“Dammit, Carolyn.”
“I’m sorry. You know what happened to you, don’t you?”
“I think so.”
“All those movies.”
“That’s what I was going to say.”
“You watched Bogart do the noble self-sacrificing thing one time too many, and when the opportunity came your way, you didn’t have a prayer. Poor Bernie. Everybody made something out of this business but you. Ray was the big winner. What did he wind up with, forty-eight grand?”
“He had to spread that around a little. The official story now is that Candlemas killed Hoberman, then went down to the Lower East Side to cop some dope.”
“Right, he was your typical junkie.”
“And got shot when the deal went sour. I would guess somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five thousand dollars’ll wind up in Ray’s pocket.”
“And of course he insisted you take some of the money.”
“It must have slipped his mind.”
“Not fair, Bern. After all, you solved the whole case. He just stood there.”
“He doesn’t just stand. He looms.”
“Good for him. He gets the money, Ilona and the king get the stamps, and the three mouseketeers get the bearer shares and go chasing after the lost treasure of Anatruria. And what about you? You didn’t even get laid.”
“Maybe that was dumb, too,” I said. “But all she’s going to be for me is a memory, and I didn’t have to repeat the experience to be sure I’d remember it. I’m in no danger of forgetting.”
“No.”
I picked up my drink, held it to the light. “Anyway,” I said, “it’s not as though I wind up empty-handed.”
“How do you figure that, Bern?”
“I got the bone woodchuck from Candlemas’s apartment, remember?”
“Wow, Bern.”
“And when I stopped by Charlie Weeks’s place, the stamps weren’t all I swiped. I got the mouse carving Hoberman gave him.”
“Gee, you can just about retire when you sell those two little beauties, can’t you?”
“No, I think I’ll hang on to them as souvenirs. My real profit comes tomorrow night.”
“What happens tomorrow night?”
“A man named Sung-Yun Lee goes to see The Chink in the Armoire.”
“Is that a show?”
“On Broadway, at the Helen Hayes. Very hot ticket. I got a pair from a scalper and it cost me perilously close to two hundred bucks.”
“All in the interests of getting him out of the house,” she guessed. “But who the hell is he, and what house do you want to get him out of? Oh, wait a minute. The people downstairs from Candlemas, but I forget their names.”
“The Lehrmans.”
“And he’s in their place on an exchange program. Right?”
I nodded. “And they’ll be gone for another month, and their place is absolutely overflowing with good stuff, and you couldn’t ask for a better setup. The security is nothing, the locks are child’s play, and the guy who’s living there won’t have a clue that anything’s missing, because it’s not his stuff. He’ll go on being careful not to look in their closets or poke around in their drawers, and everything I take will be converted into cash long before they’re even back in the country.”
I went on, telling her about some of the items I’d noticed on my brief passage through the Lehrman apartment. When I stopped she said, “I’ll tell you something, Bern. I’m relieved.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re your old self again. Bogart’s great on the screen, but all that Noble Loser stuff is no way to go through life. I’m glad you’re getting ready to steal something. It’s tough on the Lehrmans-”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re insured.”
“Even if they’re not, I’m happy for you.” She frowned. “That’s tomorrow, right? Not tonight?”
“No, why? Oh.” I brandished my glass. “No, it’s tomorrow. You know I don’t drink when I’m working.”
“That’s what I was wondering.”
“Anyway,” I said, “I’ve got something else planned for tonight. In fact, you might want to come along, but we’ll have to go straight from here.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m about halfway into the new Sue Grafton and I’m kind of anxious to get back to it. It’s really something.”
“Well, you always like her work.”
“One of the things I like is she never repeats herself, and this one’s kind of shocking.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “Sadism and perversion,” she said. “Roman orgies, incest. Toga parties. I’ve got to tell you, it’s a whole lot kinkier than what Kinsey usually gets herself mixed up in.”
“Gee, maybe you were right about Kinsey.”
“I know I’m right, but she doesn’t do anything wild herself. Everybody else does, though.”
“What’s it called, anyway?”
“‘I’ Is for Claudius.”
“Catchy,” I said. “But you can stay home and read anytime. Come on and keep me company.”
“Where, Bern?”
“A movie.”
“The Bogart festival’s over, Bernie. Isn’t it?”
“Over and done with. But down at the Sardonique in Tribeca they’re starting an Ida Lupino film festival.”
“ Bern, I got a question. Who cares?”
“What have you got against Ida Lupino?”
“Nothing, but I never knew you were such a big fan. What’s the big deal about Ida Lupino?”
“I always liked her,” I said. “But tonight’s movies are kind of special. They Drive by Night and High Sierra.”
“I’m sure they’re both terrific, but…wait a minute, Bern. I know High Sierra. It’s not an Ida Lupino movie.”
“It most certainly is.”
“She may be in it, but that doesn’t make it her movie. It’s a Humphrey Bogart movie. He’s trapped on a mountain peak with a rifle, and they kill him.”
“Why’d you have to ruin the ending for me?”
“Come on, Bern, you know the ending. You’ve seen the movie.”
“Not recently.”
“What’s the other one? They Drive by Night? Who’s in that, if you don’t mind my asking? Besides Ida Lupino.”
“George Raft,” I said. “And I think Ann Sheridan.”
“And?”
“And Bogart. He plays a one-armed truck driver. They showed High Sierra at the Musette, but on a night I couldn’t go. I was stuck at that auction. And They Drive by Night never played the Musette.”
“Maybe for a good reason.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “I’m sure it’s great. What do you say? Do you want to go? I’ll buy the popcorn.”
“Oh, what the hell,” she said. “But one thing, Bern. Can we get one thing straight?”
“What’s that?”
“This is entertainment,” she said. “These are not training films. Is that understood?”
“Of course.”
“Good,” she said. “Don’t forget, sweetheart.”
Acknowledgments
The author is pleased to acknowledge the contributions of the Ragdale Foundation, in Lake Forest, Illinois, where some of the preliminary work on this book was done, and of the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, in Sweet Briar, Virginia, where it was written.
About the Author
A Mystery Writers of America Grand Master, LAWRENCE BLOCK is a four-time winner of the Edgar® and Shamus awards, as well as a recipient of prizes in France, Germany, and Japan. He also received the British Crime Writers’ Association’s prestigious Cartier Diamond Dagger for lifetime achievement in crime writing. The author of more than fifty books and numerous short stories, he is a devout New Yorker and enthusiastic world traveler. Readers can visit his website at www.lawrenceblock.com.
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