Murder Miscalculated (23 page)

Betrayal, too, was on another man’s mind in another part of the city as he placed a thin metal case on a hotel bed and unlocked it. From the case he removed an automatic pistol and silencer. He fitted one to the other and contemplated the coming course of events. Killing his partner was not of great concern to him. It was only a logical step in the path he had taken. The man placed the assembled pistol and silencer into a shoulder holster and tightened the straps. He put on his suit coat and checked himself in the mirror to ensure the gun did not show. He looked at the clock on the table next to the bed. He had hours to kill before meeting his partner.

One

A fat, easy score, that’s all I wanted, and it’s what I desperately needed. What I didn’t know, couldn’t know, was the murderous chain of events that my need of cash was going to set into motion. I was back in town after three long months of watching Fast Eddie slowly die and finally burying him when he did. Eddie’s funeral and our extended stay back east that preceded it had consumed all my money and then some. I didn’t begrudge the money or the time spent, though. Eddie was my friend and my mentor, but it meant I was going to have to hustle if I wanted to avoid trouble.

The driver of the last ride I hitched wasn’t going anywhere near downtown, but Lynn’s apartment house wasn’t much out of his way, and so he dropped me there. We shared the brief goodbyes of strangers through an open car window after I unloaded my small suitcase and garment bag, and he took off down the dark and empty street while I went inside the apartment house and climbed the stairs to the second floor.

I put my suitcase down on the scuffed linoleum in the darkened hallway in front of Lynn’s door and gave a few tentative raps with my knuckles. I didn’t want to disturb Lynn’s neighbors, so I stood there for almost a minute before realizing she was bound to be sound asleep and politeness wouldn’t work. I almost turned and left, but in the early hours of the morning and with only a few dollars in my pocket, I had nowhere else to go.

I knocked again, this time with force, and kept on knocking for a full minute. I didn’t stop until I saw the doorknob turn. The door opened a couple of inches until a chain stopped it. Lynn’s angular face looked sleepily out at me. She blinked until her eyes focused and she recognized me. I gestured with the hand that held my garment bag and gave her what I hoped was a sincere smile with just a trace of a woebegone child.

“Oh, God, I should have known. Who else would wake me up at four in the morning?” Lynn closed the door again and for a fraction of a second I thought she was going to leave me out in the hallway. Then I heard the chain fall loose.

The door opened again, this time all the way. Lynn was wearing baggy sweat clothes, as she always did in bed. They were gray and hung loose on her. Bright pink bunny slippers on her feet offset their drab color. Lynn’s straight black hair hung down her back, the back she turned on me as soon as the door closed. I reset the chain and followed her into her living room, carrying my possessions.

“I’m sorry. It’s a long story.”

Lynn put her hands over her ears as she continued walking away from me and headed down a hallway. “I don’t want to hear it now. I don’t want to hear any of it. It’s four in the morning, and I just want to go back to bed.”

I took the hint and stopped apologizing. Instead, I looked for a place to park my suitcase and garment bag. I dumped them in a corner of the small living room. A moment later Lynn came padding back into the room carrying a couple of folded sheets, a blanket and a pillow. She handed them to me without a word and turned to the sofa. She bent down and tugged on a strap, and it unfolded into a modest-sized bed. That done, she headed to her own room.

“Thanks!” I called to her retreating back. Her hands went to her ears again in response.

I made up the futon, got undressed and tried to sleep, wondering how many days Lynn would be willing to put up with me. It didn’t help that an hour later, sound asleep, I rolled too close to the edge of the futon frame, and the whole thing tipped over and dumped me onto the hardwood floor, then clattered back with a bang.

I was still untangling myself from the sheets when Lynn appeared.

“It tipped over,” I said lamely.

She shook her head and went back to bed. I remade the bed and climbed back in. I guess I didn’t put the futon on all the way because a second later it tipped over and dumped me to the floor again.

“Sorry!” I called out. Lynn didn’t answer, and I managed to get through the rest of the night without it happening again.

Lynn let me sleep in when morning came. I was vaguely aware of her moving around, and at one point I heard her leave and then return about an hour later. Out for her morning run, I assumed, and went back to sleep. When I finally woke up it was nearly noon, and Lynn had left for her job as a stripper at The Pink Poodle. A note on the kitchen counter let me know there was one bagel left, some cream cheese in the refrigerator, and I was to rinse out the coffee pot after having what was left, please.

It’s a strange feeling, being alone in a friend’s apartment. So much of Lynn’s personal life was unwittingly on display. It’s a tiny apartment, just the front room with a little galley kitchen tacked onto one side, one bedroom, and a bathroom whose fixtures date back to a time when bellbottoms were first in style. The carpet was gone since the last time I was there, and now the original hardwood floors gave a warm hue to the room.

Lynn’s apartment was on the second floor of a four-story building. From outside the open window over the kitchen sink came the sound of traffic from the street below along with the scent of garbage not yet collected. There was a short bookcase, and out of habit I scanned the titles. Lynn’s reading tastes hadn’t changed much. There were the usual historical romances, a few cocktail table books about foreign lands and a small stack of magazines about ballet. Judging from the dates on the magazines, Lynn must have let her subscription lapse over a year ago.

In the kitchen I found the half-dozen postcards I sent from Louisiana stuck to the refrigerator door with the last, the one letting her know of Eddie’s death and my plans to return, on top.

After toasting and eating the bagel and finishing the coffee Lynn left for me, I washed and put away the few plates and cups that were in the sink and rinsed the coffee pot per direction. I took the sheets from the futon, folded them carefully, placed them with the pillow back in the closet, then folded up the bed again into a sofa. Only after all that did I shower, shave and get dressed, taking my suit from the garment bag and putting it on. My suit is an important tool in my profession, and I try to take care of it. I put on my watch and checked the time. It was almost one o’clock and time for me to get going.

I left Lynn’s apartment, triple locked the flimsy door and dropped the keys in her mailbox. As I did, I wondered again just how welcome I was. I count Lynn as one of my few real friends and sometimes, just sometimes, wondered what life might have been like if we hadn’t broken up.

A slight October breeze from the bay revived my spirits and scattered my melancholy as I emerged from Lynn’s apartment building. I made a quick check to ensure there wasn’t anyone waiting whom I wished to avoid, then crossed the street and headed for the bus stop. The sky was overcast with a touch of fog in the air, my favorite kind of weather and the best for my kind of work.

A bus came along within minutes, and I hopped on board, used my bus pass and found a place to stand and a strap to cling to. Like every city bus since their invention, it smelled of leather, diesel and sweat, and it groaned and swayed as the driver pulled away from the curb and back into traffic. There were seats available, but I like to ride standing up. It gives me a chance to look at people’s faces and try to guess their stories. On a more practical note, it makes for a faster getaway if necessary.

I like taking the bus. I can learn all I need to know about a city and its mood, its beat, its rhythm and meter by riding public transportation. Besides, I don’t own a car, let alone have a driver’s license. I have no driver’s license, no credit cards, at least not my own, no cell phone and most importantly, no police record. In general I try to live off the grid as much as possible. I figure the less known about me, the better.

It was so, so tempting to help myself to the wallets and other valuables that their owners unknowingly offered me on the bus as we headed downtown, but I managed to resist. I was after bigger game, and lifting wallets from out-of-town visitors is safer than from a local. Still, I looked longingly at all the coats hanging open and the other invitations.

A young woman with short, red-brown hair and a round, pretty face stood next to me, both of us clinging to straps and swaying in unison with the movement of the bus as we came near my stop. Her fashionable purse was unlatched, and I could see her wallet near the top. It would have been easy to pretend to lose my footing for a moment, bump into her and, misdirecting her attention by keeping eye contact with her all the while, let my hand dip in and out of her purse. It would have been so easy.

“Excuse me,” She looked up. I leaned close to her so others nearby wouldn’t hear. “Your purse is open.” She looked down, quickly snapped it shut, and gave me a grateful smile.

“Gee, thanks.” She had a nice smile. The bus lurched to a stop. I returned the smile.

“Don’t mention it.” I got off the bus having done my first and probably only good deed for the day.

I walked the last couple of blocks along Market Street to the Edgars Convention Center. It’s a massive complex covering a full city block and surrounded by high-class hotels, restaurants, bars and cafes. Building that convention center required the destruction of a dozen or more ancient brick buildings and the businesses they housed. Its futuristic architecture of glass, concrete and steel had won numerous awards, and civic boosters hailed its construction as progress on the march. I see it as just another cookie cutter step toward making our city look like every other city in the country. But there’s a silver lining to it, at least for me. When the economy is good, hardly a month goes by when there isn’t a large industry conference or trade show held there, and that means opportunity for me.

I stopped walking and stood for a moment across Market from the main entrance and watched the activity across the street. A long line of taxis dropped off passengers. A steady stream of men and women in suits walked up the broad, white concrete steps and through the dozen or more glass doors. It reminded me of watching a nature film in grade school, one about worker bees and their hive. So much activity, so much rushing about, so many opportunities for me.

I turned and checked my reflection in the plate glass window of a travel agency. I certainly look the part of an honest conference attendee. I stand just a shade under six feet, and while I’m a bit thin, I have that healthy look that causes people to trust you.  A haircut before my trip home made my sandy blond hair shorter than I prefer, but the conservative look and my clean-shaven face make it easier to blend in. As always, my suit, with its secret pockets hidden by expert tailoring, looked great.

I checked the time on my wristwatch. It was a nice souvenir from an electronics trade show a few years back. Its original owner must have paid some big bucks for it. It isn’t really my style, a bit flashy, but it feels good on my wrist and does a good job of complementing my suit and supporting the image I try to convey. Unfortunately, I was going to have to hock the watch that evening if I wasn’t successful today. That’s just how desperate I was for money.

With my final checkout completed, I took a breath, dodged taxis and other traffic, crossed Market Street and joined the crowd at the conference center entrance. It was time for me to go to work.

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