Ed McBain_87th Precinct 47 (8 page)

“Here’s
where the fade should start,” Kendall said, and made a note to cue the fade earlier. Josie finished her coffee, picked up
a napkin, delicately wiped at her mouth, with it, milking the moment, rose, put on her coat, still milking it—God, she was
so good—pushed her chair back under the table, walked to the cashier, settled her bill, and then pushed through the same imaginary
revolving doors.

The fade began.

As Josie began crossing the stage, the restaurant behind her—the table and chairs first, and then the cashier’s stand—slowly
went to black. Clutching her coat collar to her throat as if protecting herself against a fierce wind, she moved out boldly,
the light continuing to vanish behind her with each step she took. And then, ominously, the light
ahead
of her began to grow dim as well, so that now she was moving into deeper and deeper shadows beyond which lay only blackness.

Out of that blackness there suddenly appeared a tall man in a long black coat and slouch hat, Jerry Greenbaum himself, no
jokes this time, Jerry Greenbaum playing it for real in a costume he had salvaged someplace and was wearing for the first
time. Where in earlier rehearsals he had used a wooden stick to simulate the knife, now—and possibly inspired by the lighting—he
was wielding a bona fide bread knife he’d picked up backstage someplace, holding it high above his head like Tony Perkins
coming at Marty Balsam in
Psycho
, coming at Josie with the same stiff-legged long-skirted stride Perkins had used, enough to chill the blood from memory of
the scene alone, if not exactly what Kendall himself had directed in
this
scene.

The knife descended viciously, its blade glinting with pinpoint pricks of light as Josie turned to shield the fake thrust
from the audience. The stabber ran off into the blackness. Josie fell to the stage, lay there motionless.

And now the other actors materialized like mourners at an Irish wake, surrounding the stricken Actress, the Detective firing
questions at each of them as if she were really dead, asking the Director what they had talked about at dinner, asking the
Understudy whether they had argued recently, and finally turning to the Actress herself, who—surprise of all surprises!—wasn’t
dead at all, but who rose from the stage now and fell back into a chair doubling as a hospital bed, and weakly answered the
Detective’s questions along with the rest of them in a scene outstanding only for its sheer boredom and longevity.

“Thank you, people, it’s beginning to come together,” Kendall said. “Take ten and I’ll give you my notes.”

As the actors began moving off, Jerry popped onstage, still wearing the long coat and the wide-brimmed hat.

“How was that, boss?” he shouted to the theater. “Scary enough?”

“Very nice, Jerry,” Corbin said, and Kendall gave him a look.

“Little Hitchcock there, huh?” Jerry said.

“Very nice,” Corbin said again, and Kendall gave him another look.

The two men sat silently for a moment.

“She’s very good, isn’t she?” Corbin said at last.

“Josie? Yes. She’s wonderful.”

“Made it come alive for the first time,” Corbin said.

Kendall said nothing. The play was a long way from coming alive. Josie’s performance had given it a good boost tonight, but
unless Corbin sat down and rewrote the damn thing from top to bottom …

“Almost a shame,” Corbin said.

“What is?”

“That he missed.”

The two men came into the theater while Kendall was giving the cast his notes. Both were wearing topcoats. No hats. In the
light that silhouetted them from the lobby as they came through the doors at the rear of the theater, he could see that one
was blond and the other had dark hair. They were both tall, wide-shouldered men of about the same height and weight, both
in their thirties somewhere, he guessed. The blond had hazel-colored eyes. The one with the dark hair had slanted brown eyes.

“Mr. Kendall?” the blond one called, inadvertently interrupting him in the middle of a sentence, which Kendall didn’t appreciate
one damn bit.

“Sorry to bother you, I’m Detective Kling, 87th Squad, this is Detective Carella, my partner.”

He was showing a shield now.

Kendall was unimpressed.

“Miss Cassidy told us you might still be rehearsing here,” Kling said. “We thought we’d save some trouble if we caught you
all in the same place.”

“I see,” Kendall said dryly. “And just what sort of trouble were you hoping to save?”

“Few questions we’d like to ask,” Kling said.

“Tell you what,” Kendall said saccharinely. “Why don’t you and your partner here go out to the lobby together, and have a
seat on one of the red plush velvet benches out there, and when I’m finished giving the cast my notes—which I was
attempting
to do when you interrupted—we’ll all come out there and play cops and robbers with you, okay? How does that sound?”

The theater went suddenly as still as a tomb.

“Sounds fine to me,” Kling said pleasantly. “How does that sound to you, Steve?”

“Sounds fine to me, too, Bert.”

“So what we’ll do,” Kling said, “is go find that red plush velvet bench in the lobby, and sit out there hoping the person
who stabbed Michelle Cassidy won’t make California by the time you finish giving the cast your notes. How does
that
sound to you?”

Kendall blinked at him.

“See you when you’re done,” Kling said, and turned and began walking toward the back of the theater again.

“Just a minute,” Corbin said.

Kendall blinked again.

“The notes can wait,” Corbin said. “What did you want to know?”

Which cued a scene outstanding only for its sheer boredom and longevity.

“You look tired,” Sharyn said.

“So do you,” Kling said.

“I am,” she said.

It was almost midnight. Sharyn had called the squad-room at eleven to say she was in the city …

To any native of this town, there was Calm’s Point, Majesta, Riverhead, Bethtown—and the City. Isola was the City, even though
without the other four, it was only one-
fifth
of the city. Sharyn had called the squadroom to say …

… she was in the city and if he still wanted to have a cup of coffee she could meet him someplace uptown, which is where she
happened to be. At St. Sebastian’s Hospital, as a matter of fact. As an afterword, she mentioned that she was as hungry as
a bear. Kling mentioned that he hadn’t really eaten yet either, and suggested a fabulous deli on the Stem. At eleven-thirty—fifteen
minutes before the shift was officially relieved—he dashed out of the squadroom.

Sharyn was now wolfing down a pastrami on rye.

She licked mustard from her lips.

“I’m glad you called,” he said. “I was going to throw myself out the window otherwise.”

“Sure.”

“What were you doing at St. Sab’s?”

“Trying to get a cop transferred to a better hospital. Right after you called me this afternoon, an officer got shot on Denver
and Wales …”

“The Nine-Three.”

“The Nine-Three. Ambulance took him to St. Sab’s, the
worst
hospital in the whole damn city. I got there at six, found out who was in charge, got the man moved before they operated.
Police escort all the way down to Buenavista, sirens blaring, you’d’ve thought the
Mayor
was in that ambulance.”

“So you were in the city, anyway …”

“Yes.”

“So you called me …”

“Well, yes.”

“… just so it shouldn’t be a total loss.”

“Right. Also, I was very hungry. And I owed you a meal.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. How’s your hamburger?”

“What? Oh. Yeah. Good. I guess,” he said, and picked it up and took a big bite of it. “Good,” he said.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” she asked.

“Habit of mine.”

“Bad one.”

“I know. You shouldn’t be so beautiful.”

“Oh, please.”

“Why’d you walk out last night?”

“I didn’t walk out.”

“Well, you cut things short.”

“Yes, well.”

“Why?”

Sharyn shrugged.

“Was it something I said?”

“No.”

^“
I kept trying to figure out what I’d said. All day today, I kept trying to figure it out. I almost called a dozen times. Before
I finally did, I mean. What was it I said?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me, Sharyn. Please. I don’t want this starting on the wrong foot, really. I want this … well … tell me what I said.”

“You said the color I was wearing was good for me.”

Kling looked at her.

^“
So?” he said.

“I thought you were saying that the color was good for
my
color.”

^“
That’s what I
was
saying.”

“So that started me wondering if the reason you’d asked me out was that I was black.”

^“
Yes, I know. You asked me …”

“And I started wondering what it was you
wanted
from me. I mean, was this just de white massa hittin on de l’il house nigguh? I guess I didn’t want to risk finding out that
was all it might be. So I thought it’d be best if we just shook hands and said goodnight, without either of us exploring the
question too completely.”

She bit into the sandwich again, sipped at her beer, her eyes avoiding his. Kling nodded and took another bite. They both
ate in silence for several moments, Sharyn polishing off the sandwich as if she hadn’t eaten in a week, Kling working less
voraciously on the hamburger.

^“
So what are you doing here now?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, and shrugged. “I guess I figured you were really being nice, saying the color suited me, the color
was good for me, and that this wasn’t very much different from what you might have said to a blonde wearing black or a redhead
wearing brown, or whatever colors it is dat de white girls wears, hmmm?”

She had done it a second time, he noticed. Falling into a sort of exaggerated black English whenever she was saying something
he was sure made her uncomfortable.

“And I guess I finally realized you didn’t want anything from me that you didn’t want from any
other
woman …”

^“
No, that isn’t true,” he said.

“Which is okay, I mean,
vive la difference, n’est-ce pas?
What the hell. A man is attracted to you …”

“I am.”

“You don’t go asking is it the color of my eyes, or the color of my skin …”

“It is.”

“… the same way you don’t go asking yourself is it because
he’s
so white.”

“Is it?”

“I mean, blond hair and light eyes, does he have to be
so
white? Where are the goddamn
freckles?
I mean, the first time I date a white man, couldn’t he …”

“Is it?”

“… be a slightly
darker
shade of Charlie, couldn’t he …”

“The first time?”

“Yes.”

“Me, too. You, I mean. You’re the first black woman I’ve ever known.
Getting
to know, that is. That is, I
hope
I’m getting to …”

“Yes, you are.”

“I hope so.”

“I hope so, too.”

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

He signaled to the waiter.

“Also,” she said, “I thought it was kind of cute, your calling me and telling me you were willing to come all the way out
to Calm’s Point again, at midnight no less, for a cup of coffee. Just so we could talk awhile. I thought that was very cute.
And you were
so
persistent, oh my! I thought about that phone call all the while I was driving in to St. Sab’s. I began thinking This is
fate, this cop getting shot, my having to drive into the city. It wasn’t meant that we should leave it where we left it last
night. I shouldn’t have been so
rejecting
on the phone, I shouldn’t have
dissed
him that way. What did the poor guy say, for God’s sake? He said he liked the color of my suit. Which, by the way, is a terrific
color for my color …”

“It is.”

“Sure, so what was I getting so upset about? A man paying me a compliment? I kept thinking all this while I drove in, and
then I put it out of my mind when I got to the hospital because the only thing I wanted to do then was find the person in
charge and let him know a police department representative was here now and that the cop in there better get the best medical
treatment in the world or there’d be holy hell to pay.”

“Is he all right now?”

“Yes, he’s all right. Shot twice in the leg. He’s all right.”

“I hate cops getting shot.”

“Tell me about it,” Sharyn said, and nodded grimly. “Anyway, I didn’t think about it again, about
you
again, about your calling and being so
persistent
on the phone, until the cop was safely on his way to Buenavista, where he won’t scream in the middle of the night, thank
God, and no one’ll come. I was going out to my car, figuring I’d drive back out to C.P., when all at once I thought again
of
you
saying you were willing to drive out there after you’d put in eight hours, just to have a cup of coffee and talk. And I thought
about the cop getting shot and bringing me into the city, and I said to myself Listen, who’s being the stupid one here, you
or him?”

“Who was it?”

“Anyway, I was starving to death.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I hate to eat alone.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So I called you.”

“And here we are,” he said.

“Alone at last,” she said.

Alone with him in bed that night, she told him how frightened she’d been. How frightened she still was.

“No, no,” he said, “don’t worry.”

Soothing her. Stroking her thighs, kissing her nipples and breasts, kissing her lips.

“Everything happened so fast,” she said.

“No, no.”

“Someone’s bound to realize …”

“How could they?”

“People aren’t stupid, you know.”

“Yes, but how could … ?”