NaNoPost 014

Pat took a long, hard look at Vicky, and then turned his gaze on me.

“To be sure, Chuck, I never remember you mentioning a sister before. You’ve got a young brother if I recall. George, wasn’t it?”

I nodded.

“But a sister. And such a pretty young thing as this…”

He stood up.

“Pat O’Halloran. How do you do, miss?”

Vicky shook his hand.

“Hello, Pat. I’m, er…”

“Sorry, where are my manners?” I said. “This is Susie.”

“Hello, Susie.” said Pat. “So Chuck,” he said, turning back to me. “how’s that case you’re on. If I remember rightly, you’re chaperoning a Miss Victoria Wilde.”

He looked pointedly at Vicky.

“Oh, slow going, Pat, slow going. I’ve got a friend keeping an eye on her for an hour. Say, do you think Susie could wait here while I just duck in the station for a few minutes?”

“I’ll make sure she stays… safe.” said Pat with a smile, and indicated the benches. Vicky sat in the corner and buried herself behind a magazine. I took the pass that Pat pushed over, and hurried through as he buzzed me in.

I went straight down to the archive room, fired up a machine and started looking for the details of the dead guy from last night. The investigation had barely started, so there was ony the bare bones in the case file, but it was better than nothing. I took a copy, pocketed the datastick and was out less then five minutes after I sat down.

I was almost back to the front desk when an office door opened and Russo came out. He looked at me.

“Able.” he said. “Aren’t you missing something? Or somebody?”

My heart sank.

He shook his head in exasperation.

“I don’t have the time. I didn’t see anything, and I don’t want to know. Now get!”

I got.

Pat buzzed me back through the barrier, and I handed back the pass. As I did, the station door opened, and with a swish of fringe, Detective Cash walked in.

“Well, well. If it ain’t the Private dick. Say, Mr Able, ain’t you s’pposed to be keepin’ an eye on that young lady? ‘Cos if you ain’t, I’ve got a nice comfy cell where she kin cool her heels awhile.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Miss Wilde?”

“Coming, Mr Able.”

Vicky put down the magazine and walked over from where she’d been sitting in the corner.

“Morning, Detective.” she said to Cash with a smile, and sashayed out the door.

Several uniforms turned to watch her go. As sashays go, it was one worth seeing.

“Guess I’d better go and keep a close eye on her.” I said with a grin, and followed her out.

o o o o o

We got back to the office, and I plugged the datastick into my machine.

“Right. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Vicky leaned over my shoulder to see the screen as I pulled the file up.

“Ok. What have you done to annoy a mister…”

I read it twice.

“Monsieur Le Stephanois?”

“Who?”

“Tony Le Stephanois.”

I trawled down the file.

“Age 41. Five eight, hundred and sixty five pounds. Short, dark hair, no distinguishing marks. Wallet contained a driving licence, small amount of cash, couple a credit cards and some business cards.”

I craned round to look at Vicky, who was still reading the screen.

“You hacked off any artists when you were breaking and entering?”

“Artist? Doesn’t ring a bell.” she said.

“Well that’s what his card says, look.” I pointed at the screen.

Apparently the business card read : ‘ M. Tony Le Stephanois, Creative Director, “Art Must Be Free” ’

“You do any jobs in France?” I asked.

She straightened up.

“Well, all the stuff with Gilbert, obviously. But we didn’t take anything. Every one of those jobs was a training exercise on getting in and getting out. The first job where I actually stole something was Hamburg.”

“Well, let’s see what ‘Art Must Be Free’ is all about.”

A few moments later, I pulled up their website. “Art Must Be Free” appeared to have ideas above its station. While M. Le Stephanois may have been the Creative Director, he also appeared to be 50% of the company, along with a M. Le Milanais. And as far as we could tell, that was that. Looking at the list of their past ‘works’, it also seemed that their idea of art differed from mine. They didn’t do paintings of fruit, put it that way.

“I read about that the other day.” I said to Vicky, pointing at their most recent ‘installation’. “They made the numbers 1 to 100 out of acrylic and stuck them around the city, then somehow convinced a bunch of people to try and find them.”

I turned round to look at Vicky.

“Is it me? Am I missing something?”

She patted me on the shoulder.

“I think you’re probably just getting old.” she laughed.

I muttered something rude and went back to reading the screen. The office of ‘Art Must Be Free’ was, unsurprisingly, over in the warehouse district, a couple of blocks from the phone booth. I wanted to pay them a visit and have a word with this Le Milanais guy, but I’d need to wait until the police had been. Turning up before the cops would look more suspicious than we needed right now.

Suddenly a thought struck me. Somebody had stuck a knife in Le Stephanois, and assuming it wasn’t random, then chances are the murderer knew him. It was almost certainly the person I’d seen at the phone box last night. Could it be this Le Milanais guy? It seemed a bit too obvious. But it often seemed that when someone had reached the point where they’re prepared to stick a knife in a body, or pull a trigger, then you weren’t thinking too straight. And business partners falling out with each other? That was as old as the hills.

“So neither of these names ring a bell?” I said.

“I’m afraid not.” said Vicky.

“So you remember every household you turned over?” I said, twisting round in the chair.

She straightened up and looked out the window.

“I think so. I could…” She hesitated for a moment. “I could check.”

“Check?”

“I kept a journal. Places, dates, times, details. It’s… hidden. The Police never found it.”

“Well it might give us a hint.” I said. “Where to?”

She was quiet for a moment, then obviously came to a decison.

“Grand Central Station.”

o o o o o

It took about forty minutes to get to Grand Central. But when we got there, Vicky headed for the street. I said nothing, but followed along. After a couple of minutes walk we went into a bank.

“Won’t be a minute.” she said, and went to speak to one of the tellers.

“Safe deposit box?” I asked.

She nodded. A moment later a member of bank staff came up to her and she disappeared though a door with him. I took a seat and looked around. The bank was old school. Polished wood floors, brass and wood on the counters, a uniformed guard on the door. Not like some of these modern day places that look more like a supermarket.

I was admiring the legs of a rather attractive customer when Vicky reappeared and came over.

“Got it?” I asked.

“Not yet.” she replied.

I frowned, followed her out of the bank, and back to Grand Central. We walked down the steps to the main floor, sidestepping the tourists and rubberneckers who are drawn to it like fat people to sports clothing.

“It was simpler when there were left luggage facilities in the Terminal.” she said as we walked. “But when they took them out, I had to get a safe deposit box.”

“So now where to?” I asked.

“Ticket office.”

We got in a queue, and after a couple of minutes, were at the window.

“Two round trips to Poughkeepsie, please.” said Vicky to the ticket seller.

“That’ll be $58.00 please.” she drawled.

Vicky looked at me and smiled, and I rolled my eyes as I reached for my wallet. I pushed three twenties across, and the lady gave me the tickets and a couple of bucks change.

As I put my wallet away, Vicky checked the boards.

“Platform 105, ten minutes.” she said. “Let’s go.”

o o o o o

I picked up a paper as we made our way downstairs and found our train. It wasn’t too crowded, and we managed to get a table to ourselves.

“Poughkeepsie?” I said.

“Poughkeepsie.” she replied. Clearly I wasn’t going to get much out of her just yet.

A few minutes later the train jolted as it pulled out, and I spread the paper on the table. I flicked through, and on the bottom of page 14 I found what I was looking for.

New York artist murdered.

The body of Tony Le Stephanois, an artist with the group ‘Art Must Be Free’ was found last night in a city phonebooth. He had been stabbed through the heart. M. Le Stephanois, originally Carlton Lindhoffer, recently staged the event ‘The City Counts’. As yet, police have no motive for his murder.

Four lines. That’s all you get to show for a life. Harsh though it was, I was more interested in the name. I tapped the paper.

“So. Le Stephanois might not ring any bells, but how about Lindhoffer? Got any of their precious heirlooms stashed away anywhere?”

Vicky read the article and shrugged.

“Sorry. Lindhoffer doesn’t mean anything to me either.”

I carried on reading the paper while Vicky stared at the passing scenery.

o o o o o

About ninety minutes later, I woke with a jump. Vicky was shaking my arm.

“Wakey, wakey. We’re here!”

I roused myself and looked out the window; we were just pulling into the station. I folded the paper up, stuffed it in my coat pocket and we stepped off the train as the doors opened.

Outside the station was a cab rank.

“Taxi, sir?”

I turned to Vicky. “Do we need a cab?”

“It is quicker.” she said. “First National Bank, please.” and climbed in.

I could tell my wallet was not going to have a good day.

Ten minutes later, the cabbie dropped us off outside another bank. Smaller then the one back in NYC, but no less grand. I tipped the guy a couple of bucks and made a mental note to start making a note of all the costs I was incurring. Someone was going to foot the bill, and I was darn sure it wasn’t going to be me.

The inside of the bank was what you might call faded glamour. It looked 1920’s. The wood might have been worn, but boy had it been polished! It reminded me of Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard.

Vicky spoke to a teller, who slipped off his seat and came out front.

“Another safe deposit box?” I asked.

“Back in a second.” And she was gone.

The First National Bank of Poughkeepsie might have nice decor, but their customers don’t have such nice legs, I’ll tell you that for nothing. As I sat there, I wondered whether Vicky’s journal - assuming she was going to get it, and we weren’t about to take another train to Vancouver - was going to turn up a job at a Lindhoffer mansion.

Somehow I doubted it.

A few minutes later, and Vicky was back. She checked her watch.

“Next train back to the city isn’t for 45 minutes. Feel like walking?” she said.

It was a bright, cold day, and hey! It would be cheaper than taking a cab!

“Fine.” I said.

o o o o o

“Come here often?” I asked, as we walked.

“Now and again.” she said. “I have some things here, and I move them around periodically. Now you’ve seen where they’re kept, I’ll have to move them again.”

“Things? Expensive things? Expensive things that belong to other people?”

“No.” she said. “Nothing like that.”

“But you do keep them somewhere?”

She walked on for a few moments in silence.

“The only interesting thing I know about Poughkeepsie,” she said, “is that the world’s worst film director, Ed Wood, was born here.”

Clearly I wasn’t going to get any more out of her on the subject of loot.

It wasn’t until we were back on the train and heading for the city, that she reached into her bag and pulled out a small black book, held shut by an elastic closure. She slid the band off and leafed through.

“Thirty seven jobs.” she said. “Would have been thirty eight if I hadn’t bumped into you that night. All the details are there. But I’m pretty sure there isn’t a Lindhoffer in there.”

She pushed the book over.

“Nobody else has ever seen that book.” she said. “You’re honoured.”

I opened the book and started reading. Each entry, in copperplate handwriting, ran to several pages, and contained a post-robbery summary of each job. The date and time. Whose house it was. Details of security systems. What she’d taken. What she thought of the place and the people, and any number of other small details.

I flipped through, concentrating on the names. Suddenly I stopped on number twenty six.

Vicky saw me frown.

“What is it? It’s not Lindhoffer, is it?” she said.

It wasn’t.

However I was looking at another name I’d seen recently.

But for the life of me, I couldn’t think where.

NaNoPost 013

Like any good citizen would, I checked to see that no-one was watching and then fled the scene. The nearest subway was five blocks, and as I got close, I could see a drug store that was still open. I went in, staying as far away from the counter as I could and looked around. Bingo! There was a payphone on the back wall. I kept my hat pulled low and my back to the assistant and got to the phone. I probably looked as suspicious as all hell, but as long as I wasn’t identifiable, I didn’t care.

I dialled 9-1-1. The dispatcher picked up straight away.

“911.”

“Hello ma’am. Can you get the police and an ambulance to the phone box on the junction of Hamilton and Riverside? A man’s been stabbed. I’m fairly certain he’s already dead.”

“Ok, sir, I just need you to…”

I hung up. Time to be elsewhere.

I hopped on the subway. It was pretty quiet and I took a seat and kept my head down. I hadn’t done anything wrong as far as the dead guy was concerned, but I had blown the bail conditions, so the sooner Vicky was back in my ‘custody’, the better. A few stations later, I hopped off and changed lines, heading for Lee’s place. As the train pulled in, I could see there was a bunch of guys who’d been drinking, and were being pretty rowdy. I got in the end of their carriage, figuring that while they were kicking up a racket, nobody would notice the quiet guy in the end seat.

Ten minutes later and I was knocking on the door of Lee’s apartment. His buddy Steve, that Lee shared the place with, opened the door. I guess he’d just beaten me there, as he was still taking off his coat.

“Hi! I’m looking for Lee?” I said.

“Sure, come in. Lee!” he shouted. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Lee appeared in the hallway.

“Hey Chuck!” said Lee, “Come on in.”

The guys’ apartment was about the same size as Vicky’s place, but it was obvious that it was a bachelor pad. The hallway was lined with empty beer bottles in neat rows, and was decorated with movie posters. From what I could see of the kitchen, they appeared to be trying to break some kind of world record for the most pizza boxes in one room. I guess when you cook all day for a living, you don’t much feel like doing it when you get home.

I followed Lee into the living room. None of the furniture matched, and most of it was pretty shabby apart from the big TV with a games machine underneath it. Piles of films were stacked up next to the screen and there were magazines everywhere. Some Coltrane was playing on the stereo. Russo, I thought to myself, would be right at home in here.

Vicky was sat in one of the two armchairs and Lee waved me at the overstuffed blue sofa as he hunkered down and sat cross legged in front of the TV.

“So did you find the guy?” said Vicky, sitting forward.

“First things first.” I said. “Tell me what happened here?”

Vicky shrugged.

“We got back here at, what?” she looked at Lee. “Just before 9.00? I called you pretty much straight away. Then we sat and waited. The phone went at...”

“9.26.” said Lee. “Guy said ‘Is that Lee?’, so I said yes. Then he said to me, did I know that my date had spent most of the last decade in prison, as she was a thief, and if I had any sense, I’d kick her out of the house now. Then he hung up.”

“We phoned you, and then rang the operator to try and find out what number the call had come from,” said Vicky, “but he told us that the caller had blocked the number.”

She looked at me.

“And that’s pretty much it for this end. Other than that I’ve just been filling Lee in on what’s been going on. So what happened with you? Did you find the guy?”

I leaned over and pushed the living room door closed.

“I found him.”

“Great!” said Vicky. “So now maybe we can start getting some answers. What did he have to say?”

“He didn’t say much, on account of having heart trouble.”

“Heart trouble?” said Lee “What kind of heart trouble?”

“The ‘knife buried in it’ kind.”

Lee’s mouth fell open and Vicky gasped.

“Was he dead?” she said.

“Either dead or really good at holding his breath.” I said.

“So now what do we do?”

I’d been thinking the same thing on the subway.

“I think it’s fairly safe to assume that this was the guy who made the calls to the museum and the bookstore. Now. Either he was on his own, and he just got unlucky. Maybe got tangled up with a mugger or something. Or else someone didn’t want him talking. The fact that the phone that I was watching had the cord cut, so he couldn’t use it, and had to go somewhere else, makes me think that someone else is definitely caught up in all this.”

“But who?” said Lee.

“That’s the $64,000 question.”

“So we’re back at square one.” said Vicky. “Even worse. At least while he was making calls, we had some sort of lead. Now we’ve got nothing.”

“Well I wouldn’t say we got nothing.”I said, getting up out of the sofa. “We got a stiff. And contrary to what Long John Silver would have you believe, dead men tell plenty of tales.”

o o o o o

Pretty soon we were back in the office. Vicky tickled Ella’s ears until I opened a can of tuna. Then Vicky got dumped like yesterday’s paper.

I fixed us a drink.

“Ok,” I said, after I’d taken a sip. “The next question is, where do we sleep tonight?”

Vicky frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Bail. You’re in my custody. We’ve already broken the conditions once, and I hope we got away with it. But I think Cash will want to catch us out, and me sending you home alone ain’t going to cut it. So either you crash at my place or I crash at yours.”

“Do you have a spare room?” she asked.

“I got a comfy sofa.”

“Well I’ve got a spare room, so that’s settled.” she said. “Do you need to pick anything up?”

“Nah, I’m good.” I said. I crashed at the office often enough that I had spare clothes and a toothbrush here. I threw a few things into a holdall and was good to go in two minutes.

Dames could learn plenty from me.

On the walk to the subway I realised I hadn’t eaten in hours, so we grabbed a slice of pizza and a soda. Do I know how to show a girl a good time or what?

o o o o o

We reached the third floor of Vicky’s apartment block and she fished in her bag for keys. I held out my hand.

“Better let me go first.” I said. “This has just got way more serious than somebody telling tales on you.”

She handed the keys over.

Motioning her to stand way back down the corridor, I hefted my revolver and put the key in the door. It unlocked quietly, and I crouched down to push the door open. The only light in the room came through the window from the street. I looked into the living room. It all seemed quiet.

There was a breakfast bar that separated the kitchen area from the living room, and three doors off the main room. One to the bathroom, one to Vicky’s room, and one, I guessed, to the spare room.

“Anything?” whispered Vicky in my ear.

“Jeez!”

I stifled the words in my throat.

“When the hell did you sneak up?” I whispered furiously. “I told you to stay back there.”

“Noisy cat burglars get caught,” she grinned, “Stay there.” She pushed past me, silent as a ghost.

I didn’t know the apartment, and chances are I’d crash into something, so against my better judgement, I stayed put.

She reached behind the door and picked something up. In the gloom I couldn’t see what it was, but with whatever it was in one hand, she glided over to the kitchen, keeping low.

She edged round the counter, and then a second later, stood and gave me a thumbs up. Next she made for the bathroom door. Standing to one side, she eased the door open. A couple of seconds later she disappeared inside, then reappeared moments later.

She repeated the same thing with her room, then stood outside the spare room. A shaft of light fell across her from the living room window, and I realised she had an ice pick in her hand. I remembered the rock climbing magazine I’d been reading earlier in the day and made a mental note not to make her mad.

She eased the door open.

Seconds later she strode out of the spare room and flicked the living room light on.

“All clear.” she said. “Hope I’m not going to have to do that every time I come home.”

“Pays to be careful.” I said. “You not got an alarm on this place?”

“I keep meaning to do something about it,” she said “but I never seem to have the time.”

“Well you should make time.” I replied. “There’s burglars about.”

Vicky cleared some of her junk out of the spare room and piled it up in the corner of the living room. Meanwhile I got a chair and wedged it under the handle of the front door. There wasn’t much to be done about the windows, but we were three floors up, so I guessed that would have to do.

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow then?” said Vicky, falling back onto the sofa.

I leaned on the kitchen counter.

“Well first thing, I want to get down to the Precinct and try and find out who the John Doe is. We get a name, and maybe we can get somewhere. Trouble is, I can’t waltz in there with you, but I can’t go in there without you either.”

“Because of the bail thing?”

“Because of the bail thing.”

“So what do we do?”

“I’m thinking…”

I was still thinking about it when my head hit the pillow.

o o o o o

Next morning we were up early. I got washed and dressed and as I came into the living room, Vicky waved a mug at me.

“Coffee?”

“Sounds good.”

“Breakfast?”

I wandered over and looked at the bowl of stuff that she was eating.

“I don’t know what that is, but it sure ain’t breakfast.” I said. “Breakfast comes on a greasy plate and consists entirely of things that have been fried.”

“Well I’m clean out of breakfast then.” she laughed.

“Don’t worry,” I said, drinking my coffee. “I’ll eat on the way.”

o o o o o

I picked up a breakfast burrito from a cafe that we passed on the way to the subway. Vicky wrinkled her nose.

“How do you eat that stuff?” she said.

“This?” I said, holding it up and waving it in her face, making her recoil in mock horror. “Bacon, eggs, fried potato, onions. All the major food groups in one handy tortilla. Ideal for the busy detective about town.”

I wiped my fingers on a napkin and threw it and the empty wrapper in the trash as we reached the subway.

“So, thought of a plan yet?” Vicky asked.

“I’m playing this one on the hoof.” I said. “We’ll just have to see how things pan out.”

Half an hour later, we pushed through the doors of the 18th, and I heaved a sigh of relief.

Pat was on the desk.

“Pat!”

“Chuck. Good to see you, young man.”

Pat’s gaze landed on Vicky, who’d come in behind me. While he might come across as a genial old sort, counting the days until his retirement, there was still a razor sharp cop brain behind those eyes.

“Pat.” I said, turning to Vicky.

“I’d like you to meet my sister…”

NaNoPost 012

We got back to the office and Vicky had a rather awkward conversation with her manager about prank calls. She was very apologetic, and explained that it was due to the stress of a family emergency that had cropped up, and so she was very sorry but she needed to take the week off. As she put the phone down, I was sure I could hear the manager still muttering about being ‘treated differently because she’s the owner’s niece’.

Well, she’d probably get a bit of grief when she got back to work, but it had bought us a bit of breathing space.

“So,” she asked, “what’s all this about bait?”

‘Well,” I said, “maybe bait ain’t the right word.”

I couldn’t think of the right word, so bait had to do.

“Someone’s made two anonymous phone calls from the same phone. One got you arrested, the other got you hassle at work, so it’s my hunch that whoever it is is just out to mess up any aspect of your life that they can.”

“Right…” she said.

“So chances are, if you had a hot date, then they’d likely want to mess that up too.”

“It’s been a while since I had a hot date.” she replied.

“Well you’ve got one tonight. Now. Have you got one of those social network pages that lets the world know what you’re up to?”

“Yes,” she said, “but I don’t use it very often.”

“Well today you do.”

“Hmm.” She said. “So who’s this hot date with then?”

“That bit I haven’t figured out yet…”

o o o o o

We went over to Vicky’s place so that she could get a wash and change into some clean clothes. She lived in a third floor apartment that was about a twenty minute train ride from the bookshop. It was what a realtor would call ‘bijou’, and everyone else would call ‘small’. Still, it was neat and tidy, and tastefully decorated in Scandinavian minimalist style. I sat on the sofa and looked around while I waited for her to get cleaned up.

“So what’s the plan?” she called from the bedroom.

I put down the rock climbing magazine I’d been flicking through, wandered over and addressed the bedroom door.

“Ok. You flag up on the internet that you’ve got a date tonight. You go out on date. Bad guy who is obviously stalking you will ring up your squeeze and tell them what a horrible person you are. And because bad guys are invariably stupid, he’ll use the same phone. And I’ll be watching said phone.

“But it’s a public phone,” she called through the door. “How will you know who the bad guy is? Anybody could use the phone.”

“Right. Now when the bad guy calls your date, you call me. Simple!”

“Ok, but what if he doesn’t call until after the date?”

“You stay there until he does. All night if necessary.”

“All night?”

Her head, wrapped in a towel, appeared round the door.

“All night on a first date? I’m a nice girl!”

“Well tonight you’re bad. Hurry it up, I got an idea.”

o o o o o

A little while later we made our way into the Cup ‘O’ Joe. Nancy caught my eye and smiled, then frowned as she saw Vicky come in behind me. We took a booth and Nancy walked over, pad in hand.

“What’ll it be?” she said, with just a hint of frost in her voice.

Nancy jealous? Surely not.

“Two coffee’s please, Nance. Nancy this is my client, Vicky. Vicky, this is an old friend, Nancy.”

The two women nodded at each other but that was about it. A couple of minutes later, Nancy came back with the coffee.

“Say Nance,” I said, “what time are you closing up tonight?”

“Six o’clock sharp. Why?” she said, with just a hint of a glance at Vicky. “Are you taking me out somewhere?”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid, sweets.” I said. “Well not you, anyway. It’s Lee I’m interested in.”

Nancy stared.

“Lee?”

“Yup.”

“Our Lee? Short order cook, Lee?”

“That’s the one.”

“But, why?”

I looked around to see if anyone was earwigging, but the few other customers in the place were far enough away not to overhear.

“Because I need to set Vicky up with a hot date tonight, and I’m a bit short of eligible bachelors. Do you think Lee would help us out?”

Nancy stuck her order pad into her apron pocket and shook her head.

“Just when I think I’ve heard it all from you.” she said. ‘You never fail to amaze me.”

As she walked over to the hatch, she turned to look over her shoulder.

“And not in a good way.”

A few minutes later, Lee came out, wiping his hands on a towel that he slung over his shoulder. He was late twenties, short, dark haired. Typical chinese/american looking guy. When he smiled, his teeth gleamed, and he smiled a lot.

“Hi Chuck!” he said, coming over. “What’s up? Nancy said you wanted a word.”

“Hey, Lee. Lee, this is Vicky, Vicky, this is Lee.”

Lee smiled and stuck a hand out.

“Don’t worry,” he said. ‘it’s clean!”

She smiled, took his hand and shook.

“Lee. You busy tonight?”

“Not especially.” he said. “There’s a showing of Bergman’s ‘The Seventh Seal’ on at the Astoria. I was going to go and catch that. Why? What’s up?”

“Fancy some company?” I pointed at Vicky. “The lady here needs a date tonight.”

Lee’s smile jacked up a couple more notches.

“Seriously? Er, yeah! Sure!”

I chuckled.

“Strictly business, Lee. The lady needs to look like she’s on a date, if anybody happened to be watching.”

“Right, right…”

“And she may need to stay over.”

Lee looked like he’d just won the lottery.

“And there’s a bit more…”

I explained to him about the possibility of a phone call.

We finished up out coffee and left, Nancy shaking her head, and Lee in full song back in the kitchen.

“Well.” I said. “Looks like at least one of you is going to enjoy themselves tonight.”

o o o o o

Back at her apartment, Vicky got online and updated her social page with enough information so that anyone with half a brain could work out who she was going out with tonight.

I looked over at her.

“Sorry about ‘The Seventh Seal’. I’m sure if you ask nicely, Lee will agree to a chick flick.”

“Are you kidding?” she said. “It’s a classic! I thought I’d be going to see ‘Ninja Cowboys in Space 3’ or something.”

I laughed.

“Lee’s a good kid. Bit obsessive about film, so be prepared to sit up until 3am discussing the underlying themes and whatnot.”

She smiled. “I consider myself warned.”

o o o o o

At 7pm, the three of us went in to the cinema. I wouldn’t put it past Cash to have someone checking up on me in case I broke the bail conditions, so we made it look like the three of us went in together. A few minutes later, with my hat under my coat and my coat over my arm, I slipped out again, and headed for the subway.

By 7.45 I was at the junction of Bachman and Turner. I’d picked a paper up on the way, and I headed for the doughnut shop. It gave me a good view of the phone across the street, so I parked myself, got a vanilla shake and a box of half a dozen doughnuts and settled myself at the table in the window.

And waited.

Lee had told me that the film was only around an hour and a half. “It just seems a lot longer to most people.” he said. They were going to go straight back to Lee’s place, so just before 9.00, as I’d just settled down with a coffee and a second half dozen, my phone went off.

I fumbled with it for a while. I hate cellphones. They fry your brain, they let crazies like English track you to within ten feet of where you’re standing, and they make you look stupid. If I get glared at by one more idiot who walked straight into me because they were on the phone, and then bend my ear like it’s my fault…

Anyway.

I finally managed to answer the thing. It was Vicky.

“Ok, we’re back at Lee’s. I’ll buzz you if the phone goes. Anything happening at your end?”

I looked down at the table in front of me.

“Well my waistline’s expanding…”

She laughed and hung up.

I put the phone back in my pocket and stared out of the window. It was dark now, and the sidewalk was lit by a few streetlamps and the neon sign of the doughnut shop. The phone threw out its own small puddle of light, and as I sat there, a fine drizzle started coming down.

A few people came past. One or two stopping in the store for a drink, or a box of takeout doughnuts, but otherwise the street was quiet.

About quarter of an hour later I was beginning to think that this was a stupid idea when I noticed a figure coming down the street, on the other side from me. They had a mac on, collar pulled up and a hat low over their eyes. They stopped at the phone booth. Was this my guy? I fished my phone out and waited for the confirmation call from Vicky.

It didn’t come.

But a few seconds later, the figure left the phone and carried on walking.

False alarm.

A while later, as the second box of doughnuts got emptied, and I wondered whether I could manage a third, another figure appeared. A short guy, wearing dark clothes and holding an umbrella hurried towards the phone. He only stopped at the phone for only a few seconds too, then crossed the street and carried on.

Clearly wasn’t my night.

While I sat there staring at the phone booth, something occured to me. Both people had spent less than 10 seconds at the phone. That was barely long enough to get the coins in, let alone make a call. Could it be out of order? I’d checked it before I came in to the store and it had been fine then, but I guess something could have gone wrong. Nothing’s built to last these days.

I slipped out of my seat, left a couple of bucks as a tip and crossed the street to check the phone. As I got there, I could definitely see it was out of order.

The cord had been cut.

I looked up and down the street to try and work out where the guy with the umbrella had gone, and as I did, my phone went. It was Vicky.

“Lee just got the call. He tried to keep him talking, but he rang off.”

“Right - see if you can get the number from your end. He had to use a different phone - this one’s been messed with. I’m going to try and find him.”

I cut the call and started jogging in the direction I thought I’d seen the guy heading. He’d only got a couple of minutes start on me, so he couldn’t be far. The drizzle was turning to steady rain, and the streetlamps were painting pictures on the wet sidewalk.

I pulled my hat further down to keep the rain out of my face and squinted into the rain. Suddenly, up ahead, a figure came round the corner towards me holding an umbrella.

I kept my head down and strode towards them, one hand on the pistol in my pocket. I walked straight at them so they had no option but to stop and move the umbrella to look at me.

I stared back at a little old guy in his 70’s. I relaxed my trigger finger.

“Sorry, sir!” I said. “Didn’t mean to get in your way. Don’t suppose you know where the nearest phone booth is, would ya? Some punk’s ripped that one up.”

I jerked a thumb over my shoulder back towards the damaged phone.

“Sure thing sonny,” he said. “Just round that corner where I came from, and down a block.”

“Much obliged.” I said, and hurried on.

I rounded the corner and saw the phone booth. Unlike the one further back that was just a phone on a post, this was a walk in phone booth. I could see a figure still in the box.

I started running.

As I got nearer to the box, I could see it was the guy from earlier. Short, dark clothing, and an umbrella at his feet. He seemed to be leaning against the phone in an odd manner.

Cursing, I tried to open the booth door, but the guy was blocking it. I managed to get the door open a couple of inches and reached in to grab his shoulder, hoping I wasn’t going to find what I had a suspicion I was going to.

The guy rolled round to face me and as he did, his knees gave out and he slumped to the floor.

His umbrella fell through the gap I’d made in the door and onto the sidewalk.

I knew he wasn’t bothered though.

I could tell by the knife sticking out of his chest.