The Burglar on the Prowl - By Lawrence Block Page 0,93

display his delts and triceps and skintight to showcase his pecs, along with tight black jeans to show off his glutes. He had a deep tan already, and it wasn’t even summer yet. He surveyed the room purposefully, then headed for the back, where two women were seated together at the bar.

“Here we go,” Sigrid said. “He’s found his quarry.”

“That’s if he can split them up.”

“If he drugs them,” she said, “he may not have to. He can take them both home.”

“They’ve got short hair,” I pointed out.

“So? Oh, they might be gay? I don’t think so, but once he slips them the Roofies, does it really matter?”

“Good point. What do we do?”

“I don’t know. Don’t you have a plan?”

“I was going to follow him home,” I said, “and find out where he lives. But that won’t work if he goes home with them instead.”

“And it won’t be the evening they’re hoping for, either. C’mon.”

“C’mon? C’mon and do what?”

“Improvise,” she said. “Go help him hit on them while I take care of everybody’s drinks.”

She was, as I already knew, an actress and a model. She’d also demonstrated an enviable facility for drawing faces. I was willing to believe she had multiple talents, some of the more interesting of which I’d never learn about because I was too young for her. One of them, it turned out, was close-up magic. I don’t know how she did it, but after two rounds of drinks Audrey and Claire and I were clearheaded enough to drive an obstacle course, while William Johnson was a coma looking for a place to lie down.

The two women, who’d thought Johnson and I were at least promising, found his sudden lapse into word-slurring eye-rolling idiocy more than a little disconcerting. Sigrid acted as though he pulled this all the time.

“Oh, not again,” she said, in a voice that carried throughout the room. “He’s a nice enough guy, but that’s the last time he’s getting a drink in here. Bernie, grab him, will you? Before he slides off the stool and lands on his empty head.”

She came around from behind the bar, deputized one of her regulars to cover for her, and the two of us each got an arm under one of his and walked him out the door. He was a big guy, but she was a big girl, and must have had muscles even if they didn’t show the way his did. Between the two of us, we had surprisingly little trouble walking him down the block and around the corner. There was a narrow alley on 37th Street, running between a pair of apartment buildings; I’d spotted it while on the prowl, and that’s where we took him now.

Some of the city’s native fauna scuttled out from among the garbage cans when we maneuvered him to the rear of the alley. We got maybe three-fourths of the way there, turned him around, and gave him a light shove, and he landed on his rear end and clunked his head on the brick wall. He wound up sprawled there, his oversized jaw slack, with drool leaking out of the side of his mouth.

“Jesus, what a charmer,” she said.

I bent over him, came up with his wallet. Without thinking I scooped out the bills, gave half to her, and stuck the rest in my pocket. “He got drunk,” I explained, “and passed out in an alley, and some lowlife rolled him.” She looked at the money for a moment, then put it away, while I went through his wallet looking for a current address. His driver’s license had him living on 40th just off Lexington, and he’d renewed it less than a year ago, so it was probably current. I was going to write it down, but it was easier to take the license along with me, and while I was at it I took his credit cards.

That brought a raised eyebrow from Sigrid. “I’m not going to use them,” I said, “but he won’t know that, will he? He’ll have to go through the hassle of calling the card companies.”

“Good,” she said. “Look at him, the misogynistic son of a bitch. I could kick him in the balls and he wouldn’t even feel it. Or would he?” She decided to find out, and the result of the experiment was inconclusive. He groaned, but didn’t really stir.

“He’ll feel it when he wakes up,” I said.

“God, I hope so. Look at him, will you? He makes an almost