The Last Dance by Ed McBain Read Free Book Online Page B

been bothering me.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear that.”
    â€œYeah, it still bothers me. From when I got shot that time.”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    Actually, Danny had never been shot in his life. He limped because he’d had polio as a child. But pretending he’d been wounded in a big gang shoot-out gave him a certain street cred he considered essential to the gathering of incidental information. Carella was willing to forgive him the lie.
    â€œYou want some pizza?” he asked.
    â€œCoffee might be better,” Danny said, and started to rise.
    â€œSit,” Carella said, “I’ll get it. You want anything with it?”
    â€œThe pastry looks good,” Danny said. “Bring me one of them chocolate things, okay?”
    Carella went up to the counter and came back some five minutes later with two chocolate eclairs and two cups of coffee. Danny was blowing on his hands, trying to warm them. A constant flow of traffic through the entrance doors and past the counter kept bringing in the cold from outside. He picked up his coffee cup, warmed his hands on that for a while. Carella bit into his chocolate eclair. Danny bit into his. “Oh, Jesus,” he said, “that is delicious,” and took another bite. “Oh, Jesus,” he said again.
    â€œSo what’ve you got?” Carella asked.
    $25,000 was a big-enough prize in a city where you could buy anyone’s dead ass for a subway token. If Robert Keating and hiswife Cynthia had been otherwise engaged while her father was being hoisted and hanged, the possibility existed that they’d hired someone to do the job for them. In this city, you could get anything done to anybody for a price. You want somebody’s eyeglasses smashed? You want his fingernails pulled out? His legs broken? You want him more seriously injured? You want him hurt so he’s an invalid the rest of his life? You want him skinned, you want him burned, you want him—don’t even mention it in a whisper—
killed?
It can be done. Let me talk to someone. It can be done.
    â€œI’ve got quite a lot, actually,” Danny said, seemingly more involved in his eclair than in doing business.
    â€œOh really?” Carella said.
    On the phone last night, Danny had said only that he’d come up with something interesting. This morning, it seemed to be more than that. But perhaps this was just the prelude to negotiation.
    Actually, Danny knew that what he had was very good stuff. So good, in fact, that it might be worth more money than Carella was used to paying. He hated negotiating with someone he considered an old friend, though he was never quite sure Carella shared the sentiment. At the same time, he didn’t want to pass on information that could conceivably lead to a bust in a murder case, and then have Carella toss fifty bucks or so across the table. This was too good for that kind of chump change.
    â€œI know who did it,” he said, flat out.
    Carella looked surprised.
    â€œYeah, I got lucky,” Danny said, and grinned. His teeth looked bad, too. He was clearly not taking good care of himself.
    â€œSo let me hear it,” Carella said.
    â€œI think this is worth at least what the killer got,” Danny said, lowering his voice.
    â€œAnd how much is that?”
    â€œFive grand,” Danny said.
    â€œYou’re joking, right?”
    â€œYou think so?” Danny said.
    Carella did not think so.
    â€œI’d have to clear that kind of money with the lieutenant,” he said.
    â€œSure, clear it. But I don’t think this guy’s gonna hang around very long.”
    â€œWhat can I tell him?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œMy lieutenant.”
    Five thousand was a lot of money to hand over to an informer. The squadroom slush fund sometimes rose higher than that, depending on what contributions went into it in any given month. Nobody asked questions about a few bucks that disappeared during