“Oh, you want to play this one cool, huh, Wallach? Is that it?”
“It’s just the name don’t seem to ring a bell.”
“It doesn’t, huh? Blanche Lettiger. You share an apartment with her on Culver and North Twelfth, apartment 6-B, rented under the name of Frank Wallace, and you’ve been living there with her for the past year and a half. Does the name ring a bell now, Wallach?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wallach said.
“Maybe he’s the guy who plugged her, Steve.”
“I’m beginning to think so.”
“What do you mean?” Wallach asked, unruffled.
“Why the dodge, Wallach? You think we’re interested in a crummy pimp like you?”
“I’m not that,” Wallach said with dignity.
“No? What do you call it?”
“Not what you said.”
“Oh, how sweet,” Meyer said. “He doesn’t want to spoil his dainty little lips by saying the word pimp. Look, Wallach, don’t make this hard for us. You want us to throw the book, we’ve got it, and we know how to throw it. Make it easy for yourself. We’re only interested in knowing about the woman.”
“What woman?”
“You son of a bitch, she was shot down in cold blood last night. What the hell are you, a human being or what?”
“I don’t know any woman who was shot down in cold blood last night,” Wallach insisted. “You’re not going to get me involved in a goddamn homicide. I know you guys too good. You’re looking for a patsy, and it ain’t going to be me.”
“We weren’t looking for a patsy,” Carella said, “but now that you mention it, it’s not a bad idea. What do you think, Meyer?”
“Why not?” Meyer said. “He’s as good as anybody to pin it on. Take the heat off us.”
“Where were you last night, Wallach?”
“What time last night?” Wallach answered, still calm, still puffing gently on his cigar.
“The time the woman was killed.”
“I don’t know what time any woman was killed.”
“About five-thirty. Where were you?”
“Having dinner.”
“So early?”
“I eat early.”
“Where?”
“The Rambler.”
“Where’s that?”
“Downtown.”
“Downtown where? Look, Wallach, if you force us to pull teeth, we know some better ways of doing it.”
“Sure, get out your rubber hose,” Wallach said calmly.
“Meyer,” Carella said calmly, “get the rubber hose.”
Calmly Meyer walked to a desk on the far side of the room, opened the top drawer, took out a two-foot length of rubber hose, smacked it against his palm, and then walked back to where Wallach was watching him calmly.
“This what you mean, Wallach?”
“You think you’re surprising me or something?” Wallach asked.
“Who’d you eat with?” Carella said.
“Alone.”
“We don’t need the hose, Meyer. He just cooked his own goose.”
“That’s what you think, buddy. The waiter’ll remember me.”
“Well, that depends on how much we lean on the waiter, doesn’t it?” Carella said. “We’re looking for a patsy, remember? You think we’re going to let a lousy waiter stand in our way?”
“He’ll say I was there,” Wallach said, but his voice was beginning to lack conviction.
“Well, I certainly hope so,” Carella said. “But in the meantime, we’re going to book you for homicide, Wallach. We won’t mention the fact that you’re a pimp, of course. We’ll save that for the trial. It might impress the hell out of a jury.”
“Listen,” Wallach said.
“Yeah?”
“What do you want from me? I didn’t kill her, and you know it.”
“Then who did?”
“How the hell do I know?”
“You know the woman?”
“Of course I know her. Come on, willya?”
“You said you didn’t.”
“I was kidding around. How did I know you guys were so serious? What’s everybody getting so excited about?”
“How long have you known her?”
“About two years.”
“Was she a prostitute when you met her?”
“You getting me involved again? I don’t know what she worked at. My means of earning a living is investment. I lived with her, that’s all. What she done or didn’t do was her business.”
“You didn’t know she was a hooker, huh?”
“No.”
“Wallach,” Carella said, “we’re going to take you down and book you for homicide. Because you’re lying, you see, and that’s very suspicious. So unless we come up with somebody who looks better than you for the rap, you’re it. Now, do you want to be it, Wallach? Or do you want to start telling the truth, so we’ll know you’re an upstanding citizen who only happens to be a pimp? What do you say, Wallach?”
Wallach was silent for a long time. Then he said, “She was a hooker when I met her.”
“Two years ago?”
“Two years ago.”
“When did you see her last?”
“I was out night before last. I didn’t go back to the pad at all yesterday. I didn’t see her all day.”
“What time did you leave the apartment the night before?”
“Around eight.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Uptown. Riverhead.”
“To do what?”
Wallach sighed. “There was a crap game, all right?”
“Was Blanche in the apartment when you left?”
“Yeah.”
“Did she say anything to you?”
“No. She was in the other room with a John.”
“You brought him to her?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Wallach said, and put his cigar in the ashtray. “I’m playing ball with you, okay?”
“You’re playing ball fine, Wallach. Tell us about Blanche.”
“What do you want to know?”
“How old was she?”
“She said she was thirty-five, but she was really forty-one.”
“What’s her background? Where’s she from?”
“The Middle West someplace. Oklahoma, Iowa, I don’t know. One of those hick joints.”
“When did she come here?”
“Years ago.”
“When, Wallach?”
“Before the war. I don’t know the exact date. Listen, if you want her life history, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I didn’t know her that good.”
“Why’d she come here?”
“To go to school.”
“What kind of school?”
“College, what do you think?”
“Where?”
“Ramsey University.”
“How long did she stay there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she graduate?”
“I don’t know.”
“How’d she get to be a hooker?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are her parents living?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was she married, divorced, would you know?”
“No.”
“What the hell do you know, Wallach?”
“I know she was a broad who was over the hill, and I was taking care of her practically as a charity case, okay? I know she was a goddamn lush, and a pain in the ass, and the best thing that coulda happened to her was to get shot in the head, which is what she got, okay? That’s what I know.”
“You’re a nice guy, Wallach.”
“Thanks, I’m crazy about you, too. What do you want from me? She’da died in the streets a year ago if I hadn’t given her a place to stay. I done an act of kindness.”
“Sure.”
“Yeah, sure. What do you think, she made me a millionaire? Who the hell wanted to bang something looked like her? I used to bring her the dregs, that’s all. She’s lucky she made enough for room and board. Half the time, she never gave me a cent. She had the dough spent on booze before I reached her, and the booze would be gone, too. You think it was a picnic? Try it sometime.”