87th Precinct 32 - Long Time No See by McBain Ed

Author:McBain, Ed [McBain, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, United States, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, Hard-Boiled, Series, Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Police Procedurals
ISBN: 9780340593325
Publisher: Coronet
Published: 1994-12-15T05:00:00+00:00

The Tahitian Gardens was crosstown and slightly uptown on Talbot Avenue, four blocks from the Calm’s Point Bridge. As short a time as ten years back, one might have said that The Tahitian Gardens was “in the shadow of the el.” But there no longer was an elevated train running above Talbot Avenue, and so the turn of phrase, however fresh, did not now apply. Then again, ten years ago there was no such thing as a massage parlor in the city for which Carella worked, and so The Tahitian Gardens could not possibly have been there in the shadow of the el, or even in the shadow of the Law. Or, more correctly, if The Tahitian Gardens had existed on Talbot Avenue ten years ago, it would have been in the shadow of the el and also in the shadow of the Law. Today, it was neither. All clear, Harold? Try to concentrate, Harold.

The facade of the massage parlor was decorated with real bamboo poles and straw matting. The name was scorch-lettered into a wooden sign nailed to a pair of bamboo poles that formed an “X” across the door. A shorter piece of bamboo served as a handle. Carella opened the door and stepped into a room similarly decorated with bamboo and matting, but softer looking than the outside facade, in that it was lighted with subdued reds and greens emanating from bulbs hidden behind valances or tucked into niches. Some four feet from the door was a desk. A girl sat behind the desk, her back to the wall. She glanced up as Carella came in. Judging from her looks, she was either Chinese or Japanese, maybe Polynesian, certainly Oriental. She was wearing a Madame-Gin-Sling costume, the material looking like brocade, the collar coming an inch or so up on her neck, the sleeves short, her naked arms wreathed in jade bracelets. She smiled as the door whispered shut behind Carella.

He smiled back. He had not yet decided quite how to play this. If he identified himself as a cop, they might not even let him inside without a warrant. On the other hand, if he did manage to get inside, he’d have to identify himself to Stephanie Welles if he expected to get any information about the dead woman. He was still debating his approach when the girl behind the desk said, “Yes, sir, may I help you?”

He decided on a scam, hell with it.

“That depends on what you’re offering,” Carella said.

“Well, sir, why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll explain it to you.”

“I wish you would,” Carella said.

He took a chair beside the desk. The girl swiveled her own chair out toward him. The gown she wore was long and slitted to the thigh. A fringe of black underwear lace showed in the slit. She was wearing black satin shoes with extremely high heels and ankle straps. The telephone on her desk had a multitude of buttons on it, none of them lighted at the moment.

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