“Well, use whatever you can. Take the title to my van.” Jones shook his head. “Ben … listen to me. This is a mistake. A big mistake.”
“You’re probably right. But it’s already done. I’ve taken the case.” He turned and started toward the door, then stopped. “Jones, I want you to know—” He paused. “I think we’re doing the right thing here. Not the smart thing. Certainly not the safe thing. But the right thing. I think.”
He continued to pummel Harvey’s body with the hammer. After sixty or seventy strokes, Harvey at last expired, which must have been a great relief to Harvey, under the circumstances.
The man wiped the hammer clean in the sink, dried it, then returned it to its pocket in the inside lining of his coat. He put away his gun, then walked around the room, wiping his prints off everything he had touched. Finally, he washed off in the sink and put his clothes back on.
He had not learned what he wanted to know. Harvey had told him nothing. But he was now convinced that Harvey knew nothing. At first he thought it possible Harvey might be lying, but after the fifth or sixth swing of the hammer, to his other leg, his groin, his jaw, it just wasn’t possible anymore. If he had known anything, he would have talked.
Harvey didn’t know where the merchandise was. Which, sadly enough, was what Harvey had tried to tell him from the outset.
Well, if at first you don’t succeed …
He walked downstairs, wondering which of the remaining three he would tackle first. It was tough, having to go about this business in such a random, hit-and-miss manner. But there was nothing for it. He would simply have to work his way down the list until he found what he wanted. Who he wanted.
He stepped outside, closing the door behind him. It was a glorious night. The moon was holding water, the stars were twinkling, and all was right in the universe.
All except for one thing, that was. One niggling detail.
He pushed his hands into his coat pockets and started across the street. He thought about the others, the three people who would be receiving visits from him in the near future. He smiled slightly as their faces came up in his mind’s eye, one after the other.
Bang-bang, he thought. You’re dead.
Chapter 4
AFTER HE LEFT WORK, Ben hopped into his van and headed homeward. He knew perfectly well there was nothing edible in his cupboard but cat food, so he made a stop at Ri Le’s and grabbed some takeout—cashew chicken and lumpia dogs, his favorite. Ten minutes later he was outside his boarding house just north of the university. He parked on the street and headed inside. His mood was quiet, subdued. He had a lot on his mind.
Before he mounted the stairs to his apartment, he decided to stop in and visit Mrs. Marmelstein. She had been Ben’s landlady when he first moved into this building. Technically, she still was, although since Alzheimer’s set in, she had been a landlady in name only. Ben handled all the administrative duties attendant to keeping the house running—paying the bills, arguing with repairmen, and occasionally supplementing the always-wanting petty-cash drawer.
He rapped on the door. There was no answer. He cracked the door open slightly and poked his head in. “Mrs. Marmelstein?”
She was sitting in her favorite easy chair, watching television. The volume was turned up much too loud. She had obviously dressed herself: her socks didn’t match; her blouse was reversed.
He walked to the television and turned it down. “Mrs. Marmelstein?”
Her eyes fluttered away from the TV set. “Paulie?”
Ben frowned. Her eyesight had been failing of late as well. But who was Paulie? “It’s Ben, Mrs. Marmelstein.”
“Oh, of course! Benjamin!” She pressed her hands together. Ben was pleased to see she still recognized him—and relieved. “Are you staying for dinner?”
“Nah. Tonight’s Joni’s night. I just stepped in to say hi.” He winked. “Check on my favorite girl.” Mrs. Marmelstein had been a bit dotty since the day he’d met her, but the Alzheimer’s became progressively worse with time. Unfortunately, about six months ago, she had broken her hip. Since then, she’d been all but infirm. She had no living family of which they were aware, so Ben and Christina and Joni and Jami Singleton, two other residents of the boarding house, took turns looking after her. “Everything okay?”
Her eyes drifted back toward the television. “Well enough, I suppose. I do like that Diagnosis Murder. But I can’t believe what Dick Van Dyke’s done to his hair.”
“What’s that?”
“He dyed it! Dyed it blond. Can you believe it? At his age.”
Ben glanced at the television. “Mrs. Marmelstein, I don’t think his hair is dyed. It’s just turned gray.”
She blinked. “Gray?”
“Yeah. With age. Like—” He stopped himself. Mrs. Marmelstein’s hair was currently a sort of bluish pink, courtesy of Hair Revue on Sixty-first.
Mrs. Marmelstein adjusted the lay of her blouse. “Well, it doesn’t look good on him. Whatever it is. Have you been keeping an eye on my investments, Benjamin?”
“I certainly have.” It was easy, since there was only one. This house.
“I’m glad to hear it. I depend on you. You know, that last oil well of mine was one of the biggest producers in the state of Oklahoma. Making money hand over fist.”
Ben sighed. Mrs. Marmelstein hadn’t owned any interests in oil wells since before her husband died, which was a good long time ago. They had made a bundle during the oil boom—but lost most of it in the crash.
“I’m keeping a careful eye on things, Mrs. Marmelstein. Nothing slips past me.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Don’t think what you do goes unappreciated, Benjamin. You’ll be well provided for when I’m … well, when the time comes.”
Ben wondered what that meant. Probably she was planning to leave him her salt-and-pepper-shaker collection or something.
Her rather weary eyes drifted back toward the television. Ben could see he was coming between her and Dick Van Dyke. “Well, I’ll be on my way. Joni should be here any minute.”
She nodded. “Oh, Benjamin. Are you still seeing that redheaded girl?”
“You mean Christina? She’s my friend, Mrs. Marmelstein. And coworker. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t bat an eye. “You know, Benjamin, it’s hard for an old gal like me to admit it, but … I think possibly my first impression of her was … mistaken. True, she doesn’t act the way I was brought up believing girls should behave but … she’s not as bad as I thought.”
Ben marveled. Coming from her, this was the equivalent of blessing the marriage. “ ‘Night, Mrs. Marmelstein.”
“ "Night, Benjamin. Oh, would you please turn the sound on the TV back up? I hate it when they start whispering.”
When Ben popped open the door to his apartment, there was a surprise waiting for him.
“ "Bout time you got home. Man, you shysters keep long hours.”
Draped across his sofa, staring at a football game on the television, was Ben’s former brother-in-law, Mike Morelli. On the coffee table next to Mike was a large pepperoni pizza. Two beers were chilling in cozies.
“Took the liberty of ordering dinner,” Mike said. “I knew you wouldn’t have anything here.”
Ben bent down and quietly slid his takeout bag out of sight behind a chair. “Great. I’m starved.”
“Me too. It took some kind of restraint to wait till you got home, lemme tell you.”
Ben snatched a slice. “You shouldn’t’ve waited.”
“Aw, well. I hate to eat alone.”
“By the way, how did you get into my apartment without a key?”
“Hey, I’m a cop. I can get in anywhere.” Mike picked up the remote and shut off the boob tube. “So tell me about your big day.”