Part 25 (1/2)
The woman gathered herself together and made a dash for the penthouse. Moving clumsily and swiftly, Hoffman caught her around the waist. She didn't struggle, but stood stiff and white-faced in the circle of his arm.
”Not so fast now, baby. Got some questions to ask you. You the broad that's been sleeping with Deloney?”
She said to the man: ”Are you going to let him talk to me this way? Tell him to take his hands off me.”
”Take your hands off my wife,” the man said without force.
”Then tell her to sit down and cooperate.”
”Sit down and cooperate,” the man said.
”Are you crazy? He smells like a still. He's crazy drunk.”
”I know that.”
”Then _do_ something.”
”I am doing something. You got to humor them.”
Hoffman smiled at him like a public servant who was used to weathering unjust criticism. His hurt mouth and mind made the smile grotesque. The woman tried to pull away from him. He only held her closer, his belly nudging her flank.
”You look a little bit like my dau'er Helen. You know my dau'er Helen?”
The woman shook her head frantically. Her hair fluffed out.
”She says there was a witness to the killing. Were you there when it happened, baby?”
”I don't even know what you're talking about.”
”Sure you do. Luke Deloney. Somebody drilled him in the eye and tried to make it look like suicide.”
”I remember Deloney,” the man said. ”I waited on him in my father's hamburg joint once or twice. He died before the war.”
”Before the war?”
”That's what I said. Where you been the last twenty years, detective?”
Hoffman didn't know. He looked around at the rooftops of his city as if it was a strange place. The woman cried out: ”Let me go, fatso.”
He seemed to hear her from a long way off. ”You speak with some respect to your old man.”
”If you were my old man I'd kill myself.”
”Don't give me no more of your lip. I've had as much of your lip as I'm going to take. You hear me?”
”Yes I hear you. You're a crazy old man and take your filthy paws off me.”
Her hooked fingers raked at his face, leaving three bright parallel tracks. He slapped her. She sat down on the gravel roof. The man picked up the half-empty cola bottle. Its brown contents gushed down his arm as he raised it, advancing on Hoffman.
Hoffman reached under the back of his coat and took a revolver out of his belt. He fired it over the man's head. The pigeons flew up from the neighboring rooftop, whirling in great spirals. The man dropped the bottle and stood still with his hands raised. The woman, who had been whimpering, fell silent.
Hoffman glared at the glaring sky. The pigeons diminished into it. He looked at the revolver in his hand. With my eyes focused on the same object, I stepped out into the sunlight.
”You need any help with these witnesses, Earl?”
”Naw, I can handle 'em. Everythin's under control.” He squinted at me. ”What was the name again? Arthur?”
”Archer.” I walked toward him, pus.h.i.+ng my squat shadow ahead of me across the uneven surface of the gravel. ”You'll get some nice publicity out of this, Earl. Solving the Deloney killing singlehanded.”
”Yeah. Sure.” His eyes were deeply puzzled. He knew I was talking nonsense, as he knew he had been acting nonsense out, but he couldn't admit it, even to himself. ”They hid the body in the bas.e.m.e.nt.”
”That means we'll probably have to dig.”
”Is everybody crazy?” the man said between his upraised arms.
”Keep quiet, you,” I said. ”You better call for reinforcements, Earl. I'll hold the gun on these characters.”
He hesitated for a stretching moment. Then he handed me the revolver and went into the penthouse, b.u.mping the doorframe heavily with his shoulder.
”Who are you?” the man said.
”I'm his keeper. Relax.”
”Did he escape from the insane asylum?”
”Not yet.”
The man's eyes were like raisins thumbed deep into dough. He helped his wife to her feet, awkwardly brus.h.i.+ng off the seat of her robe. Suddenly she was crying in his arms and he was patting her back with his diamonded hand and saying something emotional in Greek.
Through the open door I could hear Hoffman talking on the phone: ”Six men with shovels an' a drill for concrete. Her body's under the bas.e.m.e.nt floor. Want 'em here in ten minutes or somebody gets reamed!”
The receiver crashed down, but he went on talking. His voice rose and fell like a wind, taking up scattered fragments of the past and blowing them together in a whirl. ”He never touched her. Wouldn't do that to the daughter of a friend. She was a good girl, too, a clean little daddy's girl. 'Member when she was a little baby, I used to give her her bath. She was soft as a rabbit. I held her in my arms, she called me da.” His voice broke. ”What happened?”
He was silent. Then he screamed. I heard him fall to the floor with a thud that shook the penthouse. I went inside. He was sitting with his back against the kitchen stove, trying to remove his trousers. He waved me back.
”Keep away from me. There's spiders on me.”
”I don't see any spiders.”
”They're under my clothes. Black widows. The killer's trying to poison me with spiders.”
”Who is the killer, Earl?”
His face worked. ”Never found out who put the chill on Deloney. Word came down from the top, close off the case. What can a man--?” Another scream issued from his throat. ”My G.o.d, there's hundreds of 'em crawling on me.”
He tore at his clothes. They were in blue and orange rags when the police arrived, and his old wrestler's body was naked and writhing on the linoleum.