The Devil Knows You're Dead Read Free Page A

no.”
    “Any idea why?”
    I thought about it. “No,” I said. “Not really. I could point to things about him that I found irritating, but the fact of the matter is that I’d already made up my mind to dislike him. I took one look at him and knew he was somebody I wasn’t going to like.”
    “He’s not a bad-looking man.”
    “Hardly,” I said. “He’s handsome. Maybe that’s it, maybe I sensed that you’d find him attractive and that’s what put my back up.”
    “Oh, I didn’t think he was attractive.”
    “You didn’t?”
    “I thought he was good-looking,” she said, “the way male models are good-looking, except not as pouty as they all seem to be these days. But I’m not attracted to pretty boys. I like grumpy old bears.”
    “Thank God for that.”
    “Maybe you didn’t like him because you were hot for her.”
    “I already knew I didn’t like him before I even looked at her.”
    “Oh.”
    “And why would I be hot for her?”
    “She’s pretty.”
    “In a fragile, china-doll way. A fragile, pregnant, china-doll way.”
    “I thought men went crazy for pregnant women.”
    “Well, think again.”
    “What did you do when Anita was pregnant?”
    “Worked a lot of overtime,” I said. “Put a lot of bad guys in jail.”
    “Same as when she wasn’t pregnant.”
    “Pretty much, yeah.”
    “Maybe it was cop instinct,” she said. “Maybe that’s why you didn’t like him.”
    “You know,” I said, “I think you just hit it. But it doesn’t make sense.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because he’s a promising young attorney with a pregnant wife and an upscale condo. He’s got a firm handshake and a winning smile. Why would I peg him as a wrong guy?”
    “You tell me.”
    “I don’t know. I sensed something, but I couldn’t tell you what it was. Except that I had the sense he was listening awfully hard, as though he wanted to hear more than I wanted to tell him. The conversation dragged tonight, but it would have sailed along just fine if I’d told some detective stories.”
    “Why didn’t you?”
    “Maybe because he was so hot to hear them.”
    “Like phone sex,” she suggested. “He had the phone in one hand and his dick in the other.”
    “Something like that.”
    “No wonder you wanted to hang up. God, do you remember what a disaster that turned out to be? For a week afterward I wouldn’t say a word in bed.”
    “I know. You wouldn’t even moan.”
    “Well, I
tried
not to,” she said, “but sometimes I had no choice.”
    In a Nazi accent I said, “Ve haff vays of making you come.”
    “Is that a fact?”
    “I suppose ze Fräulein demands proof.”
    “I suppose I do.”
    And a while later she said, “Well, I wouldn’t call it the best evening we ever spent, but it certainly had a nice finish, didn’t it? I think you’re probably right, I think there’s something sly about him, but so what? We’ll never have to see them again.”
     
     
    BUT of course I did have to see them again.
    A week or ten days after our first meeting I walked out of my hotel one evening and got halfway to Ninth Avenue when I heard my name called. I looked around and saw Glenn Holtzmann. He was wearing a suit and tie and carrying a briefcase.
    “They kept me working late today,” he said. “I called Lisa and told her to go ahead and eat without me. You had dinner yet? Want to grab a bite somewhere?” I had already eaten, and told him so. “Then do you want to have a cup of coffee and keep me company? I’m not up for anything fancy, just the Flame or the Morning Star. Have you got the time?”
    “As a matter of fact,” I said, “I don’t.” I pointed up Ninth Avenue. “I’m on my way to meet somebody,” I said.
    “Well, I’ll walk a block with you. I’ll be a good boy and have a Greek salad at the Flame.” He patted his midsection. “Keep the weight down,” he said, although he looked trim enough to me. We walked to Fifty-eighth and crossed the avenue together, and in