Detective

listen. I’m not going to kill you if you do as I say, so listen good. I’m driving off. I’ll drop your car keys in the middle of the road about a hundred yards south. I could throw ’em in the river, but I’m just a nice guy. I don’t want to see your head in that window, or I’ll blow it off. You wait a full five minutes after I drive off. If you don’t, I’ll know, and I’ll kill you. After that, you’re free to get your keys and go. Got it, Asshole?”
    There was no response.
    “I said, got it, Asshole?”
    A whimpered “yes” came from the floor.
    I ran to my car, hopped in, pulled off the ski-mask, pulled the light off the car, and drove off. I dropped Red’s keys out the window as I’d told him I would. I went on down the highway obeying the speed limit. I sure as hell didn’t want to be stopped.
    I pulled up in front of my office building, lugged the suitcase out of the back seat, and went in. At least the elevator was on the ground floor. I took it up, unlocked my office, threw the suitcase in, locked the door, and left. I didn’t have to look in the suitcase. I knew what was in it. It would be pure, too. Red wouldn’t have the knowledge or the guts to cut it, as Albrect had done.
    Back outside, I went to a pay phone on the corner and called Tony Arroyo. He must have been letting the casino run itself, because he was home. The phone rang ten times, then his bleary voice answered.
    “Hey, Shithead,” I said. “I got news for you and it ain’t good.”
    “What? Who is this?”
    “Never mind, Shithead. Just listen. In about a half an hour your errand boy’s gonna call you up with some bullshit story about how some guy in a ski-mask held him up and took his suitcase. Before you decide to stick his dick in his mouth, I just wanted to let you know that his bullshit story is true.”
    I hung up the phone, got in the car, and drove home. It was late, and I was tired. Let Tony wait up for developments.

27.
    I W OKE UP THE N EXT morning in a cold sweat. Jesus Christ, what had I done? I’d just ripped off a half a million dollars from a group of guys who went around killing people. And I’d left two tape recorders there as a calling card. Still, I’d covered my tracks pretty well, rented the car using a fake driver’s license supplied by the same shop that made me the bank I.D. The machines couldn’t be traced to me. I was still safe. Then why the cold sweat?
    “My god, what’s the matter?” my wife asked.
    “Nothing, I’m fine,” I told her, but it was no go. The sheets were drenched with sweat.
    “You’re burning up with fever,” she said, and it was only after taking my temperature and proving to her that it was normal that I was able to persuade her that I was well enough to go to work.
    I drove out to Woodmere. I knew it was risky as hell, but I had to get those tapes. I made three passes by the place before I actually stopped. There seemed to be an unusual amount of activity around Pluto’s place today, cars going in and out of the driveway, people talking in the yard. But then I’m just a natural coward. Still, I told myself, this time I’m in my own car and my license plate could be traced.
    Finally, I pulled in behind the parked car. I lifted the trunk. Both tapes had been used, and the one on the room was still going. I wasn’t about to wait for it to stop. I ripped both tapes from the machines, threaded fresh tape in, reset the machines, closed the trunk, and got the hell out of there. This time I took the repairman costume.
    I think my heart stopped pounding somewhere around Shea Stadium. I beat it back to my office and played the tapes.
    This time the phone calls got interesting. There were a few routine calls first, then this:
    “Hello?” That was Pluto’s man, Tall, Dark, and Ugly.
    “It’s Tony. Get me Victor.”
    TDU: “You out of your fucking mind? You know what time it is?”
    TONY: “It’s important. Wake him up.”
    TDU: “Are you kidding?”
    TONY: “Wake him up, damn it!”
    There was a pause, then:
    PLUTO: “Damn it, Tony, this better be important.”
    TONY: “It is. Forrester got ripped off.”
    PLUTO: “What?”
    TONY: “Someone held Forrester up and took the suitcase.”
    PLUTO: “How do you know that?”
    TONY: “I just got a phone call. Some guy, I don’t know who. He said in about a half an hour I’d get a call from Forrester saying someone held him up and ripped him off. He just wanted to let me know that that was absolutely