Ed McBain_87th Precinct 22 Read Online Free PDF

said
lunch.”
    “When did he say lunch
pail?”
    “After he gave me the five bucks.”
    “Oh, he offered you five dollars to go get his lunch pail, is that it?”
    “He didn’t offer it to me, he
handed
it to me.”
    “He handed you five bucks and said, ‘Would you go get my lunch pail for me?’”
    “That’s right. And he told me it would be on the third bench in the park, on the Clinton Street footpath. Which is right where it was.”
    “What were you supposed to do with this lunch pail after you got it?”
    “Bring it back to him. He was holding my place in line.”
    “Mm-huh,” Brown said.
    “What’s so important about that lunch pail, anyway?” La Bresca asked.
    “Nothing, Willis said. “Tell us about this man. What did he look like?”
    “Ordinary-looking guy.”
    “How old would you say he was?”
    “Middle thirties, thirty-five, something like that.”
    “Tall, short, or average?”
    “Tall. About six feet, I would say, give or take.”
    “What about his build? Heavy, medium, or slight?”
    “He was built nice. Good shoulders.”
    “Heavy?”
    “Husky, I would say. A good build.”
    “What color was his hair?”
    “Blond.”
    “Was he wearing a mustache or a beard?”
    “No.”
    “What color were his eyes, did you notice?”
    “Blue.”
    “Did you notice any scars or identifying marks?”
    “No.”
    “Tattoos?”
    “No.”
    “What sort of voice did he have?”
    “Average voice. Not too deep. Just average. A good voice.”
    “Any accent or regional dialect?”
    “No.”
    “What was he wearing?”
    “Brown overcoat, brown gloves.”
    “Suit?”
    “I couldn’t see what he had on under the coat. I mean, he was wearing pants, naturally, but I didn’t notice what color they were, and I couldn’t tell you whether they were part of a suit or whether …”
    “Fine, was he wearing a hat?”
    “No hat.”
    “Glasses?”
    “No glasses.”
    “Anything else you might have noticed about him?”
    “Yeah,” La Bresca said.
    “What?”
    “He was wearing a hearing aid.”
    The employment agency was on the corner of Ainsley Avenue and Clinton Street, five blocks north of the entrance to the park’s Clinton Street footpath On the off-chance that the man wearing the hearing aid would still be waiting for La Bresca’s return, they checked out a sedan and drove over from the station house. La Bresca sat in the back of the car, willing and eager to identify the man if he was still there.
    There was a line of men stretching halfway around the corner of Clinton, burly men in work clothes and caps, hands thrust into coat pockets, faces white with cold, feet moving incessantly as they shuffled and jigged and tried to keep warm.
    “You’d think they were giving away dollar bills up there,” La Bresca said. “Actually, they charge you a whole week’s pay. They got good jobs, though. The last one they got me paid real good, and it lasted eight months.”
    “Do you see your man anywhere on that line?” Brown asked.
    “I can’t tell from here. Can we get out?”
    “Yeah, sure,” Brown said.
    They parked the car at the curb. Willis, who had been driving, got out first. He was small and light, with the easy grace of a dancer and the steady cold gaze of a blackjack dealer. He kept slapping his gloved hands together as he waited for Brown. Brown came out of the car like a rhinoceros, pushing his huge body through the door frame, slamming the door behind him, and then pulling his gloves on over big-knuckled hands.
    “Did you throw the visor?” Willis asked.
    “No, We’ll only be a minute here.”
    “You’d better throw it. Goddamn eager beavers’ll give us a ticket sure as hell.”
    Brown grunted and went back into the car.
    “Boy, it’s cold out here,” La Bresca said.
    “Yeah,” Willis said.
    In the car, Brown lowered the sun visor. A hand-letteredcardboard sign was fastened to the visor with rubber bands. It read:
    POLICE DEPARTMENT VEHICLE
    The car door slammed again.