'Don't let her in,' growled the Captain.
'Madame Kadinsky,' I said, smiling at her. 'Nice to see you. Do come in.'
She tapped my cheek. 'You promised to call me Zora, you naughty boy.' Then she was inside the room, moving with quick little steps. 'But you already have company.
The Captain Shink.'
'Shank,' he growled.
'I am interrupting somesing?' She laughed gaily.
'Not at all,' I told her. 'We're just having a glass of wine. Let me get you a glass.'
'Joshy,' she said, 'you are going to the party Saturday night?'
'I haven't been invited.'
Like Bramwell Shank, she said, 'You will be.' They both smiled.
'What's going on with you two?'
Zora put a hand to her cheek, rolled her eyes.
'He don't know,' Shank said.
'Tell me!' I burst out.
'Powerful Katrinka has her eye on you for Cleo,' the Captain said.
They departed soon after, and I went into the kitchen to make my omelette. I suppose I felt a kind of smirky pride; I am as vain as the next man. The whole thing was ridiculous, of course. Cleo Hufnagel seemed a pleasant, soft-spoken young woman. We smiled and exchanged greetings. But more was impossible. Cleo was at least five ten, and taller in heels.
But my thoughts kept returning to the Great Hufnagel Plot. When the knock came I knew at once who it was. It was Mrs Hufnagel bearing a plate covered with a paper napkin.
'Mrs Hufnagel! What a surprise! Won't you come in?'
' W e l l. . just for a minute. I don't want to disturb you.'
'Not at all,' I said. 'Would you like a cup of coffee?'
'No, nothing, thanks,' she said. 'We just finished dinner. My, that was a fine meal Cleo cooked. Swiss steak with mashed potatoes, fresh stringbeans, and the best gravy ever. Have you had your coffee yet?'
I said truthfully that I hadn't.
'Well, Cleo baked these chocolate chip cookies and we thought you might enjoy some with your coffee.'
'Mrs Hufnagel, you're too generous.'
'Try one,' she commanded.
Obediently I bit into a cookie.
'Delicious,' I said.
'Yes,' she said, sighing. 'That Cleo — so talented in the kitchen. She'll make some man a wonderful wife.'
'I'm sure she will,' I murmured. 'Would you like the 45
plate back now? I can put the cookies in a tin.'
'No rush,' she said. 'You can return it whenever you like. Actually, Mr Bigg, the cookies were just one of the reasons I came up. I also wanted to invite you to a party Cleo and I are having Saturday night.'
5
The Purple Cow smelled of spilled beer and cheap cigars, even at 11.30 a.m. The men at the bar hunched glowering over their drinks, awaiting the end of the world. I found Marty in the last booth on the left. He sat facing the door, fingers laced around a stein of beer. In the dim light he appeared to be about forty-five, skinny, with a pitted complexion and a pale, small moustache.
He watched me approach without interest. I stopped alongside his booth.
'Marty?' I said.
'Yeah?'
'I'm from Mr Leopold Tabatchnick.'
He showed his teeth. 'Who are you, the office boy?'
I slid into the booth opposite him.
'I am Mr Tabatchnick's executive assistant, acting on his behalf.'
'That's sweet,' he said.
'Could you tell me what this is all about?' I asked. 'You claim you — '
'Want a drink?' he interrupted.
'No,' I said. 'Thank you.'
'For what?' he said. 'I wasn't going to pay for it.'
'You claim you have information affecting the estate of the late Solomon Kipper. Is that correct?'
'I don't claim it. I got it.'
'Could you tell me the nature of this information?'
'You kidding? That's what I'm selling.'
I sighed and sat back.
'Then I'm afraid we've reached an impasse,' I said.
'Surely you don't expect us to make an offer for something we know nothing about.'
He leaned towards me across the table. He had very sour breath. His eyes seemed almost colourless, and I noticed the lobe of his left ear was missing. He was dressed in a tweed cap, green anorak, maroon shirt, and flowered pink tie. The parka was stained, there was a stubble of whitish beard, and his nails were rimmed with black. His voice was even more gluey than it had sounded on the phone.
'Listen, sonny,' he said, 'I ain't asking you to make an offer; I'm going to tell you how much I want. Second of all, I ain't telling you what I got because then I got nothing to sell. That makes sense, don't it? I'll tell you this much: what I got is going to upset the applecart. With what I got, the Kipper will ain't worth the paper it's printed on.'
'And how much are you asking for this information?'
'Fifty thousand,' he said promptly. 'Take it or leave it.'
I think I succeeded in hiding my shock.
'That's a great deal of money,' I said slowly.
'Nah,' he said, 'it's peanuts. How much is that estate — four mil? Five mil? It's worth fifty grand to make sure it goes to the right people, ain't it?'
' Well. . ' I said, 'I'll certainly bring this to Mr Tabatchnick's attention the moment I get back to the office.'
'Don't jerk me around, sonny,' he said. 'I got another hot customer for this property. I'm meeting with them later today. First come, first served.'
'I'll contact you as soon as Mr Tabatchnick comes to a decision,' I said. 'Would you mind giving me your full name? You can't expect us to make a payment of that size to someone we know only as Marty.'
He thought that over, squinching his eyes and wrinkling his nose.
'I guess it won't do no harm,' he said. 'It's Reape. R-e-a-p-e. Marty Reape. As in "Rook before you Reape" — right? You can reach me at that number I gave you. I'll be in late this afternoon.'
I nodded and slid out of the booth. 'Nice meeting you, Mr Reape.'
'Yeah.' He showed no intention of leaving with me.
That this was a ploy to avoid being followed was obvious, but he underrated my professionalism.
Outside I turned west, crossed Ninth, and immediately chose a doorway for the stakeout. Then I settled down to wait, hands in my pockets. I stamped my feet occasionally to keep them from becoming lumps. Now and then I took my hands from my pockets to hold my ears. He came out finally, stood at the kerb, zipping up his parka and looking around. Then he turned and started walking east towards Times Square.
He was on the south side of West 46th Street. I stayed on the north side, well back of him. The sidewalk was filling up with people rushing to get a lunch table at one of the restaurants that lined the street, so Marty Reape moved slowly. Even in the crowd the cap and anorak were easy to spot. If he suspected he might be followed, he certainly gave no indication of it; never once looked over his shoulder or glanced in a store window to catch a reflection.
I tailed him to a few doors east of Eighth on 49th, where he turned into a building next to a porn movie house that was showing 'Teenage Honey Pot.' When he'd had time to clear the lobby I trotted across the street and ducked in.
There was a directory on the greasy marble wall.
MARTIN REAPE: PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS.
I practically ran back to the office to give Mr Tabatchnick my report, but Thelma Potts said he was at lunch and that she would buzz me when he returned.
I had a cheeseburger and a container of milk sent in and ate at my desk while I typed a report of my meeting with Martin Reape. I put it away in the Kipper file and then I called Mr Teitelbaum's office. He never went out to lunch; he had a cup of tea and two graham crackers at his desk. I told him I'd like to meet and question the Stonehouse family and I thought it would go a lot easier if he called first and set up the appointment for a time when all the family and the servants would be present.