Savage Lover [= Sinner Man]

18

“It was only a matter of time,” she said. “I knew there was something to look for, some kind of secret. You certainly weren’t Nat Crowley. There were too many things out of line, too many inconsistencies. It was just a question of knowing what to look for and where to look.”

Black hair, all neat, every strand in place. Blue eyes. Now a very icy blue.

“You were never Nat Crowley from Miami. And you weren’t a racket type, not from the start. You were feeling your way. And gradually you grew into yourself, didn’t you? It was something to watch. You got harder and tougher until you turned into Nat Crowley. And by then I didn’t even like you anymore, Nat. I mean Don, don’t I? Is that what they called you? Don?”

“I don’t remember. It’s been a long time.”

She was smiling. “Then I’ll stick to Mr. Barshter. It’s easier, I suppose. It keeps everything on a businesslike plane.”

“How did you find out?”

She ignored the question. “I wasn’t even trying at first. I told you not to tell me too much. Do you remember? I knew there was something to look for and I didn’t want to find it. I thought we could have something nice. I thought you could live your life and I could live my life and the two of us could build a nice scene between us. Something easy. Something that let me be me.”

I put down my drink without finishing it. I put out my cigarette in an ashtray.

“You wouldn’t let it stay that way, Nat. You see what I mean? I can’t help calling you Nat — you grew into yourself that completely. And you had to make me fit the new pattern. You had to get the right hold on me. You never should have made me come to Vegas with you. That was a big mistake. It made me hate you.”

I didn’t say anything. She was talking calmly, levelly. Her eyes had gone an even icier shade of blue, or maybe it was my imagination.

“From there on I was looking. I noticed that drunk bothering you in the casino at the High Rise. I noticed how you sent a guard chasing after him. I was awake when he came back to report like a good little soldier. I heard the drunk’s name and address.”

“And it was my home town.”

“It was your home town,” she said. “We left Vegas the next day and I knew this Albert Durkinsen was something out of the past, something before Nat Crowley. I let it go for a while. I tried to figure out a little more — maybe I waited for you to turn back into a human being again. I don’t know. Then I flew to New York.”

“And went to my home town?”

“Eventually. Not at first — first I went through back issues of the New York Times looking for Durkinsen, which didn’t do anything for me. Then I tried Nathaniel Crowley and drew the same blank. But I didn’t expect to get anything that way. I took a train for your Connecticut town and went through the back issues of the newspaper there. I started two weeks after I met you in Buffalo and worked my way back. It wasn’t hard to find you, Nat. You were all over the front pages. You’re a local celebrity. You murdered your wife and stuffed her in a closet. That’s big news.”

I looked down at my hands. My fingers weren’t even shaking. I was calmer than I thought possible.

“Then I went back to New York. I found a lawyer, a very respectable lawyer. I left a letter with him. Know what it said?”

“I can guess.”

“I’ll save you the trouble. I’m supposed to call him once a day. When I don’t, he mails out a few copies of that letter. One goes to the police, in Buffalo. Another goes to your home town police. A third goes to the FBI. That’s my own personal insurance policy, Nat. But you know all about insurance, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer her.

“That leaves you sitting on a hot seat,” she continued. “You can get nailed even if you don’t kill me. All I have to do is get killed by a car on my way across the street. I can catch pneumonia and die of it and when I don’t call that lawyer — then off go my letters. If anything happens to me, Nat, the roof falls in on you.”

I lighted another cigarette. “What’s the pitch? Blackmail?”

“Extortion.”

“There’s a difference?”

“It’s only blackmail if I send you a threatening letter. It’s a technical difference, that’s all. Extortion carries a lighter sentence.” The smile was back again. “And a much lighter sentence than murder.”

“What do they do to murderers in Connecticut?”

“Don’t you know?”

“I never bothered to find out.”

“They electrocute them,” she said. “They strap them in a chair and throw a switch. But you don’t have to sit in that kind of chair, Nat. Not so long as I live.”

“What’s in the letter?”

“It’s a short letter. Just who you are and what you did and where you are now. Plus a few other names of people you killed here in Buffalo. But that’s extra. You could get away with those killings, Nat. But you couldn’t get out from under murdering your wife. Not with all the connections in the world.”

And that was funny, because Ellen’s death had been manslaughter. The others were first-degree murder, and those I could get away with — if only on the grounds that New York no longer gives the death sentence except for cop killings.

I asked her what the deal was.

“First of all,” she said, “I move out. Out of here and into some other hotel. Maybe I’ll start with the Malmsly. Is it nice there?”

“It’s all right.”

“I’ll be Miss Anne Bishop again. Not somebody’s mistress. Just a nice independent girl. I’ll move out and tomorrow you can come to see me. Bring money, Nat. Ten thousand dollars.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“You can spare it. I want it in cash, of course.”

“And it’s only the beginning.”

She shrugged easily. “Probably. Ten thousand dollars would last me a long time. But I’ve got the upper hand, Nat. I’ve got a hold. When you have a hold, then you have to put on the pressure. That’s why I went to Las Vegas with you. That’s why you’re going to pay me a lot of money for a long time. I’ve got you by the throat. I don’t intend to let go.”

“You used to be a pretty nice kid,” I said.

“You changed me.”

“Nobody changes,” I said. “The more things change, the more they remain the same. I guess it holds for people, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter. Do you hate me that much?”

“It’s not hate. It was never love and it never got to be hate, not exactly. Do you know what I mean?”

“Probably.”

She walked to the closet and got her coat. I didn’t try to stop her, nor did I help her on with the coat. I just stood and watched her get into it.

“Ten thousand dollars in cash,” she said. “I’ll be expecting you tomorrow. Make it around three in the afternoon. My lawyer will be waiting for a call at four-thirty. I don’t want to disappoint him. If I did, he’d put some letters in the mail.”

“And that would be unpleasant.”

“Wouldn’t it?” She smiled very sweetly. “Tomorrow at three. Pleasant dreams, Nat.”

I dreamed no dreams, pleasant or otherwise. I did not sleep that night. After she had gone I started to build myself a drink, then changed my mind and emptied the rye and soda in the sink. Instead I lit another cigarette and started pacing the floor. I did this until the sun came up and I didn’t get the least bit tired. When I stopped, the ashtray was overflowing for the fourth time and I was beginning to wear out the carpet.

I had breakfast at the diner around the corner. I didn’t feel like eating but I forced a plate of scrambled eggs down my throat and washed my mouth out with coffee. I smoked another cigarette. I went back to my apartment, showered, shaved and put on a fresh suit.

When your woman comes back, marry her, Tony had said.

Thanks, Tony. I could do with a little advice.

You don’t play around, Nat. You’ve got a steady deal with one broad. A good girl, not just a walking, talking piece. I knew her a long time ago. She’s a good kid.

She was, then.

You went nuts in Vegas. Gambling isn’t your kick, chasing isn’t your kick, nightlife isn’t your kick. You can do those things, but they don’t send you to the moon. Hell, I’m preaching a sermon. Let’s let it lie.

Let’s.