Come Die with Me Read Online Free Page A

you?”
    “Giovanni?” I shook my head. “Today I showed a loss—about three gallons of gas. I investigated the case and learned I didn’t want it and am here and now withdrawing from it. That’s the gospel.”
    Pete looked at me and at Dave. Dave looked at Pete and at me and back at Pete and then he shrugged. Pete said wonderingly, “We heard you were a little punchy. But Jesus, honest, too, in your racket?”
    “Why not? The big agencies are all honest.”
    “In a way. But you’re a one-man agency and I’d like you to name me an honest one-man agency.”
    “You’re standing in the home office of one, boys.”
    “I meant another one.”
    “Joe Puma.”
    “Huh! Not that greaseball. Well, Callahan, if we get any work in your line, we’ll sure as hell know where to bring it.”
    “Thanks. And there’s a question that’s been bothering me. You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”
    “Shoot,” Pete said.
    “What does Frank Giovanni think of his niece hanging around with a statutory rapist like Tip Malone?”
    Pete looked at Dave and Dave shrugged. Pete looked at me, hesitated, and finally said, “This is off the record, but Frank don’t like it one goddamned little bit.”
    “I figured as much,” I said. “And Frank sent you, didn’t he, not Malone? Frank doesn’t want Big Bill Duster to hear about his son-in-law’s indiscretions.”
    Pete raised a hand, palm toward me. “Scout’s honor; Frank didn’t send us and doesn’t know we’re here. This was Malone’s idea.”
    “Okay, boys,” I said in farewell. “See you around.”
    That “scout’s honor” hadn’t fooled me; he was no Boy Scout. It was Giovanni who had sent them.
    So I had wasted half a day, I told myself. I would probably never hear from any of these people again. But it had been kind of interesting, learning once more how wrong the obvious had been, how atypical the apparently typical. Maybe Pete Petroff was a Boy Scout.
    Again my phone rang, and this time it was my love, my nettle, my Jan. “I’ve been thinking about you,” she said with some sadness.
    “Obsessively or casually?”
    “Tenderly. Why do I needle you all the time? Why do I try to make you something you aren’t?”
    “It’s a natural female instinct; don’t fret about it. I have had an interesting and unproductive day that might be good material for one of our talks.”
    “One of our horizontal discussions, you mean. Damn it, we’ll never get married, will we?”
    “Not as long as your work keeps you in the homes of rich people. Not until you can get over your antipathy to the middle-class life.”
    “You’re not even middle-class. You’re poor, poor, poor … And you don’t need to be!”
    I said nothing.
    After a few seconds she said, “There I go again, huh?”
    “I could bring some steaks,” I said, “and if your conscience is in one of its rare moments of ascendancy, we could watch television or play gin rummy. You decide; I’m not coming over there to fight.”
    “Come over,” she said. “If I don’t answer the door, come in; it will be unlocked. I’ll be taking a shower.”
    That was a promising note. She wouldn’t need a shower to watch television or play gin rummy.

THREE
    I T HAD BEEN SOME TIME since our last encounter. For a small girl, Jan was surprisingly strong and active.
    Becalmed eventually, she listened while I told her about my day.
    When I had finished she asked, “Shall I comment?”
    “Please do.”
    “First of all, why didn’t you accept Mrs. Malone’s money?”
    “I wasn’t sure I could perform a useful service for her.”
    “What difference does it make? A hundred and fifty dollars to her is like ten cents to you and me. Don’t you usually tip more than ten cents?”
    “Yes. For a service.”
    “If the service is bad, do you still tip?”
    “Sure. I’m a social coward. I shouldn’t, but I do. Now look, the hundred and fifty dollars may be nothing to Mrs. Malone, but my getting paid