Christmas, right? I should buy the little buggers a present."
“That's a lot of presents,” I said, feeling some sympathy for the man.
“A box of chocolates. It's more than they deserve. I hope it makes them puke. Anything else I can do for you, John?"
“There are a few things. I'd like to get Bergma's address and phone number. He's not listed. Maybe you could throw a little weight around with Ma Bell. And if I'm caught searching his place, I could use some federal help."
“No sweat. I'll let you know if the knife has any prints. You don't want Bergma to know we've got our eye on him, right? No direct police questioning."
“I'd rather not tip him off yet."
“It's going to be tricky finding out where he was tonight at six-thirty without questioning him,” Parelli pointed out.
“I know where he was. He was at Latour's place."
Gino shook his head. “What you got is all circumstantial. You got diddley-squat till we find some witnesses, or the pictures in his possession. if he's as smartass as he sounds, he'll have stashed them somewhere."
“That's why I want to search his place,” John replied.
“They might be at the museum where he works. Finding pictures in a museum, that's like looking for spaghetti at a pasta house."
“But we've seen the pictures,” I reminded him. “We'll recognize them."
Parelli turned a sharp, weasely eye on me. "We'll recognize them? Since when did you include yourself in, lady?"
“Cassie's with me,” John said. I couldn't quite figure out whether that was an apology or what, but Parelli accepted it with no more than a disgusted shake of his head.
Gino grunted and said, “About these pictures—Van Goghs— he's the crazy guy that sliced off his ear, if I'm not mistaken?” John nodded. “Cripse, who's nuttier, him or the guys that are forking over millions for his stuff?” That last was a rhetorical question.
Hope springs eternal. I thought Gino would go home when we left Ben's. He stuck like a burr. He came back to the hotel with us after a thoroughly disappointing supper at Ben's Deli. Disappointing for me, I mean. The men loved it. I could see John was impatient to ditch him and continue our fight, but didn't like to be rude since he needed his help. At about eleven o'clock my patience gave out and I said I was leaving.
“I'll drive you home,” John offered.
“Let her take a cab,” Parelli said. “We got plans to discuss."
“There's no point your having the car hauled out again,” I agreed. “I'll see you tomorrow.” John came with me to the desk to call the cab.
“I guess you'll be cracking the books in the morning?” he asked. I thought he'd continue the argument.
“To make up for lost time tonight. And I do mean lost."
“I'm sorry about Gino, but he'll be a big help. The man's a rough diamond. He really knows his stuff, and I'm a complete outsider in this city. He's doing it on his own time too. I can't just dump him. I'll call you tomorrow morning to wish you luck."
I accepted this peace offering. “John, I'm sorry about—you know. Those dates didn't mean anything. I just got bored, sitting around every night."
“I guess I was pretty unrealistic to expect it."
He had defrosted enough to give me a quick kiss before the cab left.
John called in person at about ten-thirty, which was a pleasant interruption in my studies. He was wearing city clothes, a suit and shirt and tie, and still looked wrong in a suit.
“It's colder than a penguin's tail feathers out there,” he said, batting his arms against his body. “How about warming me up?"
I warmed him up only to the extent of one kiss. There was too much to talk about, and too little time. We went to my little living room, more or less a shambles during this exam period, with books piled on any surface that wasn't littered with notes. Even without the mess, it was only a so-so room. Sherry and I hired it furnished—cheap brown wall-to-wall carpet, uninspired beige drapes, tweedy sofa,
“That's a lot of presents,” I said, feeling some sympathy for the man.
“A box of chocolates. It's more than they deserve. I hope it makes them puke. Anything else I can do for you, John?"
“There are a few things. I'd like to get Bergma's address and phone number. He's not listed. Maybe you could throw a little weight around with Ma Bell. And if I'm caught searching his place, I could use some federal help."
“No sweat. I'll let you know if the knife has any prints. You don't want Bergma to know we've got our eye on him, right? No direct police questioning."
“I'd rather not tip him off yet."
“It's going to be tricky finding out where he was tonight at six-thirty without questioning him,” Parelli pointed out.
“I know where he was. He was at Latour's place."
Gino shook his head. “What you got is all circumstantial. You got diddley-squat till we find some witnesses, or the pictures in his possession. if he's as smartass as he sounds, he'll have stashed them somewhere."
“That's why I want to search his place,” John replied.
“They might be at the museum where he works. Finding pictures in a museum, that's like looking for spaghetti at a pasta house."
“But we've seen the pictures,” I reminded him. “We'll recognize them."
Parelli turned a sharp, weasely eye on me. "We'll recognize them? Since when did you include yourself in, lady?"
“Cassie's with me,” John said. I couldn't quite figure out whether that was an apology or what, but Parelli accepted it with no more than a disgusted shake of his head.
Gino grunted and said, “About these pictures—Van Goghs— he's the crazy guy that sliced off his ear, if I'm not mistaken?” John nodded. “Cripse, who's nuttier, him or the guys that are forking over millions for his stuff?” That last was a rhetorical question.
Hope springs eternal. I thought Gino would go home when we left Ben's. He stuck like a burr. He came back to the hotel with us after a thoroughly disappointing supper at Ben's Deli. Disappointing for me, I mean. The men loved it. I could see John was impatient to ditch him and continue our fight, but didn't like to be rude since he needed his help. At about eleven o'clock my patience gave out and I said I was leaving.
“I'll drive you home,” John offered.
“Let her take a cab,” Parelli said. “We got plans to discuss."
“There's no point your having the car hauled out again,” I agreed. “I'll see you tomorrow.” John came with me to the desk to call the cab.
“I guess you'll be cracking the books in the morning?” he asked. I thought he'd continue the argument.
“To make up for lost time tonight. And I do mean lost."
“I'm sorry about Gino, but he'll be a big help. The man's a rough diamond. He really knows his stuff, and I'm a complete outsider in this city. He's doing it on his own time too. I can't just dump him. I'll call you tomorrow morning to wish you luck."
I accepted this peace offering. “John, I'm sorry about—you know. Those dates didn't mean anything. I just got bored, sitting around every night."
“I guess I was pretty unrealistic to expect it."
He had defrosted enough to give me a quick kiss before the cab left.
John called in person at about ten-thirty, which was a pleasant interruption in my studies. He was wearing city clothes, a suit and shirt and tie, and still looked wrong in a suit.
“It's colder than a penguin's tail feathers out there,” he said, batting his arms against his body. “How about warming me up?"
I warmed him up only to the extent of one kiss. There was too much to talk about, and too little time. We went to my little living room, more or less a shambles during this exam period, with books piled on any surface that wasn't littered with notes. Even without the mess, it was only a so-so room. Sherry and I hired it furnished—cheap brown wall-to-wall carpet, uninspired beige drapes, tweedy sofa,
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