The Burglar on the Prowl - By Lawrence Block Page 0,98
suspect the name was the gift of an overworked immigration officer at Ellis Island, but what it may have been before then is anybody’s guess. People who hear it are apt to turn it into something else, while people who encounter it in print tend to mispronounce it. I don’t know why, it’s simple enough, ROAD-in-bar, but for some folks it turns into a tongue-twister.
“It’s Rhodenbarr,” I said. “And you’re Dr. Mapes.”
He was, but my saying so didn’t make him visibly happier. Aside from the downcast expression, I’d have to say he looked pretty good. I knew he was around Marty’s age, but his face was younger than his years, with no pouches under the eyes, no loose skin hanging like crepe on his neck, and a minimum of the little lines that life etches into people’s faces.
His hair was dark, too, and he had a full head of it. Younger than his years, I thought, but they showed in the stoop of his shoulders and the liver spots on the backs of his hands. He might have sipped from the fountain of youth, and even splashed some of its waters on his face, but he hadn’t gone for full-body immersion.
He led me inside to the living room, where his wife was waiting. She’d set out a plate of sandwiches with their crusts cut off, along with a thermos of coffee and a pair of bone china cups and saucers. She invited me to make myself at home, and said she’d just leave us men alone, as she had to be off right away if she was going to be on time for her afternoon bridge game.
I decided that Mrs. Mapes, like her husband, looked young for her age, and then I wondered how I could know that, since I had no way of knowing how old she was. Then I worked it out that her face, firm and unlined, looked younger than the rest of her. She had a dumpy figure and an old lady’s walk, but if you just looked at her face…
And then, of course, the penny dropped. The man was a plastic surgeon, for God’s sake. You’d expect him to give his wife the most youthful face his craft could furnish. And, while he would hardly operate on himself, surely he’d avail himself of the services of a skilled colleague. It wouldn’t inspire confidence in a prospective patient to confront a plastic surgeon with his face sagging halfway to his waist, with a wart here and a wart there and deep wrinkles all around. It would be as disconcerting as a visit to a snaggle-toothed dentist. But the occasional nip and tuck, along with periodic injections of Botox, could make the years go away. Mapes’s own face was his own best advertisement.
And as for the hair, dark and abundant…well, damned if the old goat wasn’t wearing a rug. It was a very good one, but once I looked for it I could spot it for what it was, and right away I felt a lot more in control of the situation. Nothing gives you the upper hand like knowing the other guy is wearing somebody else’s hair.
We stood around until Mrs. Mapes had backed out of the driveway and driven off. Then he pointed to the spread on the coffee table. “My wife insisted on this,” he said. “She believes in applying a veneer of sociability to an essentially commercial transaction, and in this instance a distasteful one at that. But help yourself to sandwiches and coffee, if you like.”
“That’s awfully gracious of you,” I said, “but I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you clear all that out of here. There isn’t nearly enough to go around, and I’d hate for any of the others to feel left out.”
“Others?”
“I guess I forgot to tell you,” I said. “Company’s coming. Let’s see, we’ve got the sofa and the love seat and those chairs. We’re going to need more chairs. Why don’t you give me a hand, and for starters we’ll bring in the six ladderbacks from the dining room.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t want any other people coming here.”
“You didn’t even want me,” I said, “but that’s the way it goes. They’re on their way, and I couldn’t stop them now even if I wanted to. Come on, Doc. Don’t just stand there looking young. Grab a chair.”
I’d come up on the subway arriving right on schedule at one o’clock. It took a while