Murder on the Aisle

24

1:47 A.M.

Tobin stopped at an outdoor phone booth and called his answering service and had the woman look up a certain address in the phone book.

By cab he was half an hour away. When he arrived he found himself on the fringe of Soho. The building he wanted was a two-story warehouse that had been converted to apartments, as had most of the other buildings surrounding it. There was one difference. The windows of the building he wanted glowed with light and music and laughter. Party.

When he reached the front door, he saw that there was an entranceway inside, so he tried the doorknob and walked straight in. A couple was entangled just outside an apartment door, the party was furious inside. Tobin envied them. It was always fun at parties to stand in the hall and neck. Over the man’s shoulder the woman’s eyes opened and crinkled a smile at Tobin in recognition. The party had probably just been upgraded from B to A with the arrival of a small-time celebrity.

She pulled away from her boyfriend. “Look. It’s him.”

Her boyfriend, obviously not much giving a damn who anybody was at the moment, turned angrily around and said, “Whoop — fucking — ee.”

“Don’t you know who he is?”

“Of course I do. Now ask me if I give a shit.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Tobin said.

“Then leave,” the boyfriend said. He was trying awfully hard to look like a beach bum who’d been washed up on chill Atlantic shores. He wore an eye-punishing Hawaiian shirt so he could show off all his chest hair and his biceps.

Tobin looked at the woman. “Does Marcie Pierce live here?”

“Upstairs. But I’m not sure she’s home. I thought I saw her go out a few minutes ago.”

“How about her mother. Is she home?”

The woman seemed confused. “Her mother? Marcie lives alone. Are you sure this is the right Marcie?”

“From Hunter? A film student?”

“Yes, that’s Marcie.”

“But her mother doesn’t live with her?”

The boyfriend decided to put his hands on his hips and have a go at looking threatening. “That’s about enough.”

Tobin was ready. His blood and his brain were about to transform him into “Yosemite Sam.” The guy who took a punch at his partner. The guy who dragged his motorcycle up five flights of stairs to a party. The guy who pushed a dishwasher downstairs. Hitting Michael earlier tonight had felt wonderfully good. But it had only been a slap, and slaps rendered only so much satisfaction. This jerk would render a great deal of satisfaction. Tobin knew the guy would eventually beat his head in, but Tobin would have a great time losing.

The girlfriend wisely set herself between the two men. “Marcie’s parents died in a car accident when she was fifteen. She’s lived alone since then.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Is that all?”

Tobin smiled at the woman. “You seem like a pretty decent woman. You could do a lot better than this jerk.”

She had to hold back her boyfriend till Tobin got out of the door. “I really like your show,” she called as he hit the cold again. “Merry Christmas.”