'What's going on here?' Mr. Sanders said.
Mrs. Keene stuck her head out. 'Yeah, what's the racket?'
'Call the police,' I yelled. 'Help! Call the police.'
'Don't worry, dear,' Mrs. Keene said, 'I've got my gun.' She fired two off and took out an overhead light. 'Did I get him?' she asked. 'Would you like me to shoot again?'
Mrs. Keene had cataracts and wore glasses as thick as the bottom of a beer glass.
Ramirez had bolted for the door at the first shot.
'You missed him, Mrs. Keene, but that's okay. You scared him off.'
'Do you still want us to call the police?'
'I'll take care of it,' I told them. 'Thanks.'
Everyone thought I was a big professional bounty hunter, and I didn't want to ruin that image, so I calmly walked to the stairs. I climbed one step at a time, and I told myself to stay focused. Get yourself into your apartment, I thought. Lock the door, call the police. I should have found my gun and gone into the lot after Ramirez. But the truth is, I was too scared. And if I was being really honest here, I wasn't such a good shot. Better to leave it to the police.
By the time I got to my door, I had my key in my hand. I took a deep breath and got the key in on the first try. The apartment was dark and quiet. Too early for Briggs to be asleep. He must have gone out. Rex was silently running on his wheel. The red light was lit on my answering machine. Two messages. I suspected one was from Ranger, left early afternoon. I flipped the light on, dropped my bag on the kitchen counter, and played the messages.
The first was from Ranger, just as I'd thought, telling me to page him again.
The second was from Morelli. 'This is important,' he said. 'I have to talk to you.'
I dialed Morelli at home. 'Come on,' I said. 'Pick up the phone.' No answer, so I started working my way down the speed dial. Next on the list was Morelli's car phone. No answer there either. Try his cell phone. I took the phone into my bedroom, but only got as far as the bedroom door.
Allen Shempsky was sitting on my bed. The window behind him was broken. No secret how he got into my bedroom. He was holding a gun. And he looked terrible.
'Hang up,' he said. 'Or I'll kill you.'
15
'WHAT ARE YOU doing?' I asked Shempsky.
'Good question. I thought I knew. I thought I had it all figured out.' He shook his head. 'It's all gone to heck in a handbasket.'
'You look awful.' His face was flushed, his eyes were bloodshot and glassy, and his hair was a mess. He was in a suit, but his shirt was hanging out, and his tie was twisted to one side. His slacks and jacket were wrinkled. 'Have you been drinking?'
'I feel sick,' he said.
'Maybe you should put the gun down.'
'Can't. I have to kill you. What is it with you anyway? Anyone else would know when to quit. I mean, no one even liked Fred.'
'Where is he?'
'Hah! Another good question.'
I heard muffled noise coming from my closet.
'It's the dwarf,' Shempsky said. 'He scared the hell out of me. I thought no one was in here. And all of a sudden this little Munchkin came running in.'
I was at the closet in two strides. I opened the door and looked down. Briggs was trussed up like a Christmas goose, his hands tied behind his back with my bathroom clothesline, mailing tape across his mouth. He seemed okay. Very scared and boiling mad.
'Shut the door,' Shempsky, said. 'He's quieter if you shut the door. I guess I have to kill him, too, but I've been procrastinating. It's like killing Doc or Sneezy, or Grumpy. And I have to tell you I feel real bad about killing Sneezy. I really like Sneezy.'
If you've never had a gun pointed at you, you can't imagine the terror. And the regret that life was too short, too unappreciated. 'You don't really want to kill Sneezy and me,' I said, working hard to keep my voice from shaking.
'Sure I do. Hell, why not. I've killed everybody else.' He sniffed and wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve. 'I'm getting a cold. Boy, I tell you, when things start going bad . . .' He ran his hand through his hair. 'It was such a good idea. Take a few customers and keep them for yourself. Real clean. Except I didn't count on people like Fred stirring things up. We were all making money. Nobody was getting hurt. And then things started to go wrong and people started to panic. First Lipinski and then John Curly.'
'So you killed them?'
'What else could I do? It's the only way to really keep someone quiet, you know.'
'What about Martha Deeter?'
'Martha Deeter,' he said on a sigh. 'One of my many regrets is that she's dead, and I can't kill her again. If it
