“Well what kind of a uniform was it?”
“It was gray,” Random said.
“Go on.”
“It could have been a postman’s uniform,” Random said.
“Wasit?”
“I don’t know. Or a bus driver’s.”
“Well, which was it? A postman’s or a bus driver’s?”
“I don’t know. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t feeling too well that night, you understand. I was having a little trouble with my eyes, you understand. Focusing, you understand. So all I can remember is that it was a gray uniform, with a uniform cap and all.”
“It wasn’t a chauffeur’s uniform, was it?”
“No, sir, it was gray.Gray . Not black. No, not a chauffeur’s uniform.” Random paused. “But hewas working for somebody. I remember that. So I guess that would let out the post office, wouldn’t it? Unless he was talking about his foreman, that’s a possibility, isn’t it?”
“He mentioned his employer’s name?” Carella asked.
“Well, no, not exactly,” Random said. “Only indirectly.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he had to get to work or the deaf man would be angry. That’s what he said.”
“The who?” Carella asked. “Thedead man?”
“No, no, thedeaf man. Deaf. You know. Hard of hearing. Deaf. Of course, that may have been just an expression.”
“You’re sure that’s what he said?” Carella asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Anything else about this deaf man?”
“No, sir.”
“Or about where he was going to work?”
“No, sir. Not a word.”
“You’re sure you’re remembering this correctly, Mr. Random?” Hernandez asked.
“Of course I remember it,” Random said. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Well, you said you were a little out of focus.”
“Yes, but—”
“What you meant was that you’d had a little too much to drink, isn’t that right?” Hernandez asked.
“Well, yes, but—”
“What you meant was that you had a couple of sheets to the wind, isn’t that right?” Hernandez asked.
“That’s just an expression,” Carella said quickly.
“Wereyou kind of loaded, Mr. Random?”
“I suppose so,” Random said philosophically.
“But in spite of that, you do remember what happened?”
“I do, sir,” Random said.
“What do you think?” Hernandez asked.
Carella nodded. “I believe him.”
THE MAN WAS WEARINGa chauffeur’s uniform. He stood in the doorway of the haberdashery, and he looked around at the fedoras and derbies and caps and Homburgs, and he held his own hat in his hands and stared into the shop, waiting. One of the salesmen spotted him and walked over instantly.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “May I help you?”
“Mr. Lombardo, please?” the chauffeur said.
“Just a moment. He’s in the back. I’ll get him for you.”
The salesman went into the back of the store and returned a moment later with Mr. Lombardo, the owner. Lombardo wore a dark-gray suit and a beautiful white shirt with a gray foulard necktie. A cat’s-eye ring glistened on his pinky.
“Yes, sir?” he said to the chauffeur. “May I help you?”
“Mr. Lombardo?” the chauffeur said.
“Yes?” Mr. Lombardo frowned. Perhaps he already knew what was coming.
“The car’s waiting, sir,” the chauffeur said.
“You don’t say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Whatcar, may I ask?”
“The car you ordered, sir.” The chauffeur looked puzzled. “I’m from Carey Cadillac, sir.” He nodded his head, as if that simple statement explained everything.
“Carey Cadillac?” The chauffeur kept nodding.
“The car? It’s outside? Waiting?”
He nodded again, studied Lombardo’s scowl, and desperately plunged ahead. “You said twelve noon, sir, and its twelve noon now. So I’m ready and waiting, sir.” He tried a grin which evaporated the moment he saw Lombardo’s scowl deepen. Finally, completely routed, he returned to his original statement, delivering it with cold hauteur. “The car’s waiting, sir.”
“I didn’t order any car,” Lombardo said calmly.
“But you did, sir. James Lombardo, Lombardo’s Haberdashery, eight thirty-seven—”
“I did not order any automobile!” Lombardo said, his voice rising.
“It’s that lunatic again, Mr. Lombardo,” the salesman said.
“I know it!”
“Call the police, Mr. Lombardo,” the salesman advised. “This has gone too far. Those telephone threats and all these—”
“You’re right,” Lombardo said. “This has gone far enough.” And he started for the telephone.
“Hey, what about the car?” the chauffeur wanted to know.
“I didn’t order it,” Lombardo said, dialing. “Some madman has been trying to get me to vacate my store. This is just another one of his stunts.”
“Well, look—”
“I did not order it!” Lombardo shouted. Into the telephone, he said, “Operator? Get me the police.”
The chauffeur shrugged, stared at Lombardo for a moment, and then put on his cap and went out of the haberdashery. The black Cadillac was parked at the curb, but he didn’t go directly to it. Instead, he went to the plate-glass front of the store next door to the haberdashery. And, longingly, he studied the sapphires and rubies and emeralds and diamonds which were spread on black velvet in the window.
Sighing, he went back to the car and drove away.
7.
THE DEAF MAN AND RAFE had been sitting in the ferry-house waiting room for close to a half hour, watching the people who came and went, watching especially the number of policemen patrolling the docks or hanging around the waiting room, or coming on and off the ferry itself. A huge clock was at one end of the pale-green room, and the deaf man looked up at the clock occasionally, and occasionally he studied the ferry schedule in his hands. The inside of the schedule looked like this:
The deaf man studied the timetable, made a mental note and then walked to the nearest ticket booth.
“Good morning,” he said to the ticket seller in his gentle voice, smiling.
“Morning,” the ticket seller said, not looking up. The ticket seller seemed to be counting something. All ticket sellers always seem to be counting something no matter when you approach their windows. They are either counting money, or new tickets, or cancelled tickets, or stamps, or schedules, or sometimes they are counting their big toes, but they are always counting something, and they are always too busy with what they are counting to look up at you. This one was no exception. The deaf man was smiling his most powerful smile and talking in his most persuasively gentle voice, but the ticket seller went right on counting whatever it was he was counting, and he didn’t look up once during the entire conversation.
“Does your ferry carry trucks?” the deaf man asked.
“Depends on how big.”
“Well, I wasn’t thinking of a trailer truck,” the deaf man said, gently, his blue eyes twinkling.
“Well, what kind of a truckwere you thinking of?”
“An ice-cream truck.”
“Ice-cream truck, huh? You mean like Good Humor? Like that?”