Blues in the Night Read Online Free PDF Page B

room. He turned back to the couple.
    The plump woman watched his armed approach fretfully.
    She still said nothing.
    Mace wondered if she were mute.
    Wylie’s snake tattoo stretched from his neck down his back, curving at his waist and disappearing toward his lower stomach. Mace pressed the gun to a spot just above the snake’s tongue and below Wylie’s left ear and said, ‘Bang, you’re dead.’
    Wylie made a noise like ‘Gah,’ and pushed in on the woman.
    â€˜Feeling better now?’ Mace crooned. He grabbed Wylie’s left ear and gave it a nasty twist. Then, continuing to twist, he forced the screaming boy off the woman.
    â€˜Lemme go, you fuckhead.’
    Mace obeyed the request, pushing him on to the foot of the bed. He tucked his gun behind his belt and said to the naked woman, ‘Out.’
    â€˜But I . . .’ she began, not mute after all.
    â€˜But nothing.’ He picked up her discarded clothes and six-inch pumps. Gripping her by a fleshy arm, he yanked her from the cot.
    â€˜Hey, wait a goddamn min—’
    Before she could get to her feet, he was dragging her across the carpet to the open doorway. She tried to kick and bite as he pushed her into the darkened hall. ‘Be good, or there’ll be cops here,’ he said. ‘You’d like that, right?’ He threw her clothes and shoes to her and slammed the door.
    Wylie was sitting on the roiled cot rubbing his ear. ‘You’re a real asshole,’ he grumbled.
    â€˜And you’re a real pro,’ Mace said. ‘Yes you are.’
    There was a soft knock at the door. ‘My money,’ the plump hooker whined.
    Mace picked up Wylie’s pants and found his wallet. ‘How much do you owe her?’
    â€˜Fifty.’
    There were two fifties and several twenties in the wallet. Mace took a fifty and a twenty, opened the door and held the bills out to the woman who already was back in her working girl outfit. She snatched them from his fingers.
    â€˜Keep the change,’ he said and closed the door on her.
    When he heard her mumbles fading in the direction of the stairs, he relaxed a little and left the door. He sat down at the table by the windows and stared at Wylie who was slipping on his rumpled khaki pants over bright red boxer shorts with giant mosquitoes on them.
    Trying to ignore the shorts, Mace said, ‘I don’t suppose you noticed when the subject closed her curtains?’
    Wylie didn’t reply. He stared at Mace, rubbing his ear.
    Mace picked up the binoculars and aimed them at the Lowell apartment.
    â€˜She was over there painting, last I looked,’ Wylie said.
    â€˜When was that? A half hour ago?’
    Wylie didn’t answer.
    The light was out in the Lowell living room, but there was shadowy activity in the other room now.
    â€˜The broad’s probably making Z’s,’ Wylie said.
    â€˜Not quite,’ Mace said, resting the binoculars on the table. ‘How much did you tell your whore?’
    â€˜What?’ Wylie was deeply offended. ‘Nothing. Jesus, what do you think I am?’
    Mace stared at him.
    Withering, Wylie said, ‘It’s this place. Everybody was getting off but me. For all I know you were out layin’ pipe.’
    A glob of plastic on the rug emitted a light that caught Mace’s eye. ‘What the hell’s that?’ he asked.
    Wylie scooped up the glob. ‘My Crackberry,’ he said. ‘Musta fallen out of my pocket.’ He pressed a button that extinguished the light. ‘Don’t tell me you never seen a Blackberry?’
    Mace didn’t answer.
    â€˜What kinda cellular you use?’ Wylie asked, zipping up his pants.
    â€˜I don’t.’
    â€˜No shit? How do you fucking . . . communicate?’
    â€˜I use those,’ Mace said, pointing to the wall phone. He moved to the window and sat down, staring at Angela Lowell’s now dark apartment.
    Wylie picked