Stuffed (28 page)
A dull amber light spread from under a door at the top of the stairs. Surveying his location, Nicholas reasoned the door probably opened to the building’s ground floor, under the Fritz Lang staircase. He paused and listened: just creaking, several floors above.
The door was secured with an eyehook latch on the outside. A credit card flipped it. Nicholas pushed the door open an inch and peeked through. Then he grinned.
He exited the cellar with a whistle on his lips, a song in his heart, and a roach on his lapel. He jettisoned the latter, maintained the former.
Emerging from the vestibule onto the stoop in front of Bagby’s building, Nicholas found himself confronted by a cop leaning on her patrol car. One upstairs, the partner downstairs. Crap. Ditching any sign of alarm, he innocently pretended to search the heavens for clearing skies, meanwhile whistling tunelessly.
The cop watched him walk down the steps, smile, say “h’lo,” and turn toward the flow of pink bags at Canal Street.
“Sir . . .”
Nicholas kept whistling, walking. Just a gent out for a stroll.
“Sir. Hey, you. Mister, stop.” He heard the sound of her holster unsnapping.
Damn snap. An unmistakable cue that he had to turn. Gun leaves the holster, a cop stops listening and starts cuffing. No talking your way out then.
Nicholas turned. Eyebrows raised, he displayed a helpful smile for the nice police lady.
She approached, her hips’ sway made huge and duck-like by the citation binder, flashlight, handcuffs, and radio stuffed in her trousers.
“Yes, officer?” It seemed to echo in his head. He flashed his most charming smile.
“Where you comin’ from?” She sniffed, chewing hard on her gum, looking him up and down. Her eyes settled on his face, and she didn’t return the smile. But she put a hand up to check her hair just the same.
“Me?” He let slip a sly grin, as though she were approaching him in a bar.
“Yeah.” She considered him sidelong, eyes guarded. “You.”
He sighed. Sometimes Nicholas’s charms betrayed him.
It was the beginning of a long night that would turn into a longer day.
About the Author
Brian M. Wiprud
Home:
New York City
Age:
Wears red tennis shoes
Physical Description:
Diabolical
Profession:
Mystery Author, Outdoor Writer, and Photographer
Publisher:
Bantam Dell
Agency:
Trident Media Group
Latest Accomplishments:
*2002 Lefty Award for Most Humorous Novel
*2003 Barry Award Nominee for Best Paperback Original
*2004 Independent Mystery BooksellersAssociation Bestseller
Favorite Books:
I, Squid,
Chuck Flink
Tubing Badgers for Fun and Profit,
Bubbles Tenzer
Favorite Movies:
Bowanga! Bowanga! Eegah!
Favorite Albums:
Arrrg!
Johnny Neanderthal and the Cave Dwellers
Hobby:
Cutting-Edge Top-Secret Devices
Favorite Lines:
“What a gorgeous day. What effulgent sunshine. It was a day of this sort the McGillicuddy brothers murdered their mother with an axe.” W.C. Fields.
Favorite Scotch:
Bourbon
Also by Brian M. Wiprud
PIPSQUEAK
STUFFED
A Dell Book / June 2005
Published by
Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2005 by Brian M. Wiprud
Dell is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-440-33545-0
v3.0
