Eight Million Ways to Die

Chapter 10

He said, "You still think I killed her, don't you?"

"What does it matter what I think?"

"It matters to me."

I borrowed Durkin's line. "Nobody pays me to think."

We were in the back booth of a coffee shop a few doors from Eighth Avenue. My coffee was black. His was just a shade lighter than his skin tone. I'd ordered a toasted English muffin, figuring that I probably ought to eat something, but I hadn't been able to bring myself to touch it.

He said, "I didn't do it."

"All right."

"I have what you might call an alibi in depth. A whole roomful of people can account for my time that night. I wasn't anywhere near that hotel."

"That's handy."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Whatever you want it to mean."

"You're saying I could have hired it done."

I shrugged. I felt edgy, sitting across the table from him, but more than that I felt tired. I wasn't afraid of him.

"Maybe I could have. But I didn't."

"If you say so."

"God damn," he said, and drank some of his coffee. "She anything more to you than you let on that night?"

"No."

"Just a friend of a friend?"

"That's right."

He looked at me, and his gaze was like a too-bright light shining in my eyes. "You went to bed with her," he said. Before I could respond he said, "Sure, that's what you did. How else would she say thank you? The woman only spoke one language. I hope that wasn't the only compensation you got, Scudder. I hope she didn't pay the whole fee in whore's coin."

"My fees are my business," I said. "Anything that happened between us is my business."

He nodded. "I'm just getting a fix on where you're coming from, that's all."

"I'm not coming from anyplace and I'm not going anywhere. I did a piece of work and I was paid in full. The client's dead and I didn't have anything to do with that and it doesn't have anything to do with me. You say you had nothing to do with her death. Maybe that's true and maybe it isn't. I don't know and I don't have to know and I don't honestly give a damn. That's between you and the police. I'm not the police."

"You used to be."

"But I'm not anymore. I'm not the police and I'm not the dead girl's brother and I'm not some avenging angel with a flaming sword. You think it matters to me who killed Kim Dakkinen? You think I give a damn?"

"Yes."

I looked at him.

He said, "Yes, I think it matters to you. I think you care who killed her. That's why I'm here." He smiled gently. "See," he said, "what I want is to hire you, Mr. Matthew Scudder. I want you to find out who killed her."

I took a while before I believed he was serious. Then I did what I could to talk him out of it. If there was any kind of trail leading to Kim's killer, I told him, the police had the best chance of finding and following it. They had the authority and the manpower and the talent and the connections and the skills. I had none of the above.

"You're forgetting something," he said.

"Oh?"

"They won't be looking. Far as they're concerned, they already know who killed her. They got no evidence so they can't do anything with it, but that's their excuse not to kill themselves trying. They'll say, 'Well, we know Chance killed her but we can't prove it so let's work on something else.' God knows they got plenty other things to work on. And if they did work on it, all they'd be looking for is some way to hang it onto me. They wouldn't even look to see if there's somebody else on earth with a reason for wanting her dead."

"Like who?"

"That's what you would be looking to find out."

"Why?"

"For money," he said, and smiled again. "I wasn't asking you to work for free. I have a lot of money coming in, all of it cash. I can pay a good fee."

"That's not what I meant. Why would you want me on the case? Why would you want the killer found, assuming I had any chance of finding him? It's not to get you off the hook because you're not on the hook. The cops haven't got a case against you and they're not likely to come up with one. What's it to you if the case stays on the books as unsolved?"

His gaze was calm, steady. "Maybe I'm concerned about my reputation," he suggested.

"How? It looks to me as though your reputation gets a boost. If the word on the street is that you killed her and got away with it, the next girl who wants to quit your string is going to have something else to think about. Even if you didn't have anything to do with her murder, I can see where you'd be just as happy to take the credit for it."

He flicked his index finger a couple times against his empty coffee cup. He said, "Somebody killed a woman of mine. Nobody should be able to do that and get away with it."

"She wasn't yours when she got killed."

"Who knew that? You knew it and she knew it and I knew it. My other girls, did they know? Did the people in the bars and on the street know? Do they know now? Far as the world knows, one of my girls got killed and the killer's getting away with it."

"And that hurts your reputation?"

"I don't see it helping it any. There's other things. My girls are afraid. Kim got killed and the guy who did it is still out there. Suppose he repeats?"

"Kills another prostitute?"

"Kills another of mine," he said levelly. "Scudder, that killer's a loaded gun and I don't know who he's pointed at. Maybe killing Kim's a way for somebody to get at me. Maybe another girl of mine is next on his list. I know one thing. My business is hurting already. I told my girls not to take any hotel tricks, that's for starters, and not to take any new johns if there's anything funny about them. That's like telling them to leave the phone off the hook."

The waiter drifted over with a pot of coffee and refilled our cups. I still hadn't touched my English muffin and the melted butter was starting to congeal. I got him to take it away. Chance added milk to his coffee. I remembered sitting with Kim while she drank hers heavily diluted with cream and sugar.

I said, "Why me, Chance?"

"I told you. The cops aren't going to kill themselves. The only way somebody's going to give this his best shot is if he's earning my money for it."

"There's other people who work private. You could hire a whole firm, get 'em working around the clock."

"I never did like team sports. Rather see somebody go one on one. 'Sides, you got an inside track. You knew the woman."

"I don't know how much of an edge that gives me."

"And I know you."

"Because you met me once?"

"And liked your style. That counts some."

"Does it? The only thing you know about me is I know how to look at a boxing match. That's not a whole lot."

"It's something. But I know more than that. I know how you handle yourself. And I've asked around, you know. A lot of folks know you and most of 'em said good things about you."

I was silent for a minute or two. Then I said, "It could have been a psycho that killed her. That's what he made it look like so maybe that's what it was."

"Friday I learn she wants out of my string of girls. Saturday I tell her it's cool. Sunday some crazy man flies in from Indiana and chops her up, just by coincidence. You figure?"

"Coincidences happen all the time," I said, "but no, I don't think it was coincidence." God, I felt tired. I said, "I don't much want the case."

"Why not?"

I thought, Because I don't want to have to do anything. I want to sit in a dark corner and turn the world off. I want a drink, damn it.

"You could use the money," he said.

That was true enough. I hadn't gotten all that much mileage out of my last fee. And my son Mickey needed braces on his teeth, and after that there'd be something else.

I said, "I've got to think it over."

"All right."

"I can't concentrate right now. I need a little time to sort out my thoughts."

"How much time?"

Months, I thought. "A couple of hours. I'll call you sometime tonight. Is there a number where I can reach you or do I just call the service?"

"Pick a time," he said. "I'll meet you in front of your hotel."

"You don't have to do that."

"It's too easy to say no over the phone. I figure the odds are better face to face. Besides, if the answer's yes we'll want to talk some. And you'll want some money from me."

I shrugged.

"Pick a time."

"Ten?"

"In front of your hotel."

"All right," I said. "If I had to answer now, it'd be no."

"Then it's good you got until ten."

He paid for the coffee. I didn't put up a fight.

I went back to the hotel and up to the room. I tried to think straight and couldn't. I couldn't seem to sit still, either. I kept moving from the bed to the chair and back again, wondering why I hadn't given him a final no right away. Now I had the aggravation of getting through the hours until ten o'clock and then finding the resolve to turn down what he was offering.

Without thinking too much about what I was doing I put on my hat and coat and went around the corner to Armstrong's. I walked in the door not knowing what I was going to order. I went up to the bar and Billie started shaking his head when he saw me coming. He said, "I can't serve you, Matt. I'm sorry as hell."

I felt the color mounting in my face. I was embarrassed and I was angry. I said, "What are you talking about? Do I look drunk to you?"

"No."

"Then how the hell did I get to be eighty-six around here?"

His eyes avoided mine. "I don't make the rules," he said. "I'm not saying you're not welcome here. Coffee or a Coke or a meal, hell, you're a valued longtime customer. But I'm not allowed to sell you booze."

"Who says?"

"The boss says. When you were in here the other night-"

Oh, God. I said, "I'm sorry about that, Billie. I'll tell you the truth, I had a couple of bad nights. I didn't even know I came in here."

"Don't worry about it."

Christ, I wanted to hide behind something. "Was I very bad, Billie? Did I make trouble?"

"Aw, shit," he said. "You were drunk, you know? It happens, right? I used to have this Irish landlady, I came in bagged one night and apologized the next day, and she would say, 'Jaysus, son, it could happen to a bishop.' You didn't make any trouble, Matt."

"Then-"

"Look," he said, and leaned forward. "I'll just repeat what I was told. He told me, he said, if the guy wants to drink himself to death I can't stop him, and if he wants to come in here he's welcome, but I'm not selling him the booze. This isn't me talking, Matt. I'm just saying what was said."

"I understand."

"If it was up to me-"

"I didn't come in for a drink anyway," I said. "I came in for coffee."

"In that case-"

"In that case the hell with it," I said. "In that case I think what I want is a drink and it shouldn't be all that hard to find somebody willing to sell it to me."

"Matt, don't take it that way."

"Don't tell me how to take it," I said. "Don't give me that shit."

There was something clean and satisfying about the rage I felt. I stalked out of there, my anger burning with a pure flame, and stood on the sidewalk trying to decide where to go for a drink.

Then someone was calling my name.

I turned. A fellow in an army jacket was smiling gently at me. I couldn't place him at first. He said it was good to see me and asked how I was doing, and then of course I knew who it was.

I said, "Oh, hi, Jim. I'm okay, I guess."

"Going to the meeting? I'll walk with you."

"Oh," I said. "Gee, I don't think I'm going to be able to make it tonight. I have to see a guy."

He just smiled. Something clicked, and I asked him if his last name was Faber.

"That's right," he said.

"You called me at the hotel."

"Just wanted to say hello. Nothing important."

"I didn't recognize the name. Otherwise I would have called you back."

"Sure. You sure you don't want to tag along to the meeting, Matt?"

"I wish I could. Oh, Jesus."

He waited.

"I've been having a little trouble, Jim."

"That's not so unusual, you know."

I couldn't look at him. I said, "I started drinking again. I went, I don't know, seven or eight days. Then I started again, and I was doing okay, you know, controlling it, and then one night I got into trouble."

"You got in trouble when you picked up the first one."

"I don't know. Maybe."

"That's why I called," he said gently. "I figured maybe you could use a little help."

"You knew?"

"Well, you were in pretty rocky shape at the meeting Monday night."

"I was at the meeting?"

"You don't remember, do you? I had a feeling you were in a blackout."

"Oh my God."

"What's the matter?"

"I went there drunk? I showed up drunk at an AA meeting?"

He laughed. "You make it sound like a mortal sin. You think you're the first person who ever did that?"

I wanted to die. "But it's terrible," I said.

"What's so terrible?"

"I can never go back. I can never walk into that room."

"You're ashamed of yourself, aren't you?"

"Of course."

He nodded. "I was always ashamed of my blackouts. I didn't want to know about them and I was always afraid of what I might have done. Just for the record, you weren't so bad. You didn't make trouble. You didn't talk out of turn. You spilled a cup of coffee-"

"Oh, God."

"It's not as if you spilled it on anybody. You were just drunk, that's all. In case you were wondering, you didn't look to be having a very good time. Matter of fact, you looked pretty miserable."

I found the courage to say, "I wound up in the hospital."

"And you're out already?"

"I signed myself out this afternoon. I had a convulsion, that's how I got there."

"That'll do it."

We walked a little ways in silence. I said, "I wouldn't be able to stay for the whole meeting. I have to meet a guy at ten o'clock."

"You could stay for most of the meeting."

"I guess so."

It seemed to me as though everybody was staring at me. Some people said hello to me and I found myself reading implications into their greetings. Others didn't say anything and I decided they were avoiding me because my drunkenness had offended them. I was so maddeningly self-conscious I wanted to jump out of my own skin.

I couldn't stay in my seat during the qualification. I kept going back to the coffee urn. I was sure my constant visits to the urn were drawing disapproval but I seemed irresistibly drawn to it.

My mind kept going off on tangents of its own. The speaker was a Brooklyn fireman and he had a very lively story but I couldn't keep my mind on it. He told how everyone in his firehouse had been a heavy drinker and how anyone who didn't drink that way got transferred out. "The captain was an alcoholic and he wanted to surround himself with other alcoholics," he explained. "He used to say, 'Give me enough drunken firemen and I'll put out any fire there is.' And he was right. Man, we would do anything, we would go in anywhere, take any crazy goddamned chances. Because we were too drunk to know better."

It was such a goddamned puzzle. I'd been controlling my drinking and it had worked fine. Except when it didn't.

On the break I put a buck in the basket and went to the urn for still another cup of coffee. This time I managed to make myself eat an oatmeal cookie. I was back in my seat when the discussion started.

I kept losing the thread but it didn't seem to matter. I listened as well as I could and I stayed there as long as I could. At a quarter of ten I got up and slipped out the door as unobtrusively as possible. I had the feeling every eye in the place was on me and I wanted to assure them all that I wasn't going for a drink, that I had to meet somebody, that it was a business matter.

It struck me later that I could have stayed for the end. St. Paul's was only five minutes from my hotel. Chance would have waited.

Maybe I wanted an excuse to leave before it was my turn to talk.

I was in the lobby at ten o'clock. I saw his car pull up and I went out the door and crossed the sidewalk to the curb. I opened the door, got in, swung it shut.

He looked at me.

"That job still open?"

He nodded. "If you want it."

"I want it."

He nodded again, put the car in gear, and pulled away from the curb.