The Burglar Who Traded Ted Williams - By Lawrence Block Page 0,76

learned it ourselves, is he lived right there in the building. What you also don’t know, on account of we been holdin’ it back, is he was burglarizin’ the place.”

“Is that right?”

“Well, somebody was,” he said, “an’ it sure as shit wasn’t me. Was it you, Bernie?”

“Ray—”

“Drawers pulled out an’ overturned in the master bedroom. A couple of pieces of jewelry in the tub with him. A bullet hole in the guy’s forehead, an’ no gun to be found anywhere in the apartment. What’s it sound like to you, Bernie?”

“Foul play,” I suggested.

“He was no straight arrow, this Santangelo. We got a sheet on him. Mostly drug stuff, but people change, right? Say he’s upstairs knockin’ off the apartment. Say you’re Nugent.”

“Come again?”

“Nugent, the guy who lives there. You’re Nugent an’ you come home, an’ there’s this spic or guinea, whatever he is, helpin’ hisself to a fistful of bracelets an’ earrings. So you grab your gun an’ blow him away, which is your right in a free country, him bein’ a burglar an’ all. What’s the matter, Bernie, did I say something?”

“I get nervous when people talk about blowing away burglars.”

“I can see where you would. Anyway, here’s my question. Say you’re a burglar.”

“You’ve been saying that for years, Ray.”

“Say you’re a burglar, an’ you’re knockin’ off this apartment. Why would you take off your clothes?”

“Huh?”

“He was bareass naked. Didn’t that make the news?” I couldn’t remember if it had or not. “Naked and dead as the day he was born,” he said, “an’ I heard of women who do their housecleanin’ in the nude, an’ I heard of burglars leavin’ all kinds of disgustin’ souvenirs behind, but did you ever hear of one took all his clothes off before he started huntin’ for the valuables?”

“Never.”

“Me neither. I can’t picture him climbin’ two flights of stairs in the buff, either, or ridin’ in the elevator that way. But what did he do with his clothes? He wasn’t wearin’ ’em, an’ they weren’t in a pile, so what did he do, fold ’em up an’ put ’em in the drawers? If you’re Nugent an’ you shoot the guy, why do you run off with his clothes?”

“If I’m Nugent,” Carolyn said, “and I kill him, which I would never do myself because I’m basically nonviolent—”

“Good for you, Carolyn.”

“—I pick up the phone and call the police. ‘I just defended my home,’ I say, ‘so will you please send somebody over to get this stiff out of here.’ That’s what I do. I don’t go away and lock the door and hope he’ll vanish while I’m gone.”

“The elves’ll take care of it,” I said, “after they’re done at my place.”

Ray gave me a look. “I thought of that,” he said. “Not that shit about elves, but what you just said, Carolyn. Why not report it? What occurs to me, maybe the gun’s unregistered. Guy’s burglarizin’ your premises, you got an iron-clad right to shoot the son of a bitch, but you better make sure you got a license for the gun. Even so…”

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense,” I finished for him. “And didn’t I hear that the Nugents were out of the country?”

He nodded. “Due back tomorrow or the next day. Question is, when did they take off?”

“There you go,” Carolyn said. “Say I’m Nugent. I’m on my way to the airport, and I wonder did I leave a pot cooking on the stove? So I go back, and what do I find but a burglar. So I pull out my unregistered gun and shoot him, and then I have to leave to catch a plane, so there’s no time to call the police. Instead I pull off the guy’s clothes, throw him in the tub, take the clothes with me, and catch the next plane to…where?”

“Tajikistan,” I suggested.

“Forget Nugent,” Ray said.

“Done.”

“Say another burglar killed him. Say you, for example, Bernie.”

“Me?”

“Just for the sake of argument, okay?”

“Fine. I killed him. But you can’t quote me on that because you haven’t read me my rights yet.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he said. “This is just a discussion, okay?”

“Whatever you say, Ray.”

“He lives right there, he knows the Nugents are out of town, an’ he closes his eyes an’ sees dollar signs. But he needs somebody who can make a lock sing an’ dance, an’ that’s Mrs. Rhodenbarr’s little boy Bernie.”

“Why doesn’t he just jimmy it, Ray?”

“Maybe he don’t know how. But jimmyin’ leaves marks, an’ there weren’t any, so we know he