servant who was used to weathering unjust criticism. His hurt mouth and mindmade the smile grotesque. The woman tried to pull away from him. He only heldher closer, his belly nudging her flank.

"You look a little bit like my dau'er Helen. Youknow my dau'er Helen?"

The woman shook her head frantically. Her hair fluffedout.

"She says there was a witness to the killing.Were you there when it happened, baby?"

"I don't even know what you're talkingabout."

"Sure you do. Luke Deloney. Somebody drilled himin the eye and tried to make it look like suicide."

"I remember Deloney," the mansaid. "I waited on him in my father's hamburg joint once or twice. He diedbefore the war."

"Before the war?"

"That's what I said. Where you been the lasttwenty years, detective?"

Hoffman didn't know. He looked around atthe rooftops of his city as if it was a strange place. The woman cried out:

"Let me go, fatso."

He seemed to hear her from a long way off. "Youspeak with some respect to your old man."

"If you were my old man I'd kill myself."

"Don't give me no more of your lip. I've had asmuch of your lip as I'm going to take. You hear me?"

"Yes I hear you. You're a crazy old man and takeyour filthy paws off me."

Her hooked fingers raked at his face,leaving three bright parallel tracks. He slapped her. She sat down on thegravel roof. The man picked up the half-empty cola bottle. Its brown contentsgushed down his arm as he raised it, advancing on Hoffman.

Hoffman reached under the back of his coatand took a revolver out of his belt. He fired it over the man's head. Thepigeons flew up from the neighboring rooftop, whirling in great spirals. Theman dropped the bottle and stood still with his hands raised. The woman, whohad been whimpering, fell silent.

Hoffman glared at the glaring sky. Thepigeons diminished into it. He looked at the revolver in his hand. With my eyesfocused on the same object, I stepped out into the sunlight.

"You need any help with thesewitnesses, Earl?"

"Naw, I can handle 'em. Everythin'sunder control." He squinted at me. "What was the name again?Arthur?"

"Archer." I walked toward him,pushing my squat shadow ahead of me across the uneven surface of the gravel."You'll get some nice publicity out of this, Earl. Solving the Deloneykilling singlehanded."

"Yeah. Sure." His eyes weredeeply puzzled. He knew I was talking nonsense, as he knew he had been actingnonsense out, but he couldn't admit it, even to himself. "They hid thebody in the basement."

"That means we'll probably have to dig."

"Is everybody crazy?" the man said betweenhis upraised arms.

"Keep quiet, you," I said. "You bettercall for reinforcements, Earl. I'll hold the gun on these characters."

He hesitated for a stretching moment. Thenhe handed me the revolver and went into the penthouse, bumping the doorframeheavily with his shoulder.

"Who are you?" the man said.

"I'm his keeper. Relax."

"Did he escape from the insane asylum?"

"Not yet."

The man's eyes were like raisins thumbeddeep into dough. He helped his wife to her feet, awkwardly brushing off theseat of her robe. Suddenly she was crying in his arms and he was patting herback with his diamonded hand and saying something emotional in Greek.

Through the open door I could hear Hoffmantalking on the phone: "Six men with shovels an' a drill for concrete. Herbody's under the basement floor. Want 'em here in ten minutes or somebody getsreamed!"

The receiver crashed down, but he went ontalking. His voice rose and fell like a wind, taking up scattered fragments ofthe past and blowing them together in a whirl. "He never touched her.Wouldn't do that to the daughter of a friend. She was a good girl, too, a cleanlittle daddy's girl. 'Member when she was a little baby, I used to give her herbath. She was soft as a rabbit. I held her in my arms, she called me da."His voice broke. "What happened?"

He was silent. Then he screamed. I heardhim fall to the floor with a thud that shook the penthouse. I went inside. Hewas sitting with his back against the kitchen stove, trying to remove histrousers. He waved me back.

"Keep away from me. There's spiders on me."

"I don't see any spiders."

"They're under my clothes. Black widows. Thekiller's trying to poison me with spiders."

"Who is the killer, Earl?"

His face worked. "Never found out whoput the chill on Deloney. Word came down from the top, close off the case. Whatcan a man—?" Another scream issued from his throat. "My God, there'shundreds of 'em crawling on me."

He tore at his clothes. They were in blueand orange rags when the police arrived, and his old wrestler's body was nakedand writhing on the linoleum.

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009