'Til Death (87th Precinct) - By Ed McBain Page 0,12

“But I think you’re a louse for not giving me at least one hint!”

“I’m not a louse. I’m a loving brother.”

“I feel better, Steve. Thank you.”

“For what? Get dressed. Your blue garter is very pretty.”

“Go to hell,” she said, and he closed the door behind him, chuckling.

The boy’s name was Ben Darcy.

He was twenty-six years old, with bright blue eyes and an engaging grin. He wore a blue mohair suit, and he walked across the back lawn with a long-legged lope, coming to a stop before the back porch where Tony Carella sat with his guests.

“Hello, Mr. Carella,” he said. “Lots of activity going on. Are you excited?”

“The caterers,” Tony said, looking out across the lawn at what seemed to be miles of white tablecloth. “You’re early, Ben. The reception doesn’t start until five.”

“But the wedding’s at three. You don’t think I’d miss Angela’s wedding, do you?”

“I think maybe she’s gonna miss it herself,” Tony said. “You know my daughter-in-law, Teddy? This is Ben Darcy.”

“I think I’ve seen you before, Mrs. Carella,” Ben said. Teddy nodded. Her back was killing her. She wanted to ask for a straight chair, but she knew Tony had given her the most comfortable chair on the porch, and she did not want to offend him.

“And these are some friends of my son,” Tony said. “Miss Maxwell, Mr. Hawes, and Mr. Kling. Ben Darcy.”

“Just call me Ben,” Ben said, shaking hands all around. “I’ve known the Carellas so long I feel like a part of the family. Is there anything I can do to help, Mr. Carella?”

“Nothing. Just keep out of the way. For setting up those tables and things, they’re making me a poor man.” He wagged his head forlornly.

“He’s the richest man on the block,” Ben said, grinning. “Everybody in the neighborhood knows that.”

“Sure, sure,” Tony said.

“When we were kids, he used to give out free rolls at the back door of his bakery. But then he started pinching pennies. No more rolls.” Ben shrugged.

“It was a free Salvation Army soup kitchen there,” Tony said. “I figured out one day I was giving away five hundred rolls a week to kids who come to the back door! I also figured out it was the parents sending the kids around to suck Tony Carella’s blood. No more rolls! Absolutely not! Cash on the line! No credit in my bakery!”

“He still gives away rolls,” Ben said warmly. “All you need is a hard-luck story, and Tony Carella begins weeping. If the story’s good enough, he’ll give you the whole damn bake shop.”

“Sure, sure. The Rockefeller Foundation, that’s me. I’m in business for my health.”

Ben nodded, grinning. Idly, he asked, “Are you gentlemen in the baking line, too?”

Kling, ready to answer, glanced at Hawes first. Sitting with the sunlight glowing in his red hair, the white streak starkly naked against the flaming crimson, Hawes resembled nothing less than a baker. He caught Kling’s eye and said, “No, we’re not bakers.”

“That’s right,” Ben said. “You’re friends of Steve, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you policemen?”

“Us?” Hawes said. He laughed convincingly. “Hell, no.”

Teddy and Christine looked at him curiously, but they did not betray puzzlement.

“We’re theatrical agents,” Hawes lied unashamedly. “Hawes and Kling, perhaps you’ve heard of us.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Yes,” Hawes said. “Miss Maxwell is one of our clients. She’s going to be a big star one day, this girl.”

“Oh, really?” Ben said. “What do you do, Miss Maxwell?”

“I…” Christine started, and then stopped.

“She’s an exotic dancer,” Hawes supplied, and Christine shot him an angry glare.

“An exot—?” Ben said.

“She strips,” Hawes explained. “We’ve been trying to convince Mr. Carella here to let Christine pop out of the wedding cake, but he doesn’t think it’s such a good idea.”

Tony Carella laughed. Ben Darcy looked unconvinced.

“Hawes and Kling,” Hawes repeated. “If you ever become interested in show business, give us a ring.”

“I will,” Ben said. “But I don’t think I’ll ever become interested in show business. I’m studying to be a dentist.”

“That’s a noble profession,” Hawes said. “But it lacks the glamour of the entertainment world.”

“Oh, teeth can be pretty exciting,” Ben said.

“I’m sure,” Hawes answered, “but what can compare to the fever pitch of opening night? Nothing! There’s no business like show business.”

“I guess you’re right,” Ben said, “but I’m glad I’m studying dentistry. I imagine I’ll go into periodontal work later on.” He paused. “It was Angela who first convinced me to become a professional man, you know.”

“I didn’t know,” Hawes said.

“Oh yes. I used to date her. Date her? Hell,