Nightcrawlers: A Nameless Detective Novel (Nameless Detective Mystery) by Bill Pronzini Read Free Book Online

“I’m sorry.”
    “What for? We all . . . gotta go . . . sometime.”
    Some more easily than others. I nodded.
    “You don’t mean it . . . anyway. Nobody . . . gives a shit . . . when a hack writer croaks.”
    “I do, or I wouldn’t be here.”
    “Pity,” he said. “Pity visit . . . no different than . . . pity fuck.”
    Even on his deathbed, the Dancer tongue was as crude and acrid as ever.
    “Your friend Trail cares,” I said.
    “Buck? Hah, that’s a . . . that’s a laugh.”
    “Why would he call me if he didn’t care?”
    “Paid him, that’s why. Twenty . . . twenty bucks. Bet he’s . . . over at Mama Luz’s . . . drinking it up right now.”
    “One of the doctors or nurses would’ve done it for free.”
    “Wouldn’t trust . . . any of those bastards. Nurses . . . can’t even empty bedpan . . .” A cough shook him, made him wheeze harder. “Besides, what do I . . . care about money . . . now . . .” More coughs, a staccato series of them that led to a gasping struggle for breath.
    “Russ? Should I call the nurse?”
    “. . . No. Be okay . . . not time yet . . .”
    The struggle went on for another fifteen or twenty seconds. That could be me, I thought. If I hadn’t quit smoking when I did, if I hadn’t started taking better care of myself. The thought put little ripples of cold on my neck.
    “Why did you ask to see me, Russ?” I said when the wheezing and gasping finally eased. “Just to say good-bye?”
    “Hell, no. No damn good . . . at good-byes. Want you . . . do something for me.”
    “All right. If I can.”
    “You can. Has to do with . . . Sweeteyes.”
    “Cybil? You want me to bring her to see you?”
    “Christ! That’s the . . . last thing . . . her see me like this.”
    “Give her a message, then?”
    “Sweeteyes,” Dancer said again. His pet name for her. “Bet she’s . . . still as . . . beautiful as ever.”
    “Yes, she is.”
    “Health good?”
    “Yes.”
    “Still . . . sharp mentally, still . . . writing?”
    “Yes.”
    “Tell her . . . read her novel. Damn good. She . . . can still write rings . . . around most of us. Makes . . . everything I churned out . . . look like the shit it is.”
    “I’ll tell her. Anything else?”
    Faint smile. “Remember D-Day.”
    I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. “What was that, Russ?”
    “Remember D-Day.”
    “Just those words?”
    “And . . . one more message. Tell her . . . amazing grace.”
    “You mean like the hymn?”
    “Just tell her. Remember D-Day . . . amazing grace.”
    “All right.”
    “Rest of what I . . . have to say to her . . . in the package.”
    “Package?”
    “Other thing I want you . . . do for me. Give Sweeteyes . . . package.”
    “Where is it? Here?”
    “No. Storage locker, trunk . . . my building. Keys . . . keys in drawer there . . . next to bed. Okay?”
    “Okay.”
    “Big envelope, her name . . . on the front. Don’t open . . . for Sweeteyes only.”
    “I won’t.”
    “And don’t give it . . . to her until after . . . you hear I’m gone.”
    “Whatever you say.”
    “Good. Knew I could . . . trust you. Only one . . . I can trust . . .”
    The curtains slid open behind me, the sudden ratcheting of hooks on the frame making me jerk a little. A starchy nurse poked her head inside. “You’ll have to leave now,” she said to me. “It’s time for the patient’s medicine.”
    “Fucking cow,” Dancer said when she was gone. “Time for . . . patient’s medicine. You like that? Not . . . Mr. Dancer, not even . . . old bastard, just patient.” He made a laughing sound. “Dead meat, pretty soon.”
    I’d had enough even before the nurse appeared. I stood up.
    “Take keys,” he said.
    I opened the nightstand drawer. Two keys on a ring; I put them in my pocket.
    “No . . . good-byes. Hate good-byes.”
    “So do I.” But I couldn’t just leave it at that. I felt even worse now; I had to put some of the guilt into words—for my sake, if not for his. “I