Detective

THE grip of delusions of grandeur, I was sure I could get away with anything. Which is why I called my wife from the hotel phone to tell her I’d be late for dinner. Hell, I charged it to my room number, so she wouldn’t even catch on when the telephone bill came next month. It was a piece of cake.
    There’s nothing that brings you down faster than a good dose of reality, which in my case is usually a good dose of my wife. As I’ve said, my wife is a very nice person unless she’s provoked, and this time I had the misfortune to catch her provoked. She was really pissed off.
    “Where the hell are you?” she asked.
    “Working,” I told her. “I’m out on a case.”
    “That’s not what your office says. They’ve called here three times. Some client out in Brooklyn is having a shit fit because you never showed up. They’ve been beeping you all day, but you don’t answer.”
    Not surprising. My beeper has a 75 mile radius, which made it fairly useless in Miami. I’d left it in the office.
    “Oh shit, my batteries must be dead,” I said. It was a terrible excuse. When the batteries went dead, the beeper automatically began emitting a sickly, wailing beep to inform you of the fact. But my wife didn’t know that.
    “Yeah, well then why didn’t you call your office, for Christ’s sake. And what’s all this about some client in Brooklyn you stood up?”
    “I didn’t stand her up. I went there and she wasn’t home. It’s the same old bullshit. I wasn’t going to stand around there waiting for her so I went out on some other assignments. I’ve been calling her. First I got no answer. Now every time I call the line’s busy, which must be her wearing out the phone bitching that I’m not there yet. It’s the same old bullshit. What are you getting so upset about?”
    “It’s the same old bullshit, but it’s not my bullshit. Why the hell are they calling me?”
    “Because you’re there,” I said.
    “Oh, great! Good answer. Listen, will you get your act together and get some new batteries and call your office and tell ’em to leave me alone?”
    “No problem,” I told her. “And I’ll get a hold of the client and straighten it out. I’ll have to go out there, which means I won’t be home for dinner.”
    “What a surprise,” she said, and hung up the phone.
    Well, one down and two to go. I called the office, fed them the same bullshit story. I got Susan, which was a blessing this time, as she was more apt to be sympathetic, and less apt to be suspicious. Still, the beeper story didn’t sit well. Susan knew how it worked and knew my batteries couldn’t have just gone dead.
    “Listen,” I said. “Do me a favor. Cover for me. The truth is, I forgot to turn the damn thing on.”
    She laughed at that and I knew I was home free. I assured her I’d get right on the Rabinowitz case and hung up.
    I called Mrs. Rabinowitz and made up another bullshit story. A three-car accident on the Major Deegan. Two people killed. No, I hadn’t been involved, but I had seen the whole thing and the police had dragged me in as a witness after the tow trucks and ambulances had finally left and they’d gotten all the traffic unsnarled. Yes, I should have called, but you know what cops are like. Mrs. Rabinowitz probably didn’t know what cops were like, but she probably had some fairly fixed notions. At any rate, she went from overtly hostile to mildly sympathetic in the course of the conversation, and promised not to call my office and get me in any more trouble in return for my agreement to be there at eleven the next morning.
    When I got off the phone I felt suddenly exhausted. After all, I’d had less than 2 hours’ sleep, and I’d taken a mammoth hit of cocaine which was starting to wear off. I thought of taking another hit and decided against it. A friend of mine once told me that when you do coke, no matter how much you have, you always do it all. I wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but seeing as how I had a good kilo on me, it didn’t seem like a very good time to find out. After all, I had an eleven o’clock appointment the next morning. What I needed to do was call the airport and catch the next plane to New York.
    I looked at my watch. It was 3.30. That reminded me of something, but for a moment I couldn’t think what. Then I remembered. “7th and Burke N.W 4:00.” It seemed too much to hope for. On the other hand, it seemed stupid to pass up. I pulled out the Hagstrom map and