So Nude, So Dead by Ed McBain Page B

oozing down his face. He wondered if they’d hang that one on him, too. But how could they? Unless Massine had heroin on him. Still, the connection was a remote one.
    Heroin. Maybe he should have searched the place. Suppose Massine had gotten the eighth? A beautiful eighth of H in a dead man’s pocket, going to waste.
    The thought irritated him, and he dug into his pocket for another dime. He put it into the slot quickly and dialed the number from habit.
    He heard a click as the receiver was lifted on the other end, heard mingled voices and laughter, the sound of glasses clinking, party noises. There was a laugh right near the phone, and then a fuzzy female voice said, “City Morgue.”
    It startled him for a moment. “What?” he asked.
    “City Morgue, coroner speaking.” There was another giggle, and he heard a girl shriek in the background.
    “Is this Trafalgar seven—”
    “Who’d you want, dearie?” the girl asked.
    “Louie. Is Louie there?”
    “Just a sec.” He heard the party noises again, and then the girl yelled, “Louie!” The noises swarmed into the phone again. “Louie, telephone!”
    Her voice came back to his ear again, louder. “Be with you in a minute, dearie.”
    He waited, and the sounds of revelry irritated him more. He fidgeted uncomfortably. That son of a bitch was having a good time, probably with some babe in the next room, drinking liquor he’d bought with the fivers Ray had handed over to him.
    “Hello.” Louie’s voice was brusque. It was obvious that he hadn’t wanted to he interrupted, whatever he was doing.
    “Louie?”
    “Yeah, who’s this?”
    “Ray Stone.”
    “Who?”
    “Ray—”
    “Yeah, yeah, I heard you. Listen, Stone, you must be crazy or something. What the hell’s the idea calling me?”
    “Louie, I need a shot right away. I’ve got the money this time.”
    “Mister, I wouldn’t come near you if you had Fort Knox on your back.”
    “Louie, can’t we—”
    “For God’s sake, pipe down in there!” Louie shouted, his voice away from the phone. Then, louder, “Make it snappy, Stone.”
    “I’ll come up there, Louie. I’ll—”
    “You come up here and you’ll find the cops waiting for you, chum. I don’t want no part of you.”
    “Then meet me. I’ve got fifty bucks,” he lied. “It’s all yours, Louie. Just get me some stuff!”
    Louie chuckled. “You really got it bad, eh, Stone?” He clucked his tongue.
    “Louie, I’m going out of my skull. Louie, you know what it is, you’ve seen enough of it. I have to—”
    “Tough, Stone.”
    “Look, can’t you just—”
    “Big party here, Stone. You better hang up.”
    “Louie—”
    “Look, it’s no sale. Understand? No sale. Goodbye, Stone.”
    “You’re a bastard, Louie. A ten-carat bastard. When this is all over you can whistle if you think you’re going to get any dough out of me.”
    “You’re breaking my heart, Stone. When this is all over, you’ll be either chopping rocks or frying.”
    “Don’t be too damn sure,” Ray shouted.
    “Read the papers, Stone. The cops got you all sewed up. They got a Reserved sign on the chair, just for you.”
    “Go back to your party, you bastard,” Ray said heatedly.
    Louie’s voice changed suddenly. “Come on, chum, have a heart. I can’t stick my neck out for you.”
    “You think I killed her, Louie?”
    “Well, I don’t know.”
    “Deposit five cents for the next five minutes,” the operator interrupted.
    “You think I killed her?” Ray asked again.
    “You better hang up. Your dime’s up.”
    “Just, think this over, Louie. If I killed her, I can kill again. And you might be next, you lousy bastard.”
    “I beg your pardon, deposit five cents for the next—”
    Ray slammed the phone onto the hook, immensely satisfied. Let the bastard chew on that for a while. Let him wonder if a slug was going to sing out from some alley on the way home from a meet. Let him mull over it.
    The first moment of elation wore off