The Burglar on the Prowl - By Lawrence Block Page 0,88

successful, judging from the girth of those envelopes.”

“They could be all singles,” I said, “but they’re not. Yes, I’d call it a great success.” I told him how much he’d find in the envelopes, and that it represented fifteen percent of the total sum.

“How marvelous,” he said. “All of it a total loss for the shitheel, that’s the best part of it.”

“For me,” I admitted, “the best part is the money.”

“You had every right to keep all of it, Bernie. I’m quite certain I offered to waive my own interest.”

“You did, but why should you? It wouldn’t have happened without you.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.” He patted an envelope. “It’s not as though I’ll have trouble finding a use for it.”

We worked on our drinks—a martini for him, white wine for me—and chose our lunch selections, which Marty wrote down on a check for the waiter. I’m not sure why they do it that way, the waiters can hear as well as anybody else, and could presumably either remember the orders or write them down themselves. I think they like to have things they do differently just so the members will be in no danger of forgetting that they’re in a private club, not just another restaurant.

After the waiter had left, slip of paper in hand, I asked Marty if he’d had any further contact with Marisol.

“No,” he said, “nor do I expect to. That’s a closed chapter, Bernie. She chose another man, and it’s a choice she was entirely free to make. I emerged from the experience with a strong desire to punish him, which I have to say we’ve done, but no desire to chastise her, or to get her back. As I said, a closed chapter.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I said, “but I wonder if we could peek at a page or two.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have a question or two about Marisol. Her mother’s from Puerto Rico?”

“Well, of Puerto Rican descent. I believe she was born in Brooklyn.”

“And the father’s from northern Europe.”

“One of the Baltic republics. Quite a mixture, wouldn’t you say? Fire and ice.”

“You don’t remember which Baltic republic, do you?”

“There are three, aren’t there? Two of them start with L, and it’s one of those, which is just as well as I can’t recall the name of the third. Eritrea? No, that can’t be right.”

“Estonia.”

“Estonia, of course. Where’s Eritrea? No, don’t tell me, because wherever it is, her father’s not from it, or Estonia either. Does that help?”

“It could. Did you ever tell me her last name? Because I can’t seem to recall it.”

“I probably didn’t, and you’ll understand why. It’s Maris.”

“Maris? What’s the matter with Maris? I mean, Roger did all right with it.” I thought for a moment. “Oh.”

“Oh indeed. Marisol Maris. I thought she might change it, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She thought it would look distinctive on a marquee or in a list of credits without striking one as absurd. And I suppose she’s right. Now that her name’s no longer going to be coupled with mine, I can view it more objectively.”

I could see his point. There was something almost irresistibly awful about the conjunction of Marisol Maris and Martin Gilmartin.

“She wanted to honor both parts of her heritage, the Puerto Rican and the Lithuanian. Or is it Latvian?”

“It would almost have to be.”

“It would?” He frowned, then shrugged it off. “She told me she was lucky, that her mother had wanted to name her Imaculata Concepción, but her father drew the line at that. Good for him, I’d say.”

“And how old is she, Marty?”

“Unsuitably young,” he said, and smiled. I asked him what that came to in human years, and he said she was somewhere in her mid-twenties. I did the math and put her date of birth somewhere in the late Seventies, which ruled out a conclusion I’d been about to jump to. Unless—

How, I asked, had her parents met? In this country? Or, uh, somewhere else?

“In Brooklyn,” he said, too polite to ask why the hell I wanted to know. “He came over in the late Sixties or early Seventies. He was in Toronto for a chess tournament and defected, and then managed to immigrate to the States. He was living in Bay Ridge, and she was in Sunset Park, just a few blocks away, and they met and fell in love.” He cocked his head and looked at me. “If you want to know more,” he said, “you’d have to