The Burglar Who Thought He Was Bogart - By Lawrence Block Page 0,28
chewing things, like books and electrical wiring. “Don’t worry,” I told Raffles. “We’re not getting one. Your job is safe.”
He gave me a look that suggested the issue had never been in doubt, and I crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it for him to chase. He was in mid-pounce when Carolyn came in. “Hi, Raffles,” she said. “How’s the training coming?”
“He’s doing fine,” I said. “This is just a tune-up session, to keep his mousing skills from getting rusty. You’re two hours early, incidentally.”
“I’m not early,” she said. “I’m instead of. I can’t do lunch today, I’ve got a dentist appointment.”
“You didn’t mention it.”
“I didn’t have it to mention,” she said, “until about an hour ago. I lost a filling during dinner last night. I think I must have swallowed it. The worst part is I can’t keep from checking it out, poking my tongue into the hole to make sure it’s still there. Would you look at it for me, Bern?”
“What for?”
“Tell me it’s not as huge as I think it is. I swear the hole’s bigger than most teeth. You could park cars in there, Bern. You could house the homeless.”
She came over and stuck her face into mine, gaping and pointing at a molar. “Erg-awrghghm,” she said.
“Come on,” I said. “How am I going to see anything in there? You need the right kind of lighting, and one of those little mirrors on the end of a stick. Anyway, I’m sure it’s fine.”
“It’s a lunar crater,” she said. “It’s the Grand Canyon. Fortunately, two hours from now it’ll be history. My dentist’s gonna fit me in during lunch hour.”
“That’s good.”
“Uh-huh.” She leaned a hip against the counter, sent an appraising glance my way. “So?”
“So what?”
“So how’d it go last night?”
“Well, the movies were pretty good,” I said. “The first one was made in 1937, and—”
“I’m not talking about the movies, Bern. How’d it go with Ilona?”
“Oh,” I said. “It went all right.”
“All right?”
“It went fine.”
She went on studying me, then broke into a smile that lit up her whole face.
“Cut it out,” I said.
“Cut what out? I didn’t say a word.”
“Well, neither did I, so what the hell are you grinning about?”
“Beats me. Where’d you wind up, Bern? Your place or hers?”
I stared at her, stubbornly silent, and she stared right back at me. “Hers,” I said finally.
“And?”
“And what? I had a good time, okay? You happy now?”
“I’m happy for you. She’s beautiful, Bern.”
“I know.”
“And obviously crazy about you.”
“I don’t know about that part,” I said. “And what makes you so sure of it? For that matter, how come you’re telling me she’s beautiful? Are you just feeding my own words back to me?”
She pursed her lips and whistled soundlessly, like Ilona blowing out cigarette smoke. “It was just the sheerest coincidence,” she said.
“What was? I don’t even know what you’re talking about, and already I don’t believe you.”
“I just happened to be in front of the Musette,” she said, “when the show let out last night.”
“You just happened to be there.”
“Everybody’s gotta be someplace, Bern.” Raffles had long since abandoned the paper I’d tossed him, and was now rubbing himself against Carolyn’s ankle, in the manner of his tribe. “Hey, look what he’s doing. Did you forget to feed him this morning, Bern?”
“He ate enough to glut a python,” I said. “Quit changing the subject. How did you happen to be there last night?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” she said. “Sue Grafton’s got a new book out, and I went up to Murder Ink to pick it up.”
“You went all the way up there for it?”
“Partners and Crime was sold out, and Three Lives didn’t have it in yet. So I hopped on the subway.”
“Murder Ink’s at Broadway and Ninety-second.”
“I know, Bern. I was just there last night.”
“That’s twenty-some blocks from the theater.”
“Well, I hadn’t had dinner.”
“So?”
“So I was headed downtown, looking for a restaurant, and nothing appealed to me. I finally settled for a coffee shop around Seventy-ninth Street. You know, I think we may have been overdoing it with ethnic foods lately. I sat in a booth and had a bacon cheeseburger and french fries and cole slaw and a piece of apple pie for dessert, and I drank two cups of ordinary American coffee with cream and sugar, and the whole meal struck me as wildly exotic.”
“And after your meal—”
“I felt stuffed, so I figured I’d walk a few blocks.”