Manhattan Noir - Lawrence Block [37]
“Whatever it is you invest, you make back quick,” she said.
“And someone as lovely as yourself to grace our branch …”
Maria pretended to blush, bringing her tapered fingers to her throat.
He hired her immediately, hoping her sense of propriety would wither in time.
She waited outside the bank on Eighth Avenue, shivering as the lunchtime crowd rushed by, their shopping bags brimming.
Coming back from Child’s, Maxie turned onto the avenue, topcoat collar high, and he looked right at her as he pushed the revolving door to enter the heated lobby.
She saw he hadn’t recognized her, and she knew it was going to be all right.
Find where Maxie kept his gun, look at the spot every morning when he leaves for the bank, and tell Maria when the piece was gone. Find where Maxie kept the gun, look at the spot every morning, and tell Maria …
The butterflies in her belly, prickle in her neck and chest, the way time stood still when she was gone: They all told Mitzi that she’d do whatever Maria said.
Never occurred to her that Maria might do her wrong like everybody else she’d fallen for.
Maxie’s gun rested beneath his array of socks, each pair rolled in a tight ball, diamonds on the ankles.
And then it was gone.
Wrapped in a thirsty robe, Mitzi went downstairs, drawing toward Maria’s lilting voice.
“It’s gone,” she said.
Maria in a black slip, and she was rolling up her hose. “He leave the same time?”
Mitzi nodded, and she watched as Maria went to her closet, brought out a dress in indigo-blue.
“Is it going to be today?” Mitzi asked.
“No, no, mi amor,” she replied as she slipped into the garment, stole a glance at the clock on the nightstand. “The money comes late this afternoon. Tomorrow. Has to be.”
“Should I be … Should I be scared?”
Maria wasn’t due at the bank until 10, but she found Minthorn liked it if she showed up early.
“No, you just do what we said.”
Maria pecked her cheek, then erased the lipstick trace. “Margarita, don’t think,” she said. “Don’t worry.”
“Okay, Maria.”
A moment later, Mitzi was alone.
She sprayed Maria’s perfume into the air, and stood beneath the cloud of flowers, summer songs, a feathery sway. For the rest of the day, Maria’s scent clung to her fingertips and her red hair.
Mitzi felt like a heel stealing Maxie’s valise, but Maria said he wasn’t going to need it, and besides, he left it behind, dumping it like he was dumping her.
He took his razor, though. Took his ties, a shirt, two pairs each of boxers and those diamond socks too, and she saw him packing the night before last, one eye open under the covers, carefully stuffing the duffel he’d bought. Spent a long time looking at his cocoa suit in the closet, fingering the sleeve, and she knew he hated like hell to leave it behind.
Mitzi lifted the slacks, figuring what the hell.
Kerchief knotted under her chin, she went down the stairs, everything she owned in the valise but the therapeutic lamp and her old cardboard suitcase, and she was thinking a handful of talc might’ve captured the sweat soaking under her arms, running along her ribs.
She looked at Maria’s door.
Maria said Pennsylvania Station, 9:18. Track 101, Baltimore, and to stay put even if the seat next to her was empty when the train pulled out.
Maria had given her a ticket, and as Mitzi stepped onto the avenue, the cold stinging her face, she tapped her pocket, felt the envelope. Tapped it twice more for luck.
Baltimore to D.C. to Shreveport via Roanoke, Chattanooga, and Birmingham.
Maria said she always wanted to drive to Texas, said they’d cross the border at Eagle Pass. Said she had a brother in Salinas.
Baltimore would’ve been enough for Mitzi, leaning into the wind, a bitty thing under buildings pricking the clouds. She’d never been south of Battery Park.
Maxie had ice-water veins, never regretted shooting off Bippy Brown’s ear