I laughed.
“Now kiss me good-bye. That’s right. Now get the hell out of here before I start bawling, because this whole scene is so touching I can’t take it. Did you know I can cry on cue? It’s a valuable talent. Good-bye, Ed. And be careful. And call me. And...”
I kissed her again. Her lips were very soft, and when I kissed her she closed her eyes. Then I left her there and went out into the night.
On the way home the streets were almost empty. I took Eighth Avenue uptown to Columbus Circle where it turned into Central Park West, then angled the Chevy through the park and came out at Fifth and 67th. The ride through the park got to me — I remembered another trip the night before when I had a passenger in the car. A dead one.
I drove straight to the garage and got set for a session of playing straight man to the kid with the acne. It turned out to be his night off, which was wonderful. The guy taking over for him was a nautical type with a lantern jaw and tattooed forearms. One of the tattoos was a naked girl with impossible breasts; another I noticed was an anchor with ‘Mother’ etched across it. He was long and stringy and short of speech and I couldn’t have been happier. I gave him the Chevy and walked home.
It was maybe two-thirty. The air was clear and it had a chill to it. My footsteps were hollow against the backdrop of a silent night. A taxi took a corner and its tires squealed. I looked around and made sure nobody was following me. It was a good thing. My building was solidly built, but too many holes in the wall could weaken it.
The brownstone waited for me. I unlocked the outer door and took the stairs two at a time. I stopped in front of my door, stuffed tobacco into a pipe and lit it. Then I stuck my key in the lock and opened the door.
I flicked on the light and saw him. He was sitting in my chair smoking a cigarette. He was neither smiling nor frowning. He looked nervous.
“Please close the door,” he said. “And please sit down, Mr. London. I have to talk with you.”
He was holding a small pistol in his left hand. It was not aimed at me. He held it almost apologetically, as if to say that he was sorry he had to hold a gun on me and he’d at least be enough of a gentleman to point it I somewhere else.
I closed the door and moved into the center of the living room. He gestured with the gun, indicating a chair, and I sat in it.
“I’m very sorry about this,” he said. “I really wanted to find the briefcase in your apartment and be gone before you returned. Wishful thinking, I fear. A very thorough search revealed only that your taste in music and in literature is not coincident with mine. You prefer chamber music while I tend to favor crashing orchestral pieces. But the furnishings here are marvelous, simply marvelous. This rug is a Bokhara, isn’t it?”
I nodded at him. He was a very small and very neat man. He wore black Italian loafers of pebble-grain leather with pointed toes. His suit was lamp-black, continental cut. His tie was a very proper foulard and his shirt was crisply white. There was something indefinably foreign about him. His eyes had a vaguely oriental cast and his complexion was dark, close to olive. I couldn’t pin down his accent but he had one. His head and face were round, his hair jet black and he was going bald in front. This made his face even rounder.
“We’re both reasonable men,” he said. “Rational individuals. I’m sure you realize I wouldn’t have broken in if I could have avoided it. I did use a device which opened your lock without damaging it.”
“Thanks.”
He almost smiled. “You resent me, don’t you? It’s easy to understand. But I hope to conquer your resentment. Since we’ll be doing business together, Mr. London...”
He let the sentence trail off. “You’re way ahead of me,” I said. “You know my name.”
“You may call me Peter Armin. It will be meaningless to you, but it’s as good a name as any.”
I didn’t say anything.
“To return to the subject,” he said. “The briefcase. It’s really no good to you and I’m prepared to pay very well for it. A simple business transaction. I have a use for it and you do not. That’s a natural foundation for economic cooperation, don’t you think?”
Then the missing item was a briefcase. I wondered what was in it.
I said: “You’re not the only one who wants it.”
“Of course not. If I were, you’d sell it to me for next to nothing. But I’ll pay handsomely for it. Five thousand dollars.”
“No sale.”
He shrugged. I caught a whiff of his cigarette. It smelled like Turkish or Egyptian tobacco. “I don’t blame you,” he said. “I was being cheap and that’s indecent. The briefcase is worth ten thousand dollars to me. I cannot afford to pay more and wouldn’t if I could. That’s my offer. Is it a good one?”
“Probably. What if I say I don’t have the briefcase?”
“I don’t think I would believe you.”
“Why not?”
His smile spread. “It’s hardly logical. After all, Mr. Bannister doesn’t have the briefcase. I’m certain of that. And I’m very glad of it as well. He’s an unpleasant man, Mr. Bannister is. Uncouth and uncultured. Boorish. You wouldn’t like him at all, Mr. London. You may dislike me, but you’d detest Mr. Bannister.”
I looked at the gun in his left hand. It was a Beretta. A .22-calibre gun. I wondered if he killed Sheila with it.
“Bannister doesn’t have it,” Armin went on. “He wants it but he doesn’t have it. And I doubt that he’d be willing to pay as much for it as I am. He’d probably try to take it away from you by force. A crude man. So you should sell it to me, you see.”
“Suppose I don’t have it?”
“But you must. You were at the girl’s apartment. So was the briefcase. It’s not there now because you have it. It follows.”
“Like night follows day. Suppose someone else was at her place?”
He shrugged again. His face was very sad now. “I was there,” he said. “Really, I’m in a position to know that I don’t have the thing. If I had it I wouldn’t be here, much as I enjoy your company. And Mr. Bannister was at the girl’s apartment. But he doesn’t have it either. That leaves you.”
“Eeny meeny miny moe?”
“More or less. Really, there’s no reason for you to deny that you have the case. It’s no use whatsoever to you, whereas no man lives who can’t find a use for ten thousand dollars. And I need the case very badly. Desperately, you might say. Can’t we do business?”
I relit my pipe and looked at Armin. I wondered who and what the hell he was. French or Greek or Italian or Spanish or Cuban. I couldn’t place the accent.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ve got the briefcase. So what’s in it?”
He stroked his chin. “If you have the case and know what’s inside,” he said, “it would be a waste of time to tell you. If you have the case and do not understand the significance of the contents, it would be foolish to tell you. And there must be a chance in a thousand that you are telling the truth, that you do not have the case. Why in the world should I tell you?”
“Who’s Bannister? Who are you?”
He smiled.
“Who killed the girl? Why was she killed?”
He didn’t answer.
“Who shot at me?”
He shrugged.
I let out a sigh. “You’re wasting your time,” I told him. “And mine. I don’t have the case.”
“Then it’s not for sale?”
“Take it any way you want it. I don’t have the briefcase and it’s not for sale.”
His sigh was very unhappy. He got to his feet, still holding the gun loosely in his hand. “If you want more money, I really can’t help you. Ten thousand is my top price. I erred in offering five thousand first. I’m not generally that type of businessman. I quote one price and it is a firm price.” He managed a shrug. “Perhaps you’ll reconsider while there’s still time. You may call me any hour, day or night. Let me give you my card.”