The Best American Mystery Stories Part 7

Duggan tilted back in his desk chair and looked at Frederick Ellis with extreme distaste. The chair was a tufted Naugahyde Fames model. The desk was a large construction of blond mahogany. Ellis slouched in an armchair upholstered in nubby cerulean blue fabric, and smoked a thin cigar. The walls of Duggan's office were absolutely bare, painted white, and somewhat dirty.

"You, my friend," Duggan said, "you are more trouble'n you're worth. That lady is really mad at you, and I think you are going to go away for a while if she has anything to say about it. Which she does."

Ellis tipped the ash from the cigar onto the brown tweed rug. "I can do time," he said.

"So can Big Ben," Duggan said. "Any jerk can do time, just like any clock. Clocks're made of metal. Some of them've got gla.s.s onna front. They're made to do time."

Ellis shrugged. "Maybe I was, too" he said.

"Maybe you were," Duggan said. He allowed his shoulders to slump. "And in the meantime, I've got to do time for you, because that lady wants to see me. Tonight."

In the remnants of the twilight, Frederick Ellis emerged from the door next to the bait shop, turned right, and walked rapidly along Gallivan Boulevard until he came to the International House of Pancakes. He stopped at the entrance to the parking lot and looked around. There was a maroon Cougar XR7 in one of the s.p.a.ces, pointing toward the street. Ellis approached it, glanced around, opened the pa.s.senger door, and got inside.

There was another man inside, sitting in the driver's seat. He was smoking a cigar, and the car was filled with the smoke of it. Ellis did not look at him directly, but it would not have mattered if he had.

"I am in the gravy," Ellis said. "I am in the gravy up to my belt-buckle. They are heating up the gravy. I think they are planning to cook me. I am getting nervous."

"Not good," the driver said. "Not good to get nervous. Makes the Man nervous when people get nervous. That is very seldom good for the nervous people."

"Look," Ellis said, "all right?" He turned his body in the pa.s.senger's bucket seat so that he could look at the cloud of smoke around the driver. He gestured with his hands. "I got some problems, all right? This guy Duggan that I win, you know what he did? He drove up to see my mother, for G.o.d's sake. I haven't seen my mother since the Chicago Cubs won the World Series, for G.o.d's sake. 1 can't stand my mother and she can't stand me and he goes to see her and eat one of her d.a.m.ned m.u.f.fins and now I got that to think about. This guy Duggan takes things serious, Franco. He wants to win this case and he tells me he does not think that I am telling him everything I know."

"Umm," the driver said through the smoke.

"It gets worse," Ellis said, slumping back against the seat and facing the windshield. "This broad they got prosecuting me? Duggan makes me think she is another one of those eager types that always plans to win. Between the two of them, I am going to end up at the wrong end of the chain saw."

"You got problems," the driver said.

Ellis became angry. "Problems?" he said. "I had problems before. I bite my fingernails sometimes and I have been constipated. I borrowed some money off a guy and I didn't have the dough to pay him back. Those, I thought that those were problems when I had them. Now I am looking at all day in the Ma.s.sachusetts Correctional Inst.i.tution at Walpole because I borrowed some money off a guy, and you are telling me I got problems? Compared to me, the president has got it easy."

The driver leaned forward and started the car. "I think," he said, "I think we'd better go and see the Man."

Duggan escaped from the darkness of Tremont Street into Dini's restaurant. The light inside was tinted rose colored, and there were pictures of fish and aquariums in strategic locations. There was a truculent woman in a tight pink jersey dress at the door, with a sheaf of menus. She challenged him. "Yesss?" she said.

"Look," Duggan said, "I had a hard day. I'm supposed to meet a lady here. Her name is Washburn."

The woman clearly did not believe this. "What is your name, please?"

"For G.o.d's sake," Duggan said, "have I got to get references to meet somebody for dinner in a place of public refreshment? What difference does it make, who I am? I told you who she is. Is she here? I'm not trying to cash a b.u.m check or anything."

The woman's face grew stern. "I'm merely trying to help you, sir," she said. "There are several ladies sitting alone tonight. I don't know any of their names. If you would give me your name, I could inquire whether any of them is waiting for you."

Duggan sighed. "I got a better idea," he said. "Lemme look around," He brushed past the woman and turned to his right, walking up a slight incline into another rosily lighted room. It was lined with small booths on the right and larger booths on the left. There was one person in the room. That was Edith Washburn. She was seated at one of the small booths. She was drinking a gla.s.s of white wine. Duggan caught her eye as he walked down the narrow corridor between the small booths and the large booths. She smiled, wanly. He gestured with his head toward the large booth across from her. She looked quizzical. He grinned. When he reached her, he said: "I don't like these tables. When they put me in one of them, I feel like I'm a dog getting into one of those pet carriers the airlines use. Move."

Edith Washburn got up swiftly and crossed the aisle. They sat down simultaneously at one of the large booths. She grinned at him.

"Hard day?" he said.

"An absolute b.i.t.c.h of a day," she said. "Yours?"

"I could use a drink," he said. "Do they have any waitresses left tonight that aren't candidates for autopsies?"

"I saw one a while ago that seemed to be breathing," she said. "I can't be sure, though. Didn't take her pulse."

"OK?" Duggan said. He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled piercingly.

"Good heavens," Edie said. She started to laugh. "You mustn't have any trouble getting cabs."

"Or birds, neither," Duggan said. "Called in a penguin once, from Antarctica. Walked all the way, poor little critter. Took him to the zoo."

An alarmed and elderly woman appeared at the door leading into the room. Duggan waved her toward them, using the traffic cop's signal.

"How did he like the zoo?" Edie said.

"Wonderful," Duggan said. "We had such a good time, next day I took him to the ball game. Sox lost."

The waitress reached their table. "Just two of you for dinner?" she said.

"That's a quorum, ma'am," Duggan said. "But first I would like about a pail of vodka martinis. Put some ice in it."

"Vodka martini on the rocks," the waitress said. She wrote it down. "But if you're not expecting anyone else, I'll have to ask you to take one of the smaller tables."

"Go to it," Duggan said. "Ask away, we're not going to move. There's room enough in this joint tonight for the Second Armored Division. When they show up and the place gets crowded, we will meekly move. Until that happens, I would like my drink and enough s.p.a.ce to sit comfortably."

"We do have rules, sir," the waitress said.

"I do have a nasty disposition, begging your pardon and all, ma'am," Duggan said. "I am not moving. My drink, please, and the menus."

The waitress hobbled away. Duggan leaned toward Edie. "Tell you what," he said, "you show me yours, I'll show you mine."

She began to laugh again. "You were mean to that woman."

"OK," Duggan said, "I show mine first. My guy will not plead out. I think he should. If I had a reasonable client, we could belt this thing out on a second-degree in a minute. He is not reasonable." "He confessed," she said.

"He made a statement," Duggan said. "I have read that statement, which you so kindly provided to me."

"He had his rights read to him," she said.

"Yup," Duggan said. "Signed a doc.u.ment to prove it. Said he'd been to the tidal creek. Said he knew Thomas Monaghan. Said he knew Monaghan was dead. Said he believed Monaghan'd gotten shot by somebody."

"Oh, come on, Jack," she said. "He led the cops to the scene." "Right," Duggan said. "Now you are going to tell me that the cops didn't know there was a tidal creek there until he told them about it."

"No," she said.

"No," Duggan said. "And probably the cops didn't know about Monaghan being dead until they pulled him out of the water, all green and swollen, and he wasn't breathing very much. You are going to tell me that."

"No," she said.

"Edie," Duggan said, "it was in all the papers. Frederick Ellis, my esteemed client, is dumber'n some rocks that I have met. But he can read. He can listen to the wireless and he can watch the television. Everybody who ever laid eyes on Monaghan knew he wasn't getting around much anymore. This is not proof beyond a reasonable doubt that Frederick Ellis did him in."

"Jack," she said, "I have some more bad news to improve your day. "

"Go ahead," he said. "Everybody else has."

"Gould won't take a plea," she said, "He wants murder one."

The waitress limped down the aisle with Duggan's drink. "Oh good," he said as she arrived. "That is extremely good. That was just what I needed. I've got an unreasonable client and you've got an unreasonable boss." The waitress set the drink down on the table. Duggan picked it up immediately and swigged from it. "Another one of these little b.u.g.g.e.rs," he said, "and some fried clams, french fries, slaw." To Edie he said: "Order."

"Same thing," she said.

"Martini also?" the waitress said.

"White wine," Edie said. "White wine."

The Man was short and thin and wizened. He was in his late sixties. He had a shock of white hair that he combed straight back. He wore a white broadcloth shirt with a medium spread collar and a tie made of dark blue silk. He wore a well-cut Ivy-League suit, dark blue, just slightly nipped in at the waist. He wore black wing-tipped shoes. He sat behind an ornate antique desk, made of oak and carved with elaborate scrolling. He sipped at a pony of anisette and then from a cup of coffee. He did not show any expression on his face.

The cigar-smoking driver was in his middle forties, rather flush of face and somewhat overweight. He wore a blue blazer and tan slacks. He sat in an armchair, padded and then covered with tufted leather. Ellis had a straight chair opposite the driver.

"He is worried, Mr. Caruso," the driver said. "Frederick here tells me that he is worried."

Caruso shifted his gaze to Ellis. He spoke mildly. "Worry is bad for a man, Freddie. Worried people tend to die before their time." Ellis's tone betrayed considerable anxiety. He spread his hands and leaned forward in the chair. He spoke earnestly. "Mr. Caruso," he said, "it is not just me who should be worried. Walsh should be worried and Charlie Carnival should be worried."

"Walsh and Carnival are not around," Caruso said. "They are vacationing and cannot be reached."

"They should still be worried," Ellis said.

"And Francesco," Caruso said, nodding toward the driver, "should he be worried?"

"Probably," Ellis said.

"And I, perhaps," Caruso said, "should I perhaps be worried?"

"Considering what's happening," Ellis said, "you should think about it at least."

Caruso glanced at Francesco. He looked back at Ellis. He leaned forward and steepled his fingers. "You have succeeded, Freddie," he said. "Now I also am worried, and I am an old man who must think also of his health. How can we end all of this worry?"

"The cops haven't got a hard case against me," Ellis said. "They got all excited when they got the tip and they left a lot of things out."

"Then there is no worry," Caruso said.

"It's the lawyers," Ellis said. "This guy Duggan that I got is some kind of a crazy man, I think, and he is beating all over me that I am not telling him the truth. The DA is this broad that is beating all over Duggan because I will not plead out. One or the other of those d.a.m.ned lawyers is going to get all haired up and that will finish me off. The DA wants murder one. I do not."

"What could you do, Freddie?" Caruso said it very softly.

"I could run," Ellis said.

"Any man can run," Caruso said. "The question is: how far?"

"I could go on vacation, like Walshie and Carnival," Ellis said anxiously.

"I think that many people would miss you," Caruso said.

Duggan was in the 99 Restaurant on Pearl Street in Boston. His red tie was loosened from his collar and his speech was somewhat slurred. He was drinking vodka martinis and he was talking to a small blond woman in her early twenties who had bleached her hair and gained a little weight since she had purchased her flowered blouse and tan skirt. She had undone the top three b.u.t.tons of her blouse to avoid getting overheated. "You're married," she said.

"Yup," Duggan said.

"My G.o.d," she said, "I never thought I'd see the day when one of you guys admitted it. You still living with her, or what?"

"Yes," he said.

"Yes what?" she said. "When you go home at night, do you go home at night or do you go somewhere else?"

"Yes, he said. "Depends on the night I do one or I do the other."

"Hot d.a.m.n," she said. "Which you like better?"

"The other," he said. "Much better."

She linked her left arm through his right arm. "I think we could be friends," she said.

"Until morning," he said, thickly.

"With an option year," she said, "like the other guys who play ball."

Edie Washburn in the morning met Lieutenant Walter Nolan outside the District One Police Headquarters on New Chardon Street in the Government Center complex in Boston. "Lieutenant," she said, "we have got to talk."

Nolan was in his early thirties. He wore a plain tan raincoat and a somewhat mischievous expression. "This is so sudden, Edie," he said. He smiled at her and stuck his hands in his pockets.

"Time pa.s.ses so quickly when you're having fun," she said. She grabbed him by the left elbow.

"Whoa," he said, pulling loose. "Not here in the middle of a public thoroughfare."

"I've got to talk to you," she said.

"Can we have some coffee, maybe?" Nolan said.

"Coffee," she said, taking him by the arm again. "Now, walk, and let's see if we can do that at the same time we're talking."