shout.
Footsteps approached the phone. I heard a male voice say distantly, “Your mama does not like you to call me Popsy, Andrea. Show a little respect, huh, small one?”
“Yes, Papa.”
Then the voice was speaking directly into the phone: “Steiner here.”
I said, “Mark, this is Matt. I’ve got something of yours. A Llama pistol, the small-frame model, caliber three-eighty, one shot fired. It didn’t go off of its own accord. I think she was shooting at Happy but she missed.”
“Oh shit!” There was a pause; then Mark spoke carefully: “Ruth has been terrified of dogs ever since the time they tried to run her down with hounds when she escaped from . . . Never mind. I was not even aware that she had gone out; I thought she was taking a nap. Is she okay?”
No, I had to thump her pretty hard, disarming her. Do you want me to call nine-one-one for an ambulance? ”
“Damn it, amigo, you did not have to . . . !”
I said irritably, “Amigo, it’s only my gentle nature that kept me from putting a load of number-four buck into the trigger-happy broad. Now, having softheartedly spared her life, I’m giving you and her another break, calling you instead of the cops. Be grateful. What about that ambulance?”
After a moment he asked, “What is the police situation?”
“I haven’t called them, and I don’t think anybody’s reported the shot. That nine-millimeter Kurz isn’t a very loud cartridge, and the Hispanic kids in the neighborhood don’t wait for the Fourth of July to set off firecrackers; there’s always something popping around here.”
At the other end of the line, Mark Steiner cleared his throat. “Please call nobody, I will take care of it. What is the address?” I remembered that I’d been to his house, but he’d never been to mine. When I’d told him how to get there, Mark said, “Wait forme; I will be right over. . . . Matt.”
“Yes.”
“I will contact some people I know. I must come clear across town; they may arrive before I do. Let them in. They will take care of her."
I said, “There have been some funny things going on around here lately. You’d better give them a word so I’ll know they belong to you.”
“Do we need this TV melodrama?”
I said, “As far as I’m concerned we’ve already got it. A strange dame trying to shoot my dog and me for motives unknown seems melodramatic as hell to me.”
“Very well. The password is . . . How about Lapis?”
He pronounced it Lahpis, as Mac had done. I kept my voice even, I hoped, and said, “Like in Lazuli? Good enough.”
"I will be on my way as soon as I make the one telephone call. . . . Oh, and thanks.”
“I’ll tell you later if you’re welcome. ”
I hung up, selected the male garments from the jumble of clothes on the floor—witnesses to the sudden passion that now seemed to belong to the distant past—and pulled them on, trying not to think about the word Mark Steiner had given me because I had absolutely no relevant data to plug into the mental computer. Except that a hung-over young bureaucratic type, talking to Mac, had once let slip the same word in connection with secret government operations in the southwest. Lapis. Latin for “rock,” or “stone.” To hell with it.
I called Washington hurriedly and left word that interesting things were happening here and I’d report in detail within the hour; if I didn’t, an investigation would be in order. After getting the shell out of the chamber and back into the magazine, I hung the shotgun back on the living-room rack, equipped myself with other arms more suitable for the occasion including the Llama, grabbed a spare blanket from the closet, and went back out into the yard. Madeleine was sitting on the edge of the garbage box. She was scratching Happy’s ears with one hand and holding her Colt revolver in the other.
“How’s she doing?” I asked.
Madeleine shrugged. “Still breathing. Should we carry her inside?”
"I think
Footsteps approached the phone. I heard a male voice say distantly, “Your mama does not like you to call me Popsy, Andrea. Show a little respect, huh, small one?”
“Yes, Papa.”
Then the voice was speaking directly into the phone: “Steiner here.”
I said, “Mark, this is Matt. I’ve got something of yours. A Llama pistol, the small-frame model, caliber three-eighty, one shot fired. It didn’t go off of its own accord. I think she was shooting at Happy but she missed.”
“Oh shit!” There was a pause; then Mark spoke carefully: “Ruth has been terrified of dogs ever since the time they tried to run her down with hounds when she escaped from . . . Never mind. I was not even aware that she had gone out; I thought she was taking a nap. Is she okay?”
No, I had to thump her pretty hard, disarming her. Do you want me to call nine-one-one for an ambulance? ”
“Damn it, amigo, you did not have to . . . !”
I said irritably, “Amigo, it’s only my gentle nature that kept me from putting a load of number-four buck into the trigger-happy broad. Now, having softheartedly spared her life, I’m giving you and her another break, calling you instead of the cops. Be grateful. What about that ambulance?”
After a moment he asked, “What is the police situation?”
“I haven’t called them, and I don’t think anybody’s reported the shot. That nine-millimeter Kurz isn’t a very loud cartridge, and the Hispanic kids in the neighborhood don’t wait for the Fourth of July to set off firecrackers; there’s always something popping around here.”
At the other end of the line, Mark Steiner cleared his throat. “Please call nobody, I will take care of it. What is the address?” I remembered that I’d been to his house, but he’d never been to mine. When I’d told him how to get there, Mark said, “Wait forme; I will be right over. . . . Matt.”
“Yes.”
“I will contact some people I know. I must come clear across town; they may arrive before I do. Let them in. They will take care of her."
I said, “There have been some funny things going on around here lately. You’d better give them a word so I’ll know they belong to you.”
“Do we need this TV melodrama?”
I said, “As far as I’m concerned we’ve already got it. A strange dame trying to shoot my dog and me for motives unknown seems melodramatic as hell to me.”
“Very well. The password is . . . How about Lapis?”
He pronounced it Lahpis, as Mac had done. I kept my voice even, I hoped, and said, “Like in Lazuli? Good enough.”
"I will be on my way as soon as I make the one telephone call. . . . Oh, and thanks.”
“I’ll tell you later if you’re welcome. ”
I hung up, selected the male garments from the jumble of clothes on the floor—witnesses to the sudden passion that now seemed to belong to the distant past—and pulled them on, trying not to think about the word Mark Steiner had given me because I had absolutely no relevant data to plug into the mental computer. Except that a hung-over young bureaucratic type, talking to Mac, had once let slip the same word in connection with secret government operations in the southwest. Lapis. Latin for “rock,” or “stone.” To hell with it.
I called Washington hurriedly and left word that interesting things were happening here and I’d report in detail within the hour; if I didn’t, an investigation would be in order. After getting the shell out of the chamber and back into the magazine, I hung the shotgun back on the living-room rack, equipped myself with other arms more suitable for the occasion including the Llama, grabbed a spare blanket from the closet, and went back out into the yard. Madeleine was sitting on the edge of the garbage box. She was scratching Happy’s ears with one hand and holding her Colt revolver in the other.
“How’s she doing?” I asked.
Madeleine shrugged. “Still breathing. Should we carry her inside?”
"I think
Similar Books
