behind him.
“Steve! Steve!”
He hesitated, one foot inside the car, the other on the pavement.
“What is it, Mama?”
“Teddy! It’s Teddy! It’s her time!”
“What?”
“Her time! The baby, Steve!”
“But the baby isn’t due until next we—”
“It’s her time!” Louisa Carella said firmly. “Get her to the hospital!”
Carella slammed the car door shut. He thrust his head through the open window and shouted, “Stop the kids, Bert! My wife’s gonna have a baby!” and he ran like hell up the path to the house.
“What hotel is it?” Kling asked.
“The Neptune.”
“Can’t you drive any faster?”
“I’m driving as fast as I can. I don’t want to get a ticket.”
“I’m a detective,” Kling said. “You can drive as fast as you want. Now step on it!”
“Yes, sir,” Lewis answered, and he rammed his foot down on the accelerator.
“Can’t you drive any faster?” Carella said to the cab driver.
“I’m driving as fast as I can,” the cabbie answered.
“Damnit! My wife’s about to have a baby!”
“Well, mister, I’m—”
“I’m a cop,” Carella said. “Get this heap moving.”
“What are you worried about?” the cabbie said, pressing his foot to the accelerator. “Between a cop and a cabbie, we sure as hell should be able to deliver a baby.”
A convention of Elks or Moose or Mice or Masons or something was cavorting in the lobby of the Neptune Hotel when Kling arrived with Jody Lewis. One of the Elks or Moose or Mice or whatever touched Kling with an electrically charged cane, and he leaped two feet in the air, and then rushed again toward the reception desk, thinking he would arrest that man as a public menace as soon as he finished this business with Tommy and Angela. God, it was past eight-thirty, Claire would have a fit when he finally got around to picking her up. Assuming the kids hadn’t tasted that wine yet—why was he calling them kids? Tommy was about his age—but assuming they hadn’t tasted the wine, assuming a stomach pump and a rush to the hospital wouldn’t be necessary, holy Moses what had happened to what had started out as a quiet Sunday?
“Mr. and Mrs. Giordano,” he said to the desk clerk.
“Yes, sir, they checked in a little while ago,” the clerk answered.
“What room are they in?”
“I’m sorry, sir, they left instructions not to be disturbed. They’re honeymooners, you see, and—”
“I’m from the police department,” Kling said, snapping open his wallet to his shield. “What room? Quick!”
“Is something…?”
“What room, damnit?”
“428. Is something…?”
Kling rushed to the elevator. Behind him, camera in hand, Jody Lewis dashed across the lobby.
“Four,” Kling said to the elevator boy. “Hurry!”
“What’s the rush?” the boy answered. Idling against the control panel, he gave Kling a bored sneer. Kling didn’t feel like arguing. Nor did he feel like earning the distinction of being the first Neptune guest to be treated with rudeness in the past ten years. He simply clutched one hand in the elevator boy’s tunic, yanked him away from the control panel, slammed him against the rear wall of the elevator just as Jody Lewis entered the car, and then pressed the button to close the doors and pressed another button marked with the numeral 4.
“Hey,” the elevator boy said, “you’re not allowed to—”
“Just shut the hell up,” Kling said, “or I’ll throw you down the shaft.”
The boy modulated into an injured silence. Sulking against the rear wall of the elevator, he silently cursed Kling as the car sped up the shaft. The doors slid open and Kling rushed into the hall with Lewis. Behind him, in a parting shot of defiance, the elevator boy yelled, “You louse!” and then hastily closed the doors.
“What room?” Lewis asked.
“428.”
“This way.”
“No, this way.”
“It says 420 to 428 here.”
“The arrow’s pointing this way.”
They rushed down the hall together.
“Here it is!” Lewis said.
Kling rapped on the door. “Open up!” he shouted.
“Who’s there?” Tommy’s voice shouted back.
“Police! Bert Kling! Open up! Hurry!”
“What? What?” Tommy said, his voice puzzled behind the wood of the door. A lock was thrown back. A key turned. The door opened. Tommy stood there with a wine glass in one hand. He was wearing a blue silk robe, and he seemed terribly embarrassed. Behind him, sitting in a love seat, Angela Giordano tilted a wine glass to her lips as she watched the door with a perplexed frown on her forehead.
Kling’s eyes opened wide. “Stop!” he shouted.
“Wh—?”
“Don’t drink that wine!”
He darted into the room past a startled Tommy Giordano, and then slapped the wine glass out of Angela’s hands.
“Hey, what the hell—” Tommy started