Free Ed McBain_87th Precinct 22 by Fuzz Page A

lawbreaker and enforcer, affirming the interlocking subtlety of crime and punishment. There was a secret bond in that room, an affinity—almost an empathy. They could talk to each other without any bullshit. They were like spent lovers whispering on the same pillow.
    “Did you know Orecchio?” Hawes asked.
    “Will you keep me clean?”
    “Unless you had something to do with it.”
    “Nothing.”
    “You’ve got my word.”
    “A cop?” she asked, and smiled wanly.
    “You’ve got my word, if you want it.”
    “I need it, it looks like.”
    “You need it, honey.”
    “I knew him.”
    “How?”
    “I met him the night he moved in.”
    “When was that?”
    “Two, three nights ago.”
    “Where’d you meet?”
    “I was hung up real bad, I needed a fix. I just got out of Caramoor,
that
sweet hole, a week ago. I haven’t had time to get really connected yet.”
    “What were you in for?”
    “Oh, hooking.”
    “How old are you, Polly?”
    “Nineteen. I look older, huh?”
    “Yes, you look older.”
    “I got married when I was sixteen. To another junkie like myself. Some prize.”
    “What’s he doing now?”
    “Time at Castleview.”
    “For what?”
    Polly shrugged. “He started pushing.”
    “Okay, what about Orecchio next door?”
    “I asked him for a loan.”
    “When was this?”
    “Day before yesterday.”
    “Did he give it to you?”
    “I didn’t actually ask him for a loan. I offered to turn a trick for him. He was right next door, you see, and I was pretty sick, I swear to God I don’t think I coulda made it to the street.”
    “Did he accept?”
    “He gave me ten bucks. He didn’t take nothing from me for it.”
    “Sounds like a nice fellow.” Polly shrugged.
    “Not a nice fellow?” Hawes asked.
    “Let’s say not my type,” Polly said.
    “Mm-huh.”
    “Let’s say a son of a bitch,” Polly said.
    “What happened?”
    “He came in here last night.”
    “When? What time?”
    “Musta been about nine, nine-thirty.”
    “After the symphony started,” Hawes said.
    “Huh?”
    “Nothing, I was just thinking out loud. Go on.”
    “He said he had something nice for me. He said if I came into his room, he would give me something nice.”
    “Did you go?”
    “First I asked him what it was. He said it was something I wanted more than anything else in the world.”
    “But did you go into his room?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did you see anything out of the ordinary?”
    “Like what?”
    “Like a high-powered rifle with a telescopic sight.”
    “No, nothing like that.”
    “All right, what was this ‘something nice’ he promised you?”
    “Hoss.”
    “He had heroin for you?”
    “And that’s why he asked you to come into his room? For the heroin?”
    “Yes.”
    “That’s what he said.”
    “He didn’t attempt to sell it to you, did he?”
    “No. But …”
    “Yes?”
    “He made me beg for it.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “He showed it to me, and he let me taste it to prove that it was real stuff, and then he refused to give it to me unless I … begged for it.”
    “I see.”
    “He … teased me for … I guess for … for almost two hours. He kept looking at his watch and making me … do things.”
    “What kind of things?”
    “Stupid things. He asked me to sing for him. He made me sing ‘White Christmas,’ that was supposed to be a big joke, you see, because the shit is white and he knew how bad I needed a fix, so he made me sing ‘White Christmas’ over and over again, I musta sung it for him six or seven times. And all the while he kept looking at his watch.”
    “Go ahead.”
    “Then he … he asked me to strip, but … I mean, not just take off my clothes, but … you know, do a strip for him. And I did it. And he began … he began making fun of me, of the way I looked, of my body. I … he made me stand naked in front of him, and he just went on and on about how stupid and pathetic I looked, and he kept asking me if I really wanted the heroin, and