Chapter 20 Chapter Twenty

Danny "Boy" held up his glass of Russian vodka and looked through the glass at the light. "Purity, brightness, precision," he said, each word rolling out of his mouth with care, "Matthew, the best vodka is like a razor, a sharp operation in the hands of a skilled surgeon Knife. Clean cut." He tilted his cup and swallowed an ounce or so of purity and lightness.We're sitting at Foogan's, and he's wearing a navy uniform with a red stripe that's barely legible in the bar's dim light.I was drinking soda and lime and on the way I went to another bar and a freckled waitress told me the drink was called a Lime Shake.I don't think I've ever ordered this drink with that name.

"Boy" Danny said, "Repeat. Her name is Kim Duckinen. She's a tall, blond girl in her early twenties. She lives in Murray Hill. She was killed at the Galaxy Hotel two weeks ago." "Not even two weeks." "Yes. She's Chance's girl. She has a boyfriend. He's the one you're asking. Her boyfriend." "That's right." "You're going to pay the tipper. How much?" I shrugged: "A few dollars." "One hundred? Five hundred? How much?" I shrugged again. "I don't know, Danny. It depends on what kind of news, where it comes from, and what it's useful for. I'm not a millionaire, but the money is worth it."

"You said she was one of Chance's girls?" "right." "You were looking for Chance more than two weeks ago, Matthew. Then you took me into the ring and asked me to identify him." "Yes indeed." "A few days after that, your big tall blonde was in the papers. You were looking for her pimp, and now she's dead, and you're looking for her boyfriend." "So what?" He drank the rest of the vodka: "Does Chance know what you're doing?" "Know." "You told him this?" "I said so."

"Interesting." He held the empty glass up to the light, squinting through the glass.Definitely testing the purity, brightness and precision of the glass. He said, "Who is your client?" "Can't reveal." "Funny. Diggers never give out information. No problem. I can ask around and speak in certain places. Is that what you want?" "This is what I want." "Do you know what happened to this boyfriend?" "What's up?" "Such as how old is he? Smart and witty or straightforward? Married or single? Does he walk to work or bring his own lunch?"

"He may have given her a gift." "This news is really useful." "I know." - Stick School · E Book Group - "Well," he said, "all we can do is try." That's really all I can do.Before meeting Danny, I came back from my AA meeting to find someone had left me a message. "Call Sonny," it said, along with the number I had called earlier.I called from the phone booth in the lobby, but no one answered.Doesn't she have an answering machine?Don't everyone in their line of work have an answering machine now? I went back to my room, but couldn't stay.I am not tired, the nap has driven my tiredness away.

The cups of coffee I drank at the venue started to make me fidget and fidget.Flipping through my notebook, rereading Donna's poem, it occurred to me that what I was looking for might be an answer someone already knew. This is commonplace in the police case.The easiest way to get an answer is to find the insider.The difficulty is to find out who that person is.Who will Kim confide in?Not the girl I've interviewed.Nor was her neighbor on Thirty-seventh Street.Who would it be? Sunny?Maybe it was her.But Sunny never answered the phone.I tried calling again and got through the hotel switchboard.

No one answered.fair enough.I don't really feel like drinking ginger ale for an hour with another call girl anytime soon. What the hell did they do - Kim and her mysterious friend?If they were locked in the room all the time, lying in bed swearing to each other, then I probably had no hope.But maybe they went out, maybe he took her to certain circles to show off.Maybe he talked to someone, and that person talked to someone else, maybe... You will never find out in a hotel room.Fuck it, the weather wasn't that bad tonight.The rain had stopped during the meeting and the wind had died down.Time to get your ass up and call a cab for a little money.My money hadn't been deposited in the bank or stuffed into the donation box.Nor did it reach Syosit's home.It's time to spread some money out.

do as promised.Foogan's was probably the ninth place I visited, and "The Boy" Danny Bell was probably the fifteenth.Some of the places I visited I had been to when I visited Chance.I tried hotels in Greenwich Village, bistros in Murray Hill and Turtle Bay, singles bars on First Avenue.I've been doing it since I left Poogan's, spending my pennies on taxis and drinks, repeating the same conversations over and over again. No one can really provide information.When you're scurrying around like a headless chicken, you're always hoping.There is always the possibility that when you are interviewing someone, one of the interviewees will point their fingers and say: Well, that's him, her boyfriend.That's the big guy sitting in the corner over there. "

This is actually very unlikely to happen.If you're lucky your word might get out.There's like eight million people in this goddamn city, and it's weird how everybody's talking about each other.If I get my way, it won't be long before eight million people hear about a dead whore who had a boyfriend, and now a man named Scudder is looking for him. Not even two taxis would take me to Haarlem.The law expressly states that they cannot refuse.Drivers must accept requests from any well-dressed, normal-sounding passenger to go to any location in New York City's five boroughs.I was too lazy to quote the relevant legal provisions to the driver. I thought it would be easier to walk another street to take the subway. There is no subway line leading to other places at this station, and the platform is empty.The conductor sat in a locked bulletproof booth.I wondered if she really felt safe sitting in it.Taxis in New York City have thick insulating Plexiglas to protect the driver, but the taxi I just stopped wouldn't go north of the city even if it had protective glass.

Not long ago, a conductor suffered a heart attack inside a ticket booth.Paramedics were unable to enter the locked pavilion to provide first aid.The poor guy just sits and waits to die.But then again, I think ticket booths protect more people than they kill. Of course, they did not protect the two women at the Broadway subway station.A couple of kids got a fire extinguisher and filled it with gasoline, sprayed it into the ticket booth, and lit a match after they were displeased with a conductor who called the police that they were jumping on the turnstiles.Immediately the entire pavilion exploded, and the two women inside were burned alive.Another way to die.

This news was in the newspaper a year ago.Of course, there is no law that says I must see it. I bought a ticket, the car came, I got on the car and headed north of the city.I scouted at Kelvin Small's bar and a few other places on Lenox Avenue.I ran into Royal Walden at a topless bar, and I had to repeat what I had said to him so many times.I had a coffee at 125th Street, walked all the way to St. Nicholas Avenue, and had a ginger ale at the bar at the Cameroon Club. The statue at the Mary Lou apartment comes from Cameroon.It was a statue of their ancestors, studded with shells. I couldn't find anyone close enough to talk to at the bar.I look at my watch, it's getting late.Saturday night bars in New York City start bombing an hour earlier, not at four but at three.I never understood why.Maybe to get the drunk sober up early so he can go to church. I nodded to the bartender and asked him if there were any bars that were open after hours.He just looked at me coldly, expressionless.I found myself slipping money into his hands, telling him I was inquiring about Kim's boyfriend.I knew he wasn't going to give me answers, and I knew he had no intention of satisfying me, but at least my word got out.He heard me, and so did the people sitting next to me.They'll all tell everyone that, and that's what I'm aiming for. "I'm afraid I can't help you," he said. "Whether you're looking right or not, you've come quite 'north'. " I guess the boy followed me out of the bar.I didn't notice, this is really a big taboo.People in my line of work should always be on the lookout for things like this.I walked down the street, thinking about it—from Kim's boyfriend to the speaker at an AA meeting who claimed to have killed his sexual partner.By the time I realized something was wrong, it was too late.I was about to turn around, but his hands had grabbed my shoulders and pushed me into the alley. He followed me in.He was about an inch shorter than me, but his shaggy afro made up for it by two inches.Maybe more.The man was about eighteen or twenty or twenty-two, with a mustache and a burn scar on his cheek.He was wearing a flight jacket with zippered pockets and tight black jeans, and he was holding a gun pointed at me. He said, "Fuck you, fuck you. Get the money, fuck you. Get it, get it all, or you're fucked, fuck you." I was Think, why didn't I go to the bank?Why don't I leave some money at the hotel?I'm thinking, for goodness sake, my son Mickey's teeth are gone, goodbye to the tithe of his salary going to St. Paul's. Tomorrow's living expenses are gone. "Fucking bastard, fucking scum-" He is going to kill me.I reached into my pocket for my wallet, looked into his eyes, and his finger on the trigger.I know, he's warming up, he's loaded with gunpowder, so no matter how much you give, it won't help.He really won the big prize this time, more than 2,000 yuan, but no matter how much it is, I'm screwed. We were standing in a small alley about five feet wide, just a narrow gap between two brick houses.The light of a street lamp poured in and illuminated a distance of ten or fifteen yards in front of us.There was rain-soaked litter, scraps of paper, beer cans and broken bottles on the ground. Great place to go west.Guixi's good "method" - not even innovative.Being shot to death by robbers, street crime, an inconspicuous little news on the social page. I took my wallet out of my pocket.I said: "Here, I will give you all my things. You are welcome to come and get them." But I knew that no amount of money was enough. Whether I have five dollars or five thousand, he has made up his mind to kill me. I handed the wallet over, my hands shaking, and I dropped it on the floor. "I'm sorry." I said, "I'm really sorry, I'll pick it up." I bent down to pick it up, hoping that he would follow suit, and I think he would definitely do the same.I bow my knees.Grabbing the ground with both feet, I thought: "Okay!" I straightened up suddenly, and hit his chin with all my strength, and at the same time slashed at the palm of his gun. The gun went off, making a deafening bang in the confined space.I thought I must have been hit, but felt nothing.I grabbed him and rammed him hard again, shaking him hard.He staggered against the wall behind him, his eyes lost, and he couldn't hold the gun.I kicked him in the wrist and the pistol went flying. He walked away from the wall, his eyes full of murderous intent.I pretended to stretch out my left hand, and suddenly I punched his stomach with the right.He made a sound of wanting to vomit, hugged his stomach and bowed his body.I grab the son of a bitch.Grabbing his nylon jacket with one hand and his messy hair with the other, he pushed him into the wall with three strides, hitting his face hard against the brick wall.I grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back three or four times in a row, before banging his face against the wall.When I let go, he fell down with a snap like a puppet whose strings were broken, lying straight on the ground. My heart was beating wildly.It seemed that he had just rushed up the ten flights of stairs with all his strength.I can't breathe.I had to adjust my breathing with my back against the brick wall.Waiting for the police to come. No one came.There had just been a noisy scuffle, and, for God's sake, there had been gunshots, but no one came, and no one was going to come.I looked down at the young man who nearly killed me.He lay with his mouth open, several teeth broken from his gums. His nose almost bumped into his face, and the blood flowed down his nose. I checked to make sure I wasn't shot.Sometimes, I know, you can get shot and not feel it.The shock and the rush of adrenaline will numb the pain. But he missed.I looked in the wall behind me to find holes in the brick where bullets had bounced off.I calculated where I was standing at the time and knew that the chances of him missing the shot were extremely slim. What's next? I find my wallet and put it back in my pocket.I searched around and found the pistol.It was a .22 caliber revolver with one cartridge fired from one of the chambers and the other five fully loaded.Has he ever killed anyone with this gun?He seemed nervous just now, so maybe I was the first casualty in his plan.But it's hard to say, some people are always nervous before pulling the trigger, just like some actors are always nervous before going on stage. I knelt down and searched him.There was a switchblade hidden in a pocket, and another stuck in a sock.No wallet, no ID.But there was a thick bundle of banknotes protruding from his buttocks.I pulled the rubber band down and gave it a quick click.He has more than three hundred dollars, the bastard.It wasn't that he couldn't pay the rent or that he couldn't afford drugs to rob me. What the hell am I going to do with him, Call the police?What can you give them?There was no evidence, no witnesses, and it was he who was really hurt now.There is no evidence to go to court, and it is even a problem to detain him.They would rush him to the hospital, heal him, and even give him back his money. There was no way to prove that the money was stolen, no way to prove that it didn't legally belong to him. They won't give him back the robbery.They also couldn't arrest him for illegal possession of a firearm because I couldn't prove it belonged to him. I pocketed the bundle of bills and took out the pistol I had put in it earlier.I played with the gun in my hand repeatedly.Try to remember the last time you used a gun.That was a long time ago. He lay there, breath bubbling the blood from his nose, and I crouched beside him.After a while, I put the gun in his bleeding mouth with broken teeth.Finger on the trigger. Why not? Something held me back, but not fear of punishment—either in this world or in the afterlife.I'm not sure why, it's just that I sigh after feeling like I've been waiting for a long time.Withdrew the gun from his mouth.The barrel was stained with blood and gleamed coppery in the dim light of the alley.I wiped the pistol clean on his jacket and put it back in my pocket.