The Burglar on the Prowl - By Lawrence Block Page 0,6
gonna get you on the cover of Vanity Fair. Anyway, she sounds interesting. Of course, without a photograph it’s hard to know if you’re going to be attracted to one another.”
“No photos on Date-a-Dyke?”
“That’s one way to keep the boys away. You’d think it’d be the other way around, that they’d have trouble finding photos to post, but they just download them from somewhere else.” She rolled her eyes. “Teenage boys sending each other naked pictures of the women they’re pretending to be. Some world we live in, huh, Bern?”
“What’s her name, the woman you’re meeting?”
“If we hit it off, she’ll probably tell me sooner or later. Right now we’re on a screen name basis. She’s GurlyGurl.”
“She probably won’t show up dressed to go duck hunting.”
“I think the screen name’s partly ironic, actually. She’s not ultra-femme, but she doesn’t drive a Peterbilt semi, either.”
“Somewhere in the middle.”
“Uh-huh.”
“ ‘I’m not a lipstick lesbian, but I play one at the office.’ ”
“Something like that, Bern. She sounds pretty interesting. Even if it’s not a romance, it should make for a fun evening. So I’d have to say I’m looking forward to Friday.”
“Me too,” I said.
Three
I went back to the bookstore and opened up, and I can’t say my afternoon would have been any less exciting if I’d been, say, a paralegal at a law firm representing lenders in commercial real estate transactions. GurlyGurl must have earned more than I did that day, and I’ll bet she’s got medical coverage, too.
I closed up around six, brought in my bargain table from its place on the sidewalk, made sure Raffles had dried food in his food dish and fresh water in his water bowl, and that the bathroom door was ajar so he could use the toilet. I met Carolyn at the Bum Rap, and we ordered our usual scotches, hers on the rocks, mine with a splash of soda. Maxine brought them and we drank to something—crime, most likely—and worked on our drinks. Somewhere in the middle of our second round, Carolyn asked if I wanted to come over to her place for an evening in front of the television set. It was Wednesday, she pointed out, and that meant The West Wing and Law & Order, both of which would go perfectly with some take-out Chinese from Hunan Pan.
“Can’t,” I said.
“You’ve got a date?”
“The last date I can remember,” I said, “is 1066.”
“The Battle of Hastings?”
“If I’d been there,” I said, “I’d have been on Harold’s side. That’s how well dating works for me.”
“You could try the computer, you know.”
“Yeah, right.”
“And even if you don’t, Bern, you’ll meet someone. It’s just a question of time.”
“By the time I meet someone,” I said, “I’ll have forgotten what it is you’re supposed to do with them. No, I haven’t got a date tonight. I’ve got to go to work.”
“Tonight? I thought that was Friday.”
“Tonight too.”
“But you’re drinking, Bern.”
“I’m not drinking alone, though, am I?”
She frowned. “Bern, you never have a drop of alcohol before you go out burgling. It’s a firm rule of yours, and just about the only one.”
“I don’t play cards with men named Doc,” I said, “or eat at places called Mom’s.”
“Or drink before you burgle.”
“Or drink before I burgle,” I agreed. “Three sound rules, I’d have to say.”
She thought it over. “You’re working tonight, but it’s not going to involve breaking and entering.”
“I shall not break,” I said. “Neither shall I enter.”
“Are you doing an appraisal?”
My antiquarian book business sometimes has me working evenings, appraising a client’s library for insurance purposes or making an offer to a potential seller. But that wasn’t what I had on tonight’s agenda.
“It’s burglary-related,” I said, “and it demands a reasonably cool head, but not necessarily a sober one. I’m taking the subway up to Riverdale for a look at the Mapes estate.”
“A reconnaissance mission. Do you want company?” She frowned. “But I’d have to be back by nine o’clock. This is gonna sound silly, but I really don’t want to miss The West Wing.”
“It doesn’t sound silly. Tonight’ll be boring, anyway. All I’m going to do is look at the house and walk around the neighborhood.” I picked up my drink, observing its pleasing color. “Friday’s when I could use company, but you’re tied up with GurlyGurl.”
“Wait a minute. I thought Marty was going with you.”
I shook my head. “He’d be willing, but there’s no way I’d want to take him along. Remember, he knows Mapes. If he’s spotted in the area, if there’s