"Things Mapes let drop. I don't know what he said exactly, but the implication was that he got paid now and then in cash, and that it stayed out of the bank, and off the books."
"I hardly ever get cash anymore," she said. "It's almost all credit cards nowadays. Which is fine, because they don't bounce the way checks used to. Do you get much cash?"
"When it's less than ten dollars, almost everybody pays cash. And just the other day I had a sale that came to forty-eight dollars and change, and the guy handed me a fifty-dollar bill. But that's a rarity."
"The forty-eight-dollar sale? Or getting paid in cash."
"Both. When it's a two-dollar sale from the bargain table, sometimes I just put it in my pocket. But most of the time I ring the sale. I mean, I'm not looking to skim cash from the business. I'd rather show as much store income as possible, and declare it and pay taxes on it."
"Because your other job's tax-free."
"That's the thing about burglary," I said. "There's no tax bite, and very little paperwork."
"I'm not gonna ask about the pension plan, Bern. Anyway, what does Mapes do?"
"He's a doctor."
"And he gets paid in cash?"
"Not entirely, but there's a fair amount of cash involved."
"But everybody has medical insurance," she said. "Who pays cash?"
"I don't have medical insurance."
"Well, no. Neither do I, Bern. We run our own businesses, and the cost of medical coverage would bankrupt us. Fortunately my health is good, so it doesn't come up very often, but when I have to go to the doctor I wind up writing a check. That way at least it's tax deductible."
"Right."
"Of course maybe Mapes is an old-fashioned doctor," she said, "like the one I go to over in Stuyvesant Town. You don't need an appointment, you just walk in and take a number like you were at Zabar's. And it's fifteen or twenty dollars for your basic office visit. But the guy's a saint, Bern, and Mapes doesn't sound much like a candidate for canonization."
"He doesn't, does he?"
"So what kind of a doctor is he?"
"A plastic surgeon."
"You're kidding, right? A guy does nose jobs and gets paid in cash?"
"According to Marty," I said, "most plastic surgery is elective. The insurance companies won't reimburse you for it. If you want breast enhancement or liposuction or rhinoplasty, it's going to come out of your own pocket."
"Or out of my checking account, because if I shell out that kind of money I'd at least like to get the tax deduction. It's still deductible, isn't it? Even if it is elective?"
"I think so."
"So?"
"People who wind up with a lot of cash of their own," I said, "are always looking for ways to pay cash that won't show up. Say you're skimming a hundred thousand dollars a year off the top of your business."
"Which would be a neat trick, in my business. I mean, skimming the surface wouldn't do it, Bern. I'd be going through bedrock and halfway to China."
"It's a hypothetical example."
"Not a dog grooming facility at all. Got it."
"You've got all that cash," I said, "and what are you going to do with it? You can buy your wife a diamond necklace, that'll work, but then you may not be able to insure it, or somewhere down the line someone might ask you where it came from. If you're a collector, of course, you're in the clear. You can buy stamps and coins and rare books until the cows come home, paying cash for everything, and your hobby'll soak up every spare dollar you've got. But another thing you can do-"
"Is pay the plastic surgeon?"
"You'd have to write a check to the hospital," I said, "and you could deduct that, but maybe the surgeon lets you know that he wouldn't mind getting his fee in cash, and that he might even shave it a little in return for cash payment. That way everybody comes out ahead."
"Neat."
"Very neat," I agreed. "Also, I gather that Mapes has some acquaintances on what I'd call the wrong side of the law, if it weren't that I spent so much time on that side myself."
"Criminals."
"Of one sort or another, yes. The scuttlebutt, according to Marty, is that he's the go-to guy when somebody like Tony Soprano needs an illegal operation."
She looked puzzled. "An illegal operation? You mean an abortion, Bern? Last I heard, they were still legal."
"I mean if you want a gunshot wound stitched up," I said, "by someone who won't report it. Or if you walk in with a poster off a post office wall and ask him to make you look different from the picture, and incidentally how about removing some of the tattoos and distinguishing marks they mentioned? I don't suppose Mapes gets a lot of those, but I bet they pay top dollar and they don't try to put it on their MasterCard."
She thought it over, nodded. "Bottom line," she said, "he takes in a fair amount of cash. And keeps it in a wall safe."
"That's how Marty figures it."
"And how do you figure it, Bern?"
"I figure he takes in a lot of cash," I said, "and he keepssomething in the safe. If it's not cash, it's still going to be something worth taking. The thing is, I know he's got a safe, and I know where it is. I even know what picture's in front of it."
"A painted ship on a painted ocean."
"A poorly painted ship on a poorly painted ocean."
"You figure the safe'll be easy to open?"
"A wall safe? I never yet found a really difficult one. And if he's got the mother of all wall safes, well, all that means is I'll have to pull it out of the wall and take it home and work on it at leisure. That's another thing about wall safes, they're portable. They have to be or you couldn't stick them in the wall."
"Are you gonna do it, Bern?"
"I told Marty I'd have to think about it. He really wants me to do it. He offered to come along on the job, and even said he'd be willing to waive his end."
"What was he gonna wave his end at?"
"Waivewith ani. He'd get a finder's fee, and if he came along, too, he'd get a share. But he said he'd be willing to go the whole route and not get a nickel for his troubles. Of course he probably knows I wouldn't take him up on the offer, but the fact that he made it in the first place shows how strongly he feels. He doesn't care about the money. He just wants to see Crandall Mapes get one in the eye. Whatever he's got in the safe, it's either cash or something he bought for cash. So it's not insured, which makes it a dead loss to the good doctor."
"You figure Mapes is really that big a shitheel, Bern?"
"Well, I don't suppose he's one of nature's noblemen. At the very least he's a bounder, and probably a cad in the bargain. Marty's got a particular reason to hate him, because he took Marty's girl away from him before he was done with her. Personally, I've got nothing against Dr. Mapes. He hasn't done anything bad to me, and he's not likely to, since I haven't got a girlfriend for him to steal."
"Neither have I."
"But I don't have to hate a man in order to steal from him. I've never bothered to justify what I do, because I recognize it's not justifiable."
"You've said it's a character defect."
"It is, and I probably ought to do something about it. And maybe I will, someday."
"But not today, huh, Bern?"
"Not today," I said, "and not tomorrow, and not the day after tomorrow."
"What's the day after tomorrow?"
"Friday."
"Thanks, Bern. If I didn't have you for a friend I'd have to go out and buy a calendar. What happens on Friday?" I just looked at her, and she put her hand on her forehead. "Duh," she said. "That's when you're gonna do it. Friday night? I guess that means you'll be ordering Perrier at the Bum Rap."
We meet every day after work at a gin mill around the corner for a ritual Thank-God-It's-Finished drink, to unwind after a high-pressure day of washing dogs and peddling books. On those occasional evenings when the work has just begun for me, my standard tipple is Perrier water. Scotch, my usual drug of choice, mixes well with any number of things, but burglary, alas, is not among them.