. What are you doing tonight?"

"Tonight?"

"Tonight. Why don't you join us for dinner? We'll drink some champagne, have a few laughs. Tomorrow's for business but there's no reason we can't be social tonight."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I have plans made."

"Cancel them! What's so important you can't reschedule it, eh?"

"I have to go to an AA meeting."

He laughed long and hard. "Oh, that's marvelous," he said. "Yes, now that you mention it, we all have plans. Olga's chaperoning a CYO dance and I have to go to, uh-"

"The Boy Scout Council," I suggested.

"That's it exactly, the annual award dinner of the Boy Scout Area Council. They're going to give me a merit badge for buggery, it's one of the most sought-after awards. You're a funny man, Scudder. You're costing me a great deal of money, but at least I get a few laughs out of it."

AFTER I got off the phone with Stettner I called a car rental agency in the neighborhood and reserved a car. I didn't pick it up right away but walked instead to Coliseum Books, where I picked up a Hagstrom map of Queens. On my way out of the bookstore I realized I was just down the street from the gallery where I'd left the original Ray Galindez sketches for framing. They had done a nice job, and as I looked at the pencil drawings behind their shield of non-glare glass I tried to see them purely as art. I wasn't entirely successful. I kept seeing two dead boys and the man who killed them.

They wrapped them for me and I paid with my credit card and carried the package back to my hotel. I stowed it in the closet and spent a few minutes studying the map of Queens. I went out for a sandwich and a cup of coffee and read a newspaper, then came back and looked at the map some more. Around seven I walked over to the car-rental place and used my credit card again, and they put me behind the wheel of a gray Toyota Corolla with sixty-two hundred miles on the clock. The gas tank was full and the ashtrays were empty, but whoever had vacuumed the interior had done a less than perfect job.

I had the map with me but I got there without referring to it, taking the Midtown Tunnel and the Long Island Expressway and exiting just after the BQE interchange. There was some traffic on the LIE but not too much of it, with most of the commuters in front of their television sets by now. I cruised around the area, and when I reached the New Maspeth Arena I circled the block slowly once and found a place to park.

I sat there for an hour or more like a lazy old cop on a stakeout. At one point I had to take a leak, and I hadn't brought along an empty quart jar, the way I'd learned to do years ago. The fact that the neighborhood was deserted and I hadn't seen a soul in the past half hour made me positively reckless, and I drove two blocks and got out of the car to pee with abandon against a brick wall. I went around the block and parked in another spot across the street from the arena. The whole street was a car owner's dream, just one empty parking space after another.

Around nine or a little past it I left the Toyota and walked over to the arena. I took my time, paying close attention, and when I got back in the car I got out my notebook and made some sketches. I had the dome light on, but not for very long.

At ten I took a different route and drove back to the city. The kid at the garage said he had to charge me for a full day. "Might as well keep her overnight," he said. "Bring her back tomorrow afternoon, won't cost you a nickel more."

I told him I had no further use for it. The garage was on Eleventh Avenue between Fifty-seventh and Fifty-eighth. I walked a block east, then south. I checked at Armstrong's but didn't see anyone I recognized, and just for the hell of it I looked in the door of Pete's All-American to see if Durkin was there. He wasn't. I'd spoken to him a few days earlier, and he'd said he hoped he hadn't said anything out of line. I'd assured him he was a perfect gentleman.

"Then that's a first for me," he said. "I don't make a habit of it, but once in a while a man has to go and let the devil out." I told him I knew what he meant.

MICK wasn't at Grogan's. "He'll probably be in later," Burke said. "Sometime between now and closing."

I sat at the bar with a Coke, and when I'd finished it I switched to club soda. After a while Andy Buckley came in and Burke drew him a pint of the draft Guinness, and Andy took the stool next to mine and talked about basketball. I used to follow the game but I haven't paid much attention to it in the past few years. That was all right because he was prepared to carry the whole conversation himself. He had gone to the Garden the night before and the Knicks had covered the spread with a three-pointer at the buzzer, winning his bet for him in the process.

I let him talk me into a game of darts, but I wasn't fool enough to bet with him. He could have played left-handed and beat me. We played a second game, and then I went back to the bar and drank another Coke and watched television and Andy stayed at the dart board sharpening his game.

At one point I thought about going to the midnight meeting. When I first got sober there was a meeting every night at twelve at the Moravian church at Lexington and Thirtieth. Then they lost the meeting place and the group moved to Alanon House, an AA clubhouse that has had various locations in the theater district and is currently housed in a third-floor apartment on West Forty-sixth. At one point Alanon House was between locations, and some people started a new midnight meeting downtown on Houston Street near Varick, where the Village butts up against SoHo. The downtown group has added other meetings, including an insomniac's special every morning at two.