Rubbed Out

I touched the door handle. It moved slightly, which was when I realized that the door wasn't completely closed.

I pushed the door open and went inside. Even from my position in the hallway, I could see something bad had happened. One of the chairs in the living room was on its side. So was the coffee table. Magazines and papers had been scattered all over the floor. There was a splatter mark on the wall where someone had thrown something. Shards from one of the mirrors on the wall lay on the floor.

The kitchen hadn't fared much better. The cupboard doors were hanging open. The floor and the counter were littered with cans and boxes. Smashed plates and glasses covered the floor and kitchen table. I spotted what looked like a smear of blood on the edge of the counter.

Then I noticed another one on the floor . . .

 

 

CHUTES AND ADDERS

 

TWISTER

 

IN PLAIN SIGHT

 

THE SCENT OF MURDER

 

VANISHING ACT

 

ENDANGERED SPECIES

 

BLOWING SMOKE

 

RUBBED OUT

 

 

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

KENSINGTON BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

I'd like to thank the following people for their help and assistance:

 

Dino Quarantiello for his coffee, without which I could not function, and his advice on gambling, which I'm sure will make it into my next book.

 

Charles Samuels for reading the book and pointing out my obvious errors.

 

Robert Strickland for his knowledge of materials and engineering and for propping me up when I really needed it.

 

My son, Lawrence Block, who is always my first and best reader.

 

I'd also like to especially thank my editor, John Scognamiglio, for his unwavering support and his suggestions, as well as for the freedom he's allowed me.

E
verything bad in my life that's ever happened to me has started with a phone call. This was no exception.

It had been a slow week at Noah's Ark. So slow that I'd closed up shop early on Tuesday evening and taken my dog Zsa Zsa downtown to listen to some jazz at the Shamrock. But the band hadn't shown up and I'd downed a couple of Scotches, eaten a handful of pretzels in lieu of dinner, shared a beer with Zsa Zsa, and come home instead.

It was a little after eleven when I walked into the kitchen. The message light on my answering machine was blinking. I unwrapped my scarf and kicked off my boots as I hit the play button. Calli's voice, frantic sounding, floated out into the room.

“Robin,” she said. “Where the hell are you? Lily's gone. Someone stole her out of the backyard. Call me as soon as you get in.”

That had been two days ago and we'd been searching for her with increasing desperation ever since.

Tiger Lily was my friend's three-year-old pregnant golden retriever bitch, her baby. I loved her too. Apologies to Zsa Zsa, my cocker spaniel, but goldens are my favorite breed. They are the true innocents of the world. With their goofy grins, they remind me of slightly dim-witted eighteen-month-old children dressed up in furry blond suits. Tiger Lily didn't have a mean bone in her body. She was sweet and trusting, the kind of dog who firmly believes that everyone in the universe adores her, and the thought of her alone, hurt, and afraid broke my heart.

I was hoping that someone had kidnapped her and was holding her for ransom, but when Calli didn't get a note it was clear that whoever had stolen her had something else in mind. Like keeping her and selling her puppies. Without papers the puppies would be worth a fraction of what they would be with them, one hundred dollars instead of eight, but maybe the someone who took them didn't know that. Or maybe they didn't care. Maybe they just needed a quick way to make a few bucks.

I could make a pretty good guess who that someone was, but Calli didn't want to hear about it. She didn't take bad news well in the best of times, and these weren't the best of times for her. She'd never been what you'd call tightly wrapped, but in the last couple of months the strings holding her together were fraying. On the other hand, not smoking wasn't bringing out the best in me either.

Friday turned out to be as slow as Tuesday had been at the store. If things kept up this way, I'd just make the month's expenses. I was cleaning out the gerbil cages when Calli called. Even before she told me her news, I could tell from the tone of her voice that she'd located Lily.

I reached into my jeans pocket for a cigarette and then remembered I wasn't doing that anymore and got out a piece of gum instead. I unwrapped the stick, folded it into thirds, and popped it in my mouth as Calli talked.

“She's chained up in back of this house on Fayette,” she said.

“How'd you find her?”

“Luck.” Calli took a deep breath and let it out.

“Luck?”

There was a brief pause; then Calli said, “What do you care how I found her? The important thing is that I did.”

“Have you called the cops?”

“And give the low-life scum who did it a chance to sneak out the back with Lily while the police are banging on the front? I don't think so. We might never find her again.”

“True.”

“Damned right it is.”

I snugged the phone under my chin while I filled the gerbils' food dish. They stood up on their hind legs waiting for me to finish.

“So what are you saying? Exactly.”

“You know what I'm saying.”

“No. I don't.”

“I'm saying we need to get my baby back. Now. It's not as if you haven't done this kind of thing before,” Calli said when I didn't answer.

“After all, what are friends for if you can't ask them to help you with a spot of robbery now and then?” I said as I put the cover back on the gerbil cage.

“I can ask Dirk when he comes back if you don't want to.”

“No. I'll help.” Anything Dirk touched turned bad.

“It'll be easy. All we have to do is pop in, grab Tiger Lily, and go.”

“It's never that simple.” This I did know.

“This will be. So when can you get here?”

I checked my watch. It was ten minutes after twelve. Manuel was due in the store in twenty minutes. It would take me about twenty-five minutes to get to Calli's, with a stop at my house to get what I needed. That should put us at the house a little before one.

Which would give us over an hour before the junior high students got out of school and started clogging the streets. Since most of the adults would probably be at work, not too many people would be around. I bit a nail while I thought. Eleven at night would be better, but this was doable. I told Calli I'd be by her house as soon as Manuel came, and then I called him on his cell and told him to hurry it up. He blew into Noah's Ark ten minutes later.

 

 

“God, this weather sucks,” Calli said as she scanned the street for a parking space. “I wish I was back in California.”

“What do you expect? It's February in Syracuse.”

“It's depressing.” And she waved her hand in the air to indicate that she was talking about the block as well as the weather.

She was right. Most of the houses on the street needed painting. Torn plastic sheets flapped over windows. Trash bags spilled their guts onto the snow.

“I feel as if we're living in a black-and-white movie,” Calli complained as she pulled the collar of her sheepskin jacket up and tucked her chin into it. Blue veins stood out on her forehead. “At least get the heater fixed in your car. If it's twenty degrees in here, it's a lot.” And she blew a couple of smoke rings to emphasize her point.

Which reminded me of what I wasn't doing. God, this not smoking thing was making me crazy. Even with the patch I felt as if I had ants crawling up and down my skin. I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the scrawl of graffiti on the lamppost. It didn't help. Maybe lollipops would work. Either that or a gun to the head.

“Maybe we should use yours,” I said.

“Yes, a Beamer would fit in so well.”

“Dare I suggest you could get something less conspicuous?”

“One of the only benefits about living in a place like this is that I can afford a BMW.”

“I suppose,” I said and turned my attention back to the road.

We'd had twenty-three consecutive days of snow and the stuff was piled everywhere. With cars parked on both sides, the street reminded me of one of those narrow, windy mountain roads in Spain where only one vehicle at a time can get through and the other one has to back up.

“I hope Lily's all right,” Calli said.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Calli's lower lip quivering.

“She'll be fine.”

“She better be.” A moment later she indicated a space right before the bus stop. “Pull in over there.”

“You're sure she's here?” I asked as I maneuvered the car around an overturned trash can. I could see it all now.
I'm sorry, your honor. My friend got the wrong house. We meant to rob the one next door.

Calli nodded.

“Positive?”

“Absolutely.”

“You gonna tell me how you found out?”

“No. And don't blame Dirk.”

“I wasn't going to.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Okay. I was.”