you probably do know the answer to that one," said Shelby. He was chuckling again but I could see that it was just kind of an ingrained habit, like a nervous tic or something. He wasn't really getting much amusement out of the situation. Of course, neither was I.
"Still can't guess?" said Roth, like a facetious, rather cynical game-show host.
Alarm bells were now going off somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind. Somewhere in there as well was probably a full-length novel yet to be written. But I didn't have the novel and I didn't have the answer. I tried to think of anything I'd done recently that had been unusual or out of character for me. Suddenly, it hit me. I've never been much of a poker player and I guess the cops could tell.
"That's right," nodded Shelby. "It's the bank, stupid."
"The bank?" I said. But I knew he was right. It was the bank. It was the safe-deposit box. It was helping Clyde stash her grandmother's silverware. I'd wondered about what was in the parcel at the time but was too shy or too weak or too stupid to make her unwrap it. Now two cops were crowding me out of my basement apartment. I lit a cigarette. I offered the pack to the cops but they declined.
I walked a few steps to the kitchen area and poured myself a cup of coffee with a slightly shaky hand. I offered the two cops some coffee. They declined again with an almost fatalistic patience that I found rather unnerving.
"Why'd you do it?" asked Roth.
"I was just trying to help that woman named Clyde. I didn't know what was in the package. I thought it was her grandmother's silverware."
"Her grandmother's silverware?" said Roth incredulously.
"A woman named Clyde?" said Shelby.
"What's her last name?" asked Roth.
"Potts. But I—"
"Have you talked to her since you-ah-helped her in the bank?" asked Shelby.
"I tried to call her last week but the number she gave me has been disconnected."
"Shame," said Roth.
I killed the cigarette and went over slowly to pour another cup of coffee. I tried to think. What in the hell was going on here?
"Look, guys," I said finally, "why won't you tell me what's happening? Who's Clyde? What did you find in my safe-deposit box?"
"We didn't find anything," said Shelby. "The bank found something and it wasn't her grandmother's silverware. First, of course, they had to get a court order and then they had to drill the box open. You won't be banking there anymore but I'm sure they'll be getting in touch with you. They could've filed criminal charges but since this broad has done this before in other banks with other marks like yourself, they'll probably let you off. Same reason we're not going to haul you in today for criminal mischief and maybe a felony or two if we wanted to try real hard."
"In other words," said Roth, apparently observing my total lack of understanding as to what had occurred, "you've been duped, Mr. Snow. But don't feel too bad about it. There's a sucker born every minute, and here in New York it's a regular population explosion. People like this Clyde woman eat people like you for breakfast every morning, and by lunchtime, they're hungry again. Fortunately, there's plenty of suckers like you around. I doubt if she'll bother with you again though. If she does get in touch, of course, you will call us?"
"Of course," I said.
The cops were making moves to leave by now and I was truly beginning to feel like the idiot they thought I was. They'd put me through the Chinese water torture and I still didn't know what Clyde had conned me into. I knew what I'd been. A sucker. I just didn't know how or why. That's enough to make even a sucker mad.
"Wait a minute!" I said with some intensity. "You can't leave without telling me what it was that the bank found in my safe-deposit box. What was it? Drugs? Stolen money?"
"Worse," said Roth. "A dead fish."
Many hours later, sometime after midnight in fact, I was lying half awake in bed imagining a scene in a novel about two police detectives
"Still can't guess?" said Roth, like a facetious, rather cynical game-show host.
Alarm bells were now going off somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind. Somewhere in there as well was probably a full-length novel yet to be written. But I didn't have the novel and I didn't have the answer. I tried to think of anything I'd done recently that had been unusual or out of character for me. Suddenly, it hit me. I've never been much of a poker player and I guess the cops could tell.
"That's right," nodded Shelby. "It's the bank, stupid."
"The bank?" I said. But I knew he was right. It was the bank. It was the safe-deposit box. It was helping Clyde stash her grandmother's silverware. I'd wondered about what was in the parcel at the time but was too shy or too weak or too stupid to make her unwrap it. Now two cops were crowding me out of my basement apartment. I lit a cigarette. I offered the pack to the cops but they declined.
I walked a few steps to the kitchen area and poured myself a cup of coffee with a slightly shaky hand. I offered the two cops some coffee. They declined again with an almost fatalistic patience that I found rather unnerving.
"Why'd you do it?" asked Roth.
"I was just trying to help that woman named Clyde. I didn't know what was in the package. I thought it was her grandmother's silverware."
"Her grandmother's silverware?" said Roth incredulously.
"A woman named Clyde?" said Shelby.
"What's her last name?" asked Roth.
"Potts. But I—"
"Have you talked to her since you-ah-helped her in the bank?" asked Shelby.
"I tried to call her last week but the number she gave me has been disconnected."
"Shame," said Roth.
I killed the cigarette and went over slowly to pour another cup of coffee. I tried to think. What in the hell was going on here?
"Look, guys," I said finally, "why won't you tell me what's happening? Who's Clyde? What did you find in my safe-deposit box?"
"We didn't find anything," said Shelby. "The bank found something and it wasn't her grandmother's silverware. First, of course, they had to get a court order and then they had to drill the box open. You won't be banking there anymore but I'm sure they'll be getting in touch with you. They could've filed criminal charges but since this broad has done this before in other banks with other marks like yourself, they'll probably let you off. Same reason we're not going to haul you in today for criminal mischief and maybe a felony or two if we wanted to try real hard."
"In other words," said Roth, apparently observing my total lack of understanding as to what had occurred, "you've been duped, Mr. Snow. But don't feel too bad about it. There's a sucker born every minute, and here in New York it's a regular population explosion. People like this Clyde woman eat people like you for breakfast every morning, and by lunchtime, they're hungry again. Fortunately, there's plenty of suckers like you around. I doubt if she'll bother with you again though. If she does get in touch, of course, you will call us?"
"Of course," I said.
The cops were making moves to leave by now and I was truly beginning to feel like the idiot they thought I was. They'd put me through the Chinese water torture and I still didn't know what Clyde had conned me into. I knew what I'd been. A sucker. I just didn't know how or why. That's enough to make even a sucker mad.
"Wait a minute!" I said with some intensity. "You can't leave without telling me what it was that the bank found in my safe-deposit box. What was it? Drugs? Stolen money?"
"Worse," said Roth. "A dead fish."
Many hours later, sometime after midnight in fact, I was lying half awake in bed imagining a scene in a novel about two police detectives
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