“Well, you’re going to have to. I’m finished. I’m all done here.”
“Done? What d’ya mean ‘done’? Day’s just started. Sunday’s the best day for work.”
“No—I mean I’m finished here for good.”
“For good?”
There’s a pause in which Konig can hear the detective’s puzzlement “Forever,” he goes on. “No more for me. Never again.”
“What d’ya mean ‘never again’? What the hell is all this about?”
“Just that. Never again. Goodbye,” Konig murmurs quietly and hangs up.
For a time he sits there slumped over his desk, numb and scarcely hearing the shouting and hurrying footsteps, the banging doors, the noise and excitement outside his window as more canvas sacks are brought in from the fire in Bed-Stuy. The building has collapsed now and dozens of charred and broken bodies have been dug out of the rubble and rushed here for identification.
Once again the phone rings. Konig reaches for it Lifts it to his ear.
“I get it. I get it now,” Flynn jeers at him through the wires. “It’s the goddamned morning papers. Right?”
“What morning papers?”
“The Times. The News.” Flynn laughs harshly, tauntingly. “Listen. I read them too. I know all about it. The Robinson case. The body-snatching thing. The grand jury investigation. They really put it to you.” Flynn howls gleefully. “They really shafted you this time.”
“Shut up, Flynn.”
The detective’s glee grows even more shrill. “They scared you, didn’t they? First time I ever seen you scared. You gonna go run and hide someplace now just ’cause they gave you the business? Screw them holier-than-thou bastards. Sittin’ on their asses all day with a typewriter, readin’ everyone the riot act. What the hell do they know? Come on down here. I need you. I’m up to my ass in blood.”
“I can’t, I said.”
“You gotta.”
“I can’t,” Konig shouts and flings down the phone. Several seconds later it is ringing again. He snatches it up. “I can’t. Will you please, for God’s sake,” he pleads, “leave me alone?” Something like a sob catches in his throat. He grinds a fist into his eye where a cinder has caught there and suddenly hot, tired tears are streaming down his cheeks. “I can’t,” he says brokenly.
“What’sa matter with you? Your voice sounds funny. What’s—”
“Nothing’s the matter. I can’t come now. Just leave me alone.”
“I would if I could, but I can’t handle this thing myself. It’s too big.”
“I’ll send someone else.”
“I don’t want no novice. I want you.”
“What the hell is it anyway?” Konig pushes a hand hectically through his tousled hair.
“Whole goddamned family. Mother. Father. Three kids. Looks like a machine gun. Place all busted up. Brains all over the goddamned walls.”
“Robbery?” Konig asks, something like interest springing feebly in him.
“No sign of it. Just for kicks, looks like to me. Come on down.”
“All right, all right,” Konig sighs. “Don’t touch anything. I’ll be right there.”
“Atta boy.” Flynn giggles. “Listen—Wanna laugh? I’m gettin’ married again.”
“Who to?”
“My ex-wife. Buried the hatchet. We’re gettin’ together again. How’d ya like them apples? Come on. Come on. Konig, you mean old son of a bitch.” Flynn roars affectionately through the phone.
“Watch your tongue, Flynn.”
“Fire me. Go on, fire me. I could care less. I got a job as a store dick in Bloomingdale’s whenever I want it. Just gotta say the word. Come on, Konig. Come out and play with me.”
“I’m coming. I’m coming, for Chrissake. Just let me get my car.”
“Don’t bother,” the detective shouts hilariously. “I already sent one up there for you. Should be sittin’ right out there in front now. Come on. Come on. Get the lead out Let’s get the bastards.”