True-Life Adventure

work.
    Jack’s office was on Kearny Street, in one of those two-elevator buildings you can miss if you don’t pay strict attention to the street numbers. I can say this with perfect confidence because Booker and I were gassing a bit and in fact we did miss it. That’s how relaxed Booker is about his job.
    There was nobody waiting for the elevator, so we took it to the fifth floor. Jack’s office was on the fourth floor, but Booker said you always had to walk down one in case somebody was waiting for the elevator on the floor you wanted. If you got out and walked past them, they might remember you.
    So we walked down and nobody was on the fourth floor, at least in Jack’s corridor. It was an empty white tunnel with a wine-red carpet. Jack’s office was number 443. The lettering on the door was very discreet— “Jack Birnbaum,” period. Not “Jack Birnbaum, Ace Private Dick” or even “Birnbaum Investigations.” Just “Jack Birnbaum.” Maybe he’d had more class than I gave him credit for.
    Booker tried the door, found it locked, and shrugged. “Half the time they’re open,” he explained, not even whispering. This job was a piece of cake for him, but parts of my Xtra-large front-pocketed Western-style shirt were getting a little clammy. I wished he’d shut up and get on with it.
    My wish was granted instantly. Booker simply reached in his pocket, pulled out a key, and opened the door. I was impressed. “How’d you do that?”
    “Luck,” he said, stepping into the office. I stepped in too and we closed the door behind us. Booker turned on a light and held up a key ring with about fifty keys on it. He turned three of them up. “I knew it had to be one of these, and I happened to guess right on which one.”
    “Do you always carry all those keys?”
    He thought a minute. “Not if I’m going to the beach or playing tennis. Never jogging or sailing, and rarely cruising bars. Other than that, yes. You never know when you might pass a tempting little setup.”
    “Glad I could oblige you.”
    “Next time make it a little tougher, okay? These easy ones are bad for morale— I mean, you might as well be a bank teller, right? Or sell insurance or drill teeth or something. I like a job with a little challenge to it.”
    “You want to watch the door while I go through the files?”
    “You expecting somebody?”
    “Maybe. I got a feeling.” But I wasn’t and I didn’t. I just said that to cheer Booker up, to give sentry duty a little edge so he wouldn’t feel he’d wasted his time.
    I went straight to Jack’s files and looked up Koehler. Then I looked up the names of all the other clients in the stolen file. Then I looked through Jack’s desk and on top of it and all around the office.
    The upshot was, whether I liked it or not, I had to give Blick credit for good instincts. The Koehler file was missing and none of the others were.
    So it looked like someone connected with the case had killed Jack, stolen the Koehler file to cover his tracks, and then stolen my dupes of it as soon as he found out I was working with Jack. There just wasn’t any getting around it.
    “Okay, Booker,” I said. “Let’s go.”
    “Find what you wanted?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, where is it?”
    “In here,” I said, tapping my temple.
    “Christ, you’re leaving empty-handed?”
    “I wanted information, my boy. You don’t need a pillowcase to carry that off.”
    “Shit,” he said, and picked up an orange plastic ashtray on Jack’s desk. He stuck it in his pocket. “It’s not official till you steal something.”
    “Booker, I need another favor.”
    “It better be more exciting.”
    “It’ll probably hurt your professional pride.”
    He sighed. “Okay. Shoot.”
    “Could we go out in the hall and break in again? This time with a credit card?”
    “Hey, man, I’ve got the best key collection in six counties. You want a Visa artist, get an amateur.”
    “Just this once?”
    He sighed again. “Come on.”
    We went out in the hall and closed the door. Booker produced his loid and let us back in, approximately five seconds from the moment the lock went click. It might not have been his greatest accomplishment, but it impressed hell out of me.
    I forgot to be nervous. “Show me how.”
    He did. It took a few minutes and a few tries, but I got it down. Easiest thing in the world and kind of thrilling. I began thinking maybe your mother didn’t have to be gay to produce a burgling son, and put it