While My Pretty One Sleeps by Mary Higgins Clark Read Free Book Online Page B

Charley wouldn’t turn him in to the cops, and they both knew it. His knowledge of the contract had made him too dangerous. To refuse it meant that he’d never make it back to the George Washington Bridge.
    He pocketed the money.
    â€œThat’s better,” Charley said. “What are your hours at the deli?”
    â€œNine to six. Mondays off.”
    â€œShe leaves for work between eight-thirty and nine. Start hanging around her apartment building. The shop closes at six-thirty. Remember, take your time. It can’t look like a deliberate hit .”
    Big Charley started up the engine for the return trip to New York. Once again he fell into his customary silence, broken only by the grunting sound of his breathing. An overwhelming curiosity was consuming Denny. As Charley turned off the West SideHighway and drove across Fifty-seventh Street, Denny asked, “Charley, got any idea who ordered the job? She don’t seem like the kind to get in anyone’s way. Sepetti got sprung. Sounds like he’s got a memory.”
    He felt the angry eyes flash in his direction. The guttural voice was now clear, and the words fell with the impact of a rock slide. “You’re getting careless, Denny. I don’t know who wants her wasted. The guy who contacted me don’t know. The guy who contacted him don’t know. That’s how it works, and no questions asked. You’re a small-time, small-mind bum, Denny, and some things are none of your business. Now get out .”
    The car stopped abruptly at the corner of Eighth Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street.
    Uncertainly, Denny opened the door. “Charley, I’m sorry,” he said. “It was just . . .”
    The wind was whipping through the car. “Just shut up and make sure that job gets done right.”
    An instant later, Denny was staring at the back of Charley’s Chevy as it disappeared down Fifty-seventh Street. He walked toward Columbus Circle, stopped at a street vendor for a hot dog and a Coke. When he had finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His nerves began to settle. His fingers caressed the bulky envelope inside the pocket of his jacket.
    â€œMight as well start earning my keep,” he muttered to himself, and began to head up Broadway toward Seventy-fourth Street and West End Avenue.
    At Schwab House, he sauntered casually around the block, noting the Riverside Drive entrance to the building. No chance she’d use that. The West End Avenue one was much more convenient.
    Satisfied, he crossed the street and leaned against the building directly opposite Schwab House. It would make a great observation point, he decided. The door opened near him, and a cluster of residents came out. He didn’t want to be observed, so he casually moved on, reflecting that his wino outfit would make him blend into the background while he stalked Neeve Kearny.
    At two-thirty, as he crossed town toward the East Side, he passed a line of people waiting to buy tickets for the movie. His narrow eyes widened. Halfway along the queue Neeve Kearny was standing next to a white-haired man whose face Denny recognized. Her father. Denny hurried by, his head buried in his neck. And I wasn’t even looking for her, he thought. This is going to be the easiest hit I ever made.

4|
    On Monday morning, Neeve was in the lobby, her arms once again filled with Ethel’s clothes, when Tse-Tse, a twenty-three-year- old actress, emerged breathlessly from the elevator. Her curly blond hair was early Phyllis Diller. Her eye makeup was violent shades of purple. Her small, pretty mouth had been painted into a Kewpie-dollbow. Tse-Tse, born Mary Margaret McBride, “After guess who?” as she’d explained to Neeve, was always appearing in off-off-Broadway productions, most of which lasted less than a week.
    Neeve had gone to see her several times and had been astonished at how really good Tse-Tse was. Tse-Tse could