Time to Murder and Create

He was a petty crook and a shoddy blackmailer. He began by entrapping me, preying on a personal weakness, and then he tried to bleed me."

"He wasn't much of a man at all," I agreed.

"Yet his murder is that significant to you."

"I don't like murder."

"You believe that human life is sacred, then."

"I don't know if I believe that anything is sacred. It's a very complicated question. I've taken human life.

A few days ago I killed a man. Not long before that, I contributed to a man's death. My contribution was unintentional. That hasn't made me feel all that much better about it. I don't know if human life is sacred. I just don't like murder. And you're in the process of getting away with murder, and that bothers me, and there's just one thing I'm going to do about it. I don't want to kill you, I don't want to expose you, I don't want to do any of those things. I'm sick of playing an incompetent version of God. All I'm going to do is keep you out of Albany."

"Doesn't that constitute playing God?"

"I don't think so."

"You say human life is sacred. Not in so many words, but that seems to be your position. What about my life, Mr. Scudder? For years now only one thing has been important to me, and you're presuming to tell me I can't have it."

I looked around the den. The portraits, the furnishings, the service bar. "It looks to me as though you're doing pretty well," I said.

"I have material possessions. I can afford them."

"Enjoy them."

"Is there no way I can buy you? Are you that devoutly incorruptible?"

"I'm probably corrupt, by most definitions. But you can't buy me, Mr.

Huysendahl."

I waited for him to say something. A few minutes went by, and he just remained where he was, silent, his eyes looking off into the middle distance. I found my own way out.

Chapter 20

This time I got to St. Paul's before it closed. I stuffed a tenth of what I'd taken from Lundgren into the poor box. I lit a few candles for various dead people who came to mind. I sat for a while and watched people take their turns in the confessional. I decided that I envied them, but not enough to do anything about it.

I went across the street to Armstrong's and had a plate of beans and sausage, then a drink and a cup of coffee. It was over now, it was all over, and I could drink normally again, never getting drunk, never staying entirely sober. I nodded at people now and then, and some of them nodded back to me. It was Saturday, so Trina was off, but Larry did just as good a job of bringing more coffee and bourbon when my cup was empty.

Most of the time I just let my mind wander, but from time to time I would find myself going over the events since Spinner had walked in and given me his envelope. There were probably ways I could have handled things better. If I'd pushed it a little and taken an interest at the beginning, I might even have been able to keep Spinner alive. But it was over and I was done with it, and I even had some of his money left after what I'd paid to Anita and the churches and various bartenders, and I could relax now.

"This seat taken?"

I hadn't even noticed when she came in. I looked up and there she was. She sat down across from me and took a pack of cigarettes from her bag. She shook a cigarette loose and lit it.

I said, "You're wearing the white pants suit."

"That's so you'll be able to recognize me. You sure managed to turn my life inside out, Matt."

"I guess I did. They're not going to press anything, are they?"

"They couldn't press a pants suit, let alone a charge. Johnny never knew Spinner existed. That should be my biggest headache."

"You've got other headaches?"

"In a manner of speaking, I just got rid of a headache. It cost me a lot to get rid of him, though."

"Your husband?"

She nodded. "He decided without too much trouble that I was a luxury he intended to deny himself. He's getting a divorce. And I am not getting any alimony, because if I give him any trouble he's going to give me ten times as much trouble, and I think he'd probably do it. Not that there wasn't enough shit in the papers already, as far as that goes."

"I haven't been keeping up with the papers."

"You've missed some nice stuff." She drew on her cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. "You really do your drinking in all the class joints, don't you? I tried your hotel but you weren't in, so then I tried Polly's Cage, and they said you came here a lot of the time. I can't imagine why."

"It suits me."

She cocked her head, studying me. "You know something? It does. But me a drink?"

"Sure."

I got Larry's attention, and she ordered a glass of wine. "It probably won't be terrific," she said, "but at least it's hard for the bartender to fuck it up." When he brought it she raised her glass to me, and I returned the gesture with my cup.

"Happy days," she said.

"Happy days."

"I didn't want him to kill you, Matt."

"Neither did I."