The Ape's Wife and Other Stories Read Online Free PDF Page A

discussing, don’t you think?”
    “ Most other women,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the rain pelting the shop windows. It sounded like frying meat out there, the sizzle of the rain against asphalt, and concrete, and the roofs of passing automobiles.
    “And what about you?” I asked her. “Are you like most other women?”
    She looked away from the window, looking back at me, and she smiled what must have been the faintest smile possible. 
    “Are you always this charming?”
    “Not that I’m aware of,” I said. “Then again, I never took a poll.”
    “The job, it’s nothing particularly complicated,” she said, changing the subject. “There’s a Chinese apothecary not too far from here.”
    “That doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” I said and lit a cigarette.
    “Sixty-five Mott Street. The joint’s run by an elderly Cantonese fellow name of Fong.”
    “Yeah, I know Jimmy Fong.”
    “That’s good. Then maybe you won’t get lost. Mr. Fong will be expecting you, and he’ll have the package ready at five-thirty this evening. He’s already been paid in full, so all you have to do is be there to receive it, right? And Miss Beaumont, please try to be on time. Auntie H said you have a problem with punctuality.”
    “You believe everything you hear?”
    “Only if I’m hearing it from Auntie H.”
    “Fair enough,” I told her, then offered her a Pall Mall, but she declined.
    “I need to be getting back,” she said, reaching for the umbrella she’d only just deposited in the stuffed hippopotamus foot.
    “What’s the rush? What’d you come after, anyway, a ball of fire?”
    She rolled her eyes. “I got places to be. You’re not the only stop on my itinerary.”
    “Fine. Wouldn’t want you getting in dutch with Harpootlian on my account. Don’t suppose you’ve got a name?”
    “I might,” she said.
    “Don’t suppose you’d share?” I asked her, and took a long drag on my cigarette, wondering why in blue blazes Harpootlian had sent this smart-mouthed skirt instead of one of her usual flunkies. Of course, Auntie H always did have a sadistic streak to put de Sade to shame, and likely as not this was her idea of a joke.
    “Ellen,” the girl said. “Ellen Andrews.”
    “So, Ellen Andrews, how is it we’ve never met? I mean, I’ve been making deliveries for your boss lady now going on seven years, and if I’d seen you, I’d remember. You’re not the sort I forget.”
    “You got the moxie, don’t you?”
    “I’m just good with faces is all.”
    She chewed at a thumbnail, as if considering carefully what she should or shouldn’t divulge. Then she said, “I’m from out of town, mostly. Just passing through, and thought I’d lend a hand. That’s why you’ve never seen me before, Miss Beaumont. Now, I’ll let you get back to work. And remember, don’t be late.”
    “I heard you the first time, sister.”
    And then she left, and the brass bell above the door jingled again. I finished my cigarette and went back to unpacking the big crate of books from Connecticut. If I hurried, I could finish the job before heading for Chinatown.
     

     
    She was right, of course. I did have a well-deserved reputation for not being on time. But I knew that Auntie H was of the opinion that my acumen in antiquarian and occult matters more than compensated for my not infrequent tardiness. I’ve never much cared for personal mottos, but maybe if I had one it might be, You want it on time, or you want it done right? Still, I honestly tried to be on time for the meeting with Fong. And still, through no fault of my own, I was more than twenty minutes late. I was lucky enough to find a cab, despite the rain, but then got stuck behind some sort of brouhaha after turning onto Canal, so there you go. It’s not like the old man Fong had any place more pressing to be, not like he was gonna get pissy and leave me high and dry.
    When I got to Sixty-Five Mott, the Chinaman’s apothecary was locked