Chapter 9 Chapter two

"Well, what have you found out now?" said Mrs. Heberwaite. "Nothing was found," Timothy said. "Nothing found?" she repeated angrily, thumping the ground with her cane. "Then why should I pay you?" "You want to replace me, don't you? You can call my boss and ask for another replacement. If you want to burn Hudlin Company, you can burn it, it's up to you." She glared at him. "You're the most arrogant guy I've ever seen," she said. "It's in my nature," he told her. "I can tell you that Inmar Raboris is not a legitimate businessman, but I have no proof yet. So far, no investor has lost any money."

"Have you checked his background?" "I checked. But no one has ever heard of him, neither at home nor abroad. The man came out of nowhere." "Didn't I tell you?" she said proudly. "This man is a thief at all." Timothy stood up quickly and picked up his coat. "If it's just for that, why not call me up. You'll have to pay for my cab fare back and forth." She glared at him. "I don't like you," she said. "Each, each other." Timothy strode out as he spoke. "I want results right away," she yelled after him.

He ignored her and walked away.Walk half a block toward Madison Street.Hearing the footsteps of someone running behind her, she was wearing a grass-green waterproof cloak, which flew up as she ran. "Hi," he said. "Mr. Cohen," she called out breathlessly. "What did you find?" "not yet." "Ma thinks Francis is a fool," she said worriedly. "But he's not." "Francis? Is that your fiancé?" She nodded. "He has been trying to prove to my mother that he can take care of me, but my mother doesn't take it seriously, thinking that it is wrong for him to do so. In her opinion, no man is suitable for me, because she doesn't want to let me leave her. She wants to be in her In old age, there is a companion."

"I see," Timothy said. "Please, Mr. Cohen. If you know anything bad for La Boris, please tell me before you tell Mom." He didn't answer. "Your fiancé, still getting a check from La Boris Investments?" "yes." "Is it thirty percent, or more?" "Well, less than twenty percent of the checks I've gotten lately. But that's not bad, isn't it?" "Ok." "Would you let me know if you see anything wrong?" "I'll take a look," Timothy said, watching her run back to the gorgeous house, her grass-green waterproof cape flapping behind her.

He got on the bus to go to the Musée de la Raporis, not knowing why he felt the urge to go there.Maybe he has nothing better to do right now. He walked past the art gallery and looked in through the window.The gallery was open, the lights were on, but there was no one there.No customers, neither Ingrid nor Erika.Timothy walked to the opposite side of the art gallery and looked at the entrance across the street. It was cruel to stand here and wait on a snowy December day.Timothy was smoking with one hand and put the other hand in his coat pocket, pacing back and forth, thinking about waiting until noon, if he didn't find anything, he would find a place to eat and then go back to the office.

He waited almost two hours, and then saw two ladies in mink coats go to the gallery, go in and out for fifteen minutes.Enter empty-handed, and come out empty-handed. Another two hours later, two more people walked into the art gallery.One was a bulky man in a plaid suit.The other was a thin woman with a rucksack on her jacket. Neither of them stayed very long, as if they were just going to the art gallery to escape the cold. At eleven forty-five, another short man walked into the gallery.He had a soft wool cap on his head and a black fur coat, and he was in so quickly that Timothy couldn't even get a good look.But he had intuitively seen the man, so he crossed the street and continued to stare at the gallery.

He stood there, and when he smoked his third cigarette, almost half an hour later, the door of the art gallery opened, and the man in the woolen cap came out. Finally came out and waved for a taxi.Timothy looked at him carefully and recognized him as Swan, whom he had seen at the La Boris Import Company on Nineteenth Street. "So it was you." The Wall Street detective murmured softly to himself. It took Sven five minutes to hail a taxi, and Timothy watched the car drive away, trying to think about Sven's visit as normally as possible.They're all relatives, aren't they?A large family can always come and go, and there is nothing unusual about it.

Except for one thing.When Shi Wen entered the art gallery, Timothy clearly saw that he didn't bring anything.But when he came out, he was carrying a bulging suitcase. It was two o'clock in the afternoon when Timothy returned to Hudlin's office.There was a note on his bare desk: Please call Terry McIver, and he dialed. "Listen carefully," McIver said. "I'm going to talk about the La Boris Art Gallery that you are most interested in. I found out from the records that the person in charge of this art gallery is Ariel. Kara Raboris." "Does she have a criminal record?" Timothy asked hopefully.

"No. Neil Davenport told me that you are very interested in Wall Street's Raborius Investment Company. What is the name of the owner of that company?" "Inmar Raborius." "He has no criminal record. But there's a name on the computer called Sven Raborius, and that name means nothing to you." Timothy was silent for a while. "Yes," he said at last, "Swan works at the La Boris Import Company on West Nineteenth Street, I think he's the boss." "Really?" said the officer, his voice suddenly cold. "You've never mentioned La Boris Imports before. Why?"

"I thought you were only interested in smuggling art, so I didn't mention it. La Boris Imports sells garbage, and besides, I looked it up in the phone book. It's no secret. I Just don't think it matters." "Listen," McIver said, "if you and I are going to continue working together, I hope you can tell me, don't hold back. I'll measure it myself. Okay?" "Of course. So Sven Raborius has a record." "It's nothing. About six months ago, the police raided a secret saloon on East Eighty-third Street, ransacked Sven Raborius, and found a Bags of heroin."

"Really? He's wearing something like that?" "He only stayed in the bureau for a few hours. Since he had no traces of pinholes, no previous convictions, and no evidence to conclude that he was engaged in the drug trade, he was let go. Later, the laboratory analyzed his body. The bag of heroin he brought was said to have never been so pure. Shi Wen always claimed that he was innocent, and that someone threw this bag into his suit pocket when he was not paying attention. I found this clue today, no Is there any point in knowing. I have told you everything I know, what are you going to tell me now?" There was a long pause. "Say it! What else are you thinking about?" McIver said impatiently, "What do you know?" Timothy told him that one morning he was waiting outside the La Boris Museum of Fine Arts, and saw Sven walking in empty-handed, and half an hour later, the junior came out in a hurry, carrying a suitcase in his hand. "What does that have to do with that Inmar on Wall Street?" McIver asked. "I haven't figured it out either," Timothy admitted. "I still can't figure out whether Yingma used the investor's money to sell drugs and smuggle art, and then paid the investor 30% of the profit, but It is impossible for thieves to raise funds from the public, they must raise funds from other channels." "I know what you mean," said the sergeant. "We'll cooperate and we might be able to find a clue. We shouldn't be hiding things from each other, should we?" "certainly." After Timothy finished speaking, he hung up the phone. He lit another cigarette and walked slowly to the small room of another black detective, Joey Washington, which was exactly like his office.It's just that there is one more clothes hanger and a yellow coffee pot than him, and that coffee pot is locked in the drawer every night. When Joey Washington saw him come in, he looked up and said: "Hey old friend, how's it going?" "Anyway, it's just a matter of life. What about you?" "Food. What about you? Where are you going for Christmas?" "Celebrate the birth of Christ." "Huh?" said Joey, looking closely at him. "Would you like to come to my house for dinner on Christmas night? There's a fire and mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce." "No," Timothy said, "Christmas is a time for family reunions. But thank you for your kindness. I need some news. Didn't you get a drug case two years ago?" "Nearly three years ago." Joey Washington said, leaning on the back of the swivel chair, and said with a smile: "It's funny to say! I was in charge of the case and found out that someone wanted to use mail order to sell drugs. If it wasn't in time Solve this case and wonder how much heroin and cocaine will be dumped." "Did you work with the NYPD that time too?" "Yes, a plainclothes commissioner of the police anti-narcotics unit. His name is Bidi Yaguiresin. He is quite good. I still drink with him occasionally. Timothy, why are you interested in this? Don't you Received a drug trafficking case?" "I haven't figured it out yet," Timothy said annoyedly. "Maybe someone is dealing drugs in this case. Are the drugs a kilogram in a bag?" "Yes. A kilogram equals two and a half pounds." "Which cities in China are distribution centers?" "Boston, New York, Baltimore, Miami, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, that's pretty much it." "How did it get smuggled in?" "There are too many ways to smuggle in, there are more than one million kinds. For example, hiding in office furniture and importing together." Timothy was silent, then thought about it. "Where do most of these drugs come from?" he asked at last. "Oh, well," said Joy Washington, "a hundred places. Almost anywhere you can grow opium if the climate is right. Turkey, Iran, the Marshall Islands, and Sicily." Timothy perked up. "Turkey and Iran? The Middle East?" "Yeah, three years ago, both Turkey and Iran announced that they were going to grow opium as their economic plant. You think, how happy the little poor farmers are, and now they can make a fortune. So I guess, there are a lot of these things Probably from the Middle East. Of course, Khmer, Vietnam, and Laos." "What about Myanmar?" "Burma? Yes, and Burma." "Joy, call Bidi Yaguiresin, I want to ask him some questions?" "I suppose so," said Joy Washington slowly. "What do you want to know?" "I want to know, where did these drugs come from now? Where did they spread to?" "I'll try!" said Joey Washington, with a sigh. Timothy returned to his office to find that Samantha had dropped two more files on his desk, two more new cases. "Annoying!" he yelled. Sitting in the swivel chair behind his desk, he looked through the files looking tedious.He casually flipped through the files, threw the two volumes aside, lit a Camel cigarette, leaned back in his chair, recalled the events of the day, and wondered what the hell these people were doing.What is the relationship between La Boris Investment Company, the import company and the art gallery?Perhaps, what Yingma is doing on the surface is a legitimate cause, but in fact she is using the law to cover up the illegality. The next morning, he got up early, shaved, and took a shower.Cleo watched him with interest. "What are you staring at me for?" he asked the cat. "It's Christmas break, isn't it?" He sat in his underwear, drank two cups of black coffee, smoked a couple of cigarettes, and then drank a small brandy, because he was in a festive mood.He made Cleo lick the rim of the empty glass. He put on his best clothes—a crepe checked suit with buckskin elbow patches, a pair of flannel trousers that weren't too dirty, a shirt that was reasonably clean , and with the holster strapped to his shin, he is ready for a fight, or a feast. When he went out, he saw that it had snowed all night last night.There was also an inch of snow on the sidewalk, but it quickly melted.The sky was as blue as ever.He strolled to Hudlin's in John Street.On the way, he bought breakfast and took it to the office to eat. He decided to call Inma Raporis today, and he had to make him interested in answering the call. "Excuse me, has Mr. La Boris returned from abroad?" He asked the receptionist who answered the phone. "Sir, who is calling?" "My name is Timothy Cohen, and I work for Hudlin's, John Street. I would like to see Mr. La Boris." "Wait a minute, please," she said quickly. Timothy thought, she needs to ask the boss for instructions. He ate his breakfast and waited.After a few minutes, the voice of the female staff came from the other end of the microphone. "Thank you for waiting," she said, "what can I do?" He said according to the original speech: "Hadlin's company now has a client who wants to learn more about Raboris Investment Company. I hope to have the opportunity to have a private talk with Mr. Raboris." "Wait a moment, sir," she repeated, and put down the receiver.Timothy finished his breakfast and lit his third cigarette of the day when her voice rang on the phone. "Mr. Raboris is busy now," she said. "Can you leave your phone number, and he will call you as soon as possible." "Okay," Timothy said, leaving Hudlin's phone number. "Thank you, sir," she said. She sighed and hung up the phone.I don't know what to do besides smoking, I just hope that Yingma can find out what Hudlin's company does, and then take the bait. When the phone rang, Timothy picked up the receiver and decided to sound humble. "Timothy Cohn." He didn't just say "Hi" as usual. "I am Inmar Raborius." "Thank you for calling me back, Mr. Raboris. I know you are very busy, but I hope I can spare some time to discuss the investment. My client has some questions." "I understand," Inmar said, his voice suddenly low, without the hiss of the Raboris family. "I have to tell you, I never meet with individual investors or representatives. My time is devoted to work." "Mr. La Boris, I am very grateful, and I hope you will make an exception this time. My client intends to invest a considerable sum of money, so I think it is necessary for you to talk to me in private." "How much?" "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars," Timothy said.He considered that the amount was too small and Inmar would refuse.But if you say too much, it will make him suspicious. "I'll see," he said thoughtfully. "Let me see the timetable." He's caught, Timothy cried out in his heart, he's caught! "If you can come at 10:30 this morning, I can set aside some time to talk to you." La Boris said: "But let me tell you that my time is limited, and I will fly to Zurich at noon." "I appreciate your willingness to see me," Timothy said. "I'll be in your office on time." He hung up the phone and exclaimed with joy—it's been tricked! He arrived at La Boris Investment Company ten minutes earlier and looked around.The offices outside were still packed, but not as crowded as the crowds he'd seen last time.Timothy wondered if profits had fallen. He picked up a brochure for investors and read the warning again: Past profits do not guarantee future results.Then look at Yingma's photo again - a plump and smooth face like Maitreya Buddha. Timothy was ushered into the inner office and saw Inmar himself standing behind a huge mahogany desk, with a round face like a bearded Maitreya Buddha and a fat belly protruding from under his waistcoat.His skin, like the Raboris family's, was creamy and smooth, and his handshake was perfunctory. "Mr. Cohen," he said loudly, "it's a pleasure meeting you." "I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet with me," said the Wall Street detective. Inmar pointed to a leather chair across from him and motioned for him to sit down. Timothy felt that the room was very hot. Perhaps it was Inmar's trick to keep the visitor sitting for too long. "Mind if I have a cigarette?" Inmar said. "I'm a heavy smoker." "Please smoke," Timothy said. Inmar brought a heavy ashtray and put it between the two of them.That ashtray was made of a single piece of quartz. "It was given to me by a Nepalese prince." Yingma said while lighting a cigarette slowly. "Pretty, isn't it?" "Yes," said Timothy, "beautiful." "Mr. Cohn," he said, "now tell me, what's the problem?" "Sir, I don't know if you've ever heard of Hudlin's. We specialize in financial investigations. If you want, you can ask." "I've already inquired about it." Yingma smiled slightly. "Hadlin's isn't the biggest company in your line of business, but your company has a good reputation." "Now we have a client who wants to invest $250,000, but first he wants to find out the status of the company, so we have to investigate." "I know, of course you can't disclose the name of the client." "yes." Yingma looked at the long piece of soot in front of the cigarette, and said happily: "I have to tell you," he said, "I like to play this game every time I smoke a cigarette, to see how long this piece of ash can last without falling out, which can prove the stability of my hand." "I see your hands are pretty steady," Timothy said. "Foreign trade business is changing rapidly, how do you do it?" "We often communicate with our main overseas agents by phone. We don't use computers or other telecommunication equipment. But we often collect market conditions, as well as foreign currency fluctuations, and we pay attention to any slight changes." "You just mentioned your overseas agent. But we checked some European cities, but we didn't find any agent there." Yingma shook his hand slightly, and a piece of cigarette ash fell out, his expression was a little depressed. "What a pity," he said. "I thought this piece of soot would have lingered a little longer! But I'm glad to hear you say that and give me a chance to explain. Think about it, Mr. Cohen, every day All the money in and out of my hands is huge. If my name is used, it will have a great impact on the market. There are even rumors that my interest rate is too high, which will reduce profits, so I would rather not use my name. And there are hundreds of agents all over the world. I trust them, and none of them use the name of La Boris. I have to tell you that doing business is an ancient and secretive industry." "It's very old," said the Wall Street detective. "Jesus drove the businessmen out of the temple, didn't he?" Yingma forced a smile. "I think the businessmen mentioned in the Bible are very different from the businessmen today." Timothy wanted to argue, but he hesitated to drag the topic away. "Mr. Raboris, why haven't I read your company's annual report? Your company should have it, right?" Inmar placed the cigarette carefully on the stone pod ashtray. "About this, I have to tell you. La Boris Investment Company has been established for less than a year, so there is no annual report. I think we will have an annual report by mid-March." Inmar looked at his gold Rolex watch, and Timothy knew he didn't want to be spied on to make him say the wrong thing or slip the tongue.Yingma leaned against the back of the chair, put her hands on her swollen belly, her nails were neatly manicured.He seemed genial, slick, content.The satin-like black hair is not wavy, and the full lips are very rosy in color.He was wearing a fine gray flannel suit, and on his little finger was also wearing a gold ring with a large diamond, not much smaller than the 106-carat diamond ring of the British Royal Family. "One more question," Timothy said, "what's the minimum investment you'll accept?" "Five thousand dollars." "So what's the profit?" Inmar paused, then sighed heavily. "Unfortunately, it's only been more than 10 percent recently. - This is affected by the appreciation of the yen. In any case, we are still confident that next week will improve investors' profits." "Hope you're luckier," Timothy said. Both of them pretended to be happy and laughed.Timothy stood up and was about to leave, Yingma reached out to shake his hand.He smelled the familiar smell of the Raboris family again-the smell of withered roses. "Mr. Cohen, I hope my answer can satisfy you." Inmar said. "I'm very impressed with you," said the Wall Street detective. "Will you let your trustee invest in our company?" "I will, and you will hear soon. Excuse me, Mr. La Boris." He couldn't wait to get out into the warm, warm December sun.He couldn't bear the glib and thug spirit, who knew what the hell was going on in his sleeves? Back in the office, this question has always puzzled him.On the pad, he randomly drew an equilateral triangle, and at each corner he wrote three names: Sven Rabores, Erica Raboris, and Inma Raboris Reese. Sven Raboris has a bad reputation and may be smuggling drugs.Erika might be a jazz thief.And what about Podma La Boris?He drew a big question mark behind his name. This triangular relationship has nothing to do with each other, which puzzled him a lot. "What the hell!" he yelled.Pick up the microphone and order lunch, plus two cans of beer. That afternoon, Joey Washington walked into Timothy's office to find him dozing with his head on his chest.Joey smiled and called him softly: "Hi, Timothy!" Timothy opened his eyes. "It's you! Pull up a chair and sit down." "how?" "I'm better asleep than awake. What about you, Joey? How's it going?" Joey Washington took out a small notebook from the inner pocket of his suit and began to flip through the pages quickly. "I spoke to Bitty Yaguiresin." When Timothy heard this, he immediately cheered up and sat up from the swivel chair. "Great, what did he say." "More than you want to know," Joey said, reading his notes. “Opium is produced in Bhutan, the Republic of Bangladesh, Laos, Thailand, Vietnam, Khmer, Myanmar, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, Afghanistan, etc., and usually the raw material is shipped to the Marshall Islands and Sicily for processing. These drugs are then usually Both are exported from the Middle East and Far East.” "Fine," Timothy said. "Some are good quality, some are not pure, mixed with sand or sugar, or talcum powder. The market price of these things has been going up, but it is not difficult to get." "only these?" "Wait," Joey said, leaning closer to his notebook. "One more thing, Beatty said that about half a year ago, some very pure drugs entered the market, but not in large quantities, that's all. Does it help you?" "I don't know yet," Timothy said. "Thank you anyway." After Joey left, Timothy opened the bottom drawer and took out two Buddha statues.He picked up the detachable base, turned it away, and looked carefully at the hole inside. It appears that the hole can hold six ounces of drugs.Six ounces, not much. Suppose the La Boris Importing Company buys a thousand hollow Buddha statues and ships them to the United States. Each Buddha statue can contain six ounces of pure heroin, for a total of about three hundred and seventy-five pounds, or one hundred and thirty nine kilograms.Finally, these empty Buddha statues are sold in shops. Of course, there are still many Buddha statues that are not hollow, but just for cover. If the customs want to see them when they are about to ship, they will show them this one. Timothy realized that they could be stashing heroin not just with Buddha statues but with all sorts of other commodities, some of which could hold even more. Of course, there are also a lot of those Eastern Mediterranean artworks, which are so beautiful!However, this is just his speculation, and he has no evidence yet. He put the two more Buddha statues back in the drawer when Samantha came into the office like a gust of wind. "Where's my Az?" she asked, "I'm going to get it back now!" "What's the hurry!" He said gently, "I will pay you back sooner or later." She lowered her voice and said in an inaudible voice: "Listen, idiot, you haven't given me many gifts, don't think I'll give up on Az so easily. Give it to me and take it back, what's the matter! You bastard liar, besides, you didn't spend your money on it. ,give me back!" Timothy sighed and gave her another Buddha statue from the lower drawer. "Take your Faber stuff!" he said. Samantha took a good look at the statue, and didn't even twist the bottom before she realized something was wrong.She said angrily: "What the hell are you trying to do? This isn't Izzy." he muttered. "How do you know?" "Because I have cute little dimples on my Az's face, this one doesn't." "There's a cute little dimple? My God!" He took another Buddha statue out of the drawer. "Take it! The Buddha statue I gave you just now is carved from a solid piece of wood." Samantha looked closely at the two Buddha statues, then at Timothy. "Timothy, what the hell are you doing?" "If only I knew." "Oh, I know," she said angrily, "You don't tell me anything." "have nothing to say." "Your mouth is tight enough, I admit it, I just take my Az back." "Okay, keep it safe. Maybe in a day or two, I'll borrow it from you again." "I wish you luck," Samantha said, and walked out of his office like a gust of wind, holding the Buddha statue in her arms. Timothy opened a new pack of Camel cigarettes, sat and slowly puffed out smoke rings, looking at the Buddhist statue in front of him.The Buddha statue raised its hands high, as if cheering "Long live", with a happy smile on Tuantuan's face.Finally, he picked up the phone and called Sergeant McIver. "What happened?" McIver wondered. "Nothing. But I have a crazy idea I want to tell you." "Is it about the La Boris Museum?" "Yes. Would you like to set a trap for the La Boris Museum?" "what should we do?" "You told me you could get an Interpol report with some stolen art? Right?" "right." "If we take one of these works of art, send someone to La Boris, and ask Erica if they can find a flicker. If she says no, she's clear. If she says look for it, and it ends up being able to Pick up and we've got her. What do you think?" silence. "Officer?" Timothy said. "Are you still there?" "I'm listening," McIver finally said. "That's a good idea, but it needs to be planned well. Most art galleries receive photos and descriptions of stolen items. So it's not something you can tell them lightly. If you want to buy stolen goods, the other party will definitely be alert." "I see. So you don't think it's going to work, do you?" "I'm not saying it won't work, but it has to be done with caution." "Have you ever met Erika LaBorez, did she recognize you?" "No, I've never met her. But it's doubtful whether she'll recognize me." "Okay, here's what you think: I'll go to the gallery and tell Erica that I have a brother-in-law who's a crazy collector of antiques, who collects everything from daggers to urinals. You choose from the stolen antiquities list. One thing, and then tell them you're on a business trip from Topeka, Kansas, to New York, and see if she can add some extras for you along the way. Do you understand? And then we'll slowly trap her." "You want me to play your brother-in-law?" "Yes," Timothy said sincerely. "I mean you know the trade, don't you? Erika's a smart lady, and she'll tell right away if you're an insider or an outsider." "Maybe it works." Officer McIver said slowly: "But I may have some difficulty convincing my superiors. In any case, I will call you back as soon as possible." Timothy hung up, satisfied that he had already begun to get the wheels turning.Thinking of working hard enough for Heron Hudlin today, I put on my coat and fur hat, put the Buddha statue in Samantha's shopping bag, and went home! As he left the office building, he met a thin man in a battered army jacket and black peeling cap, like a foreign correspondent in the 1930s.Leaning against the letterbox, muttering in his throat, he slowly shifted his weight from one leg to the other from time to time. Looks like just one of those mysterious weirdos that can be found everywhere in Manhattan.After thinking about it, Timothy walked towards the north side of Manhattan.He stopped at a red light and saw the guy in the military jacket standing nearby, still muttering. Timothy wanted the muttering man to go ahead, but the man murmured slowly, always about fifteen feet behind Timothy.Timothy stopped, pretending to admire the Christmas tree in the window, and the man stopped and looked around. The strange man followed him for three blocks.Finally, Timothy decided to dump him. Regardless of the red lights and heavy traffic, he ran like a flying bullet, and the drivers on both sides honked their horns angrily.He looked back, and the man in the torn military uniform was still standing at the street corner waiting for the green light to turn on. He walked briskly home, stopped at the snack bar, and bought roast pork ribs, potato salad, and a half-dozen of Dutch beers.The grunting man was walking down the street when he came out of the shop. "Shit!" Timothy yelled.A young man and woman happened to pass by and looked at him in surprise, holding hands tightly. Going up to his garret, he locked the door, bolted it, chained it, and brought out his supper.Cleo squatted patiently at his feet, waiting for him to throw away the leftover bone. Timothy ate two pounds of roast ribs, half a pound of potato salad, and two cans of beer.Then he went to the window, drew back the ragged curtain, and peeped out.I saw that tall and thin guy standing across the street, shifting his weight from his left foot to his right foot and then from his right foot to his left foot from time to time.Timothy finally made up his mind. "Looks like I'm going to be fully armed again," he said to Cleo. The cat didn't notice anything unusual. He put on his coat and hat, put the .357 this time in the right coat pocket, and went downstairs and across the street. "I suppose you're Mr. La Boris!" he said to the nail-tipped man. "Go away!" said the guy. He didn't look like one of the Raborises at all.Too tall, too thin, and too pale.His nose was cut like a knife, his teeth were dull, and there were no burning eyes. "What are you doing?" Timothy asked. "I'm waiting for someone." "I see you're waiting to die," Timothy said. "If I hadn't been alert, it might have been me. Who hired you?" The hunched man straightened up and took a deep breath. "I do not know what you're talking about?" "Okay," said the Wall Street detective, "you want to pretend, okay, I'll let you taste my fist." He raised his fist as he said. "Come on, Maduff!" "My name is not Maduff!" Timothy punched him almost, but the shot was not heavy. "Don't tell me, do you?" He punched again and again. "Stop!" a woman yelled. "Don't hit that person again!" Timothy looked back and saw a middle-aged man and woman, the woman was wearing a Shaopi coat, and the man was holding her and pulling her away. "I'm not hitting him," Timothy said. "I'm just punishing him. He raped my cat." "His what?!" "He had sex with cats and it was disgusting." "Let's go, Cynthia!" said the man. "I'm going to call the police." The woman yelled loudly. "Okay," said Timothy, "you go!" "You vile rascal!" After the couple had left, the beaten man spat at Timothy. "Who hired you?" Timothy asked, punching the man in the face again, harder this time. He thought that the opponent would be knocked down by him this time, but unexpectedly, the guy moved faster and pulled out a knife from the pocket of his military uniform.The knife looked crude, six inches long, with a blunt edge, but the man knew how to use it, and he used it as a dagger to stab Timothy. "Coming!" Timothy said, knowing he had no time to draw a gun. "You took other people's money, just do it!" The man turned sideways and wanted to stab Timothy, but he moved clumsily, and Timothy grabbed his wrist instead. The two wrestled, and the knife pierced the man's arm instead.There was only a "Dang!", and the knife fell to the sidewalk. "You hurt me!" the man cried, looking at his bleeding arm. "Yeah, you're hurt," Timothy said. Then, the guy's eyeballs rolled upwards, and when he leaned over, he was about to fall to the ground.提摩西抓住他的手臂，让他慢慢倒下去。他想捜捜他的身子，可是想到那个穿绍皮大衣的辛西亚可能真的去报警。因此提摩西又过街，爬上六楼，回到他的阁楼去。 他倒了一杯伏特加酒，等着自己的肾上腺素回复正常，心想这人到底是谁派来的，又为了什么理由呢？怎么想都想不出什么道理。如果要找人行凶，为什么会找上这种骨瘦如柴又有毒瘾的人？再说他在拉波瑞斯进口公司留了地址，拉波瑞斯家任何人都会知道他的住处，他们应当会避嫌才对。解不开这个谜，最后他只好放弃了。他又倒了一杯伏特加酒，坐在摇摇晃晃的桌子旁边，从梅西百货公司的购物袋里拿出那尊坚实的佛像，放在地板上，克丽奥好奇地走过来看看。 瞪着那尊佛像，到处嗅了嗅，然后将它的身子磨蹐着弥勒佛凸鼓光滑的大肚皮。 “阿猫，你继续磨吧！”提摩西·柯恩说道，“许个愿，也许你的睪丸还会回来。” 第二天早晨，他在喝第二杯黑咖啡，抽第二根烟时，厨房的电话铃忽然震天价响，克丽奥吓得又躱到浴缸下面去。 “喂？”提摩西说。 “尼尔·连文波特。”纽约警探说道。“你到现在还没上班？” “没有，起太晚了。什么事？” “昨天晚上，在你住处对街日本寿司店门口死了一个人。” “死了人？怎么死的？” “被刀子杀死的。初步判断是在小腹被刺了三刀，心脏也刺了一刀，这一刀使他丧命。查出这人叫席耐·李奥尼达斯，你可听过这个名字吗？” “听过，”提摩西说：“公元四世纪，李奥尼达斯是斯巴达的国王。” “我想不是他，”达文波特说道：“这人吸毒，他皮肤上的针孔都生了烂疮。法医说就算没有人杀他，他没有吗啡注射也活不了多久，迟早部会死的。” “很有趣。可是你为什么打电话告诉我这些？” “因为每次在你那条街上，不管发生什么事我都会想到你。你常干些疯事，然后一走了之，要我们来收拾你的烂摊子。” “可是我最后也抓出窃贼，交给警局了，可不是吗？” “是……好吧！”达文波特很不满地说。“拉波瑞斯的案子进行得怎么样了？” “进展很慢，没什么好说的。” “如果是这様，你是不会说什么。你的嘴向来紧得像蚌壳一様。如果你对这椿览杀案知道什么，不要隐瞒。” “我什么也不知道。” “你真的一点也不知道？” "have no idea." “狗屎！”达文波特嫌恶地啐道。“你就去守着你那些该死的秘密吧！” “那把刀子找到了吗？” "what?" “我说刺杀席耐·李奥尼达斯的刀子，你们找到了没有？” “你想刺探我的情报啦！可是我问起你，你就三缄金口。好吧，我就透露一点吧！没有，我们没有找到凶器。记得，你还欠我一份人情。” “谢了，”提摩西说：“我还会跟你联络。”说着就挂了电话。 他从前面窗户看对街，看到纽约警察局把日本寿司店四周都围起来。其中有一名未穿制服的值勤警察，正和几个好奇围观的游客谈话，此外也没什么动静。提摩西穿上皮衣戴上皮帽，检查一下绑在脚胫的枪套，然后朝公司走去。 外面的世界已经是银色耶诞的景象，提摩西发觉没人跟踪他，他一面走着，一面想着席耐·李奥尼达斯的死，很可能有人要杀他灭口，同时取去凶器。 或许，有入根本就想置席耐·李奥尼达斯于死地，却嫁祸提摩西，因为有人看到他和席耐打架。这个想法令提摩西很不舒服，难道他中了歹人的计。也许他只知道这个人昨天从办公室一路跟回家，不知道后面还有一条人影。提摩西一点也没有警觉到跟踪他的第二个人。这个人才是主谋，势必还会找上他。 现在我才知道当总统的感觉。提摩西想。——可是这么想并没有什么安慰。 他到公司时，麦克艾佛警官已经在哈德林公司的接待室等着他了。麦克艾佛穿得漂亮整洁，提着黑色鳄鱼皮的公文包。提摩西带他到他的办公室去。 “老夫，”这名警官说：“你这地方真破！” “我们等着随时拆除。将来这地方打算盖摩天大楼或停车场。请坐吧！” 麦克艾佛坐了下来，仍然穿着毛领长大衣，戴着黑绍帽子。 “上回提到对拉波瑞斯美术陈列馆的计划，我看可行。” “好。”提摩西说：“这是我今天听到的最好消息。” “上级暂时批准我演出这一幕，大体上就按原计划行事。你先和对方接触，我来扮演你那有钱的姐夫，出差到纽约，非常酷爱收集古剑，尤其对近东一些古老的刀子很有兴趣。到这里你都同意？” "agree." “好，”这名警官说着，身子前倾，打开那只鳄鱼皮的公文包，拿出一张照片交给提摩西。“我们要寻找的就是这个。” 提摩西仔细看着那颗粒很粗的照片。 “我看只是垃圾嘛。” “什么？告诉你，这些是公元前六世纪亚述人做的匕首，他们同时也做铁剑，但是剑柄是铜制的。总之，这把匕首是在半年前，从贝鲁特博物馆里偷来的。” “这值多少钱？”提摩西问。 “很难说。除了博物馆和收藏家之外，谁要这把生锈的刀子？价值多少就很难定论。你见了艾蕊卡，只要告诉她，你有个有钱的姐夫，对中东的古兵器非常有兴趣。” “然后再引你出场。” “对！”麦克艾佛很赞同地说：“我们得很自然，然后看看艾蕊卡有什么反应。你打算哪天去？” “今天就去。”提摩西说：“也许等一会儿就去。你要我透露你真正的姓名吗？” “不。”这名警官说：“太冒险了。我跟达拉斯一家保险公司联繋好了，这家公司掩护我，我印了些名片。” 一张名片递给提摩西，他接来一看，名片上印着：富吉曼保险公司业务代表伦桑·贝里。德州达拉斯。 “如果艾蕊卡去查，”麦克艾佛说：“富吉曼公司会说我是他们公司最成功的保险业务代表。” “伦桑·贝里。”提摩西又念了一遍，然后把名片放到口袋里。“很好的名字。那么你要说这趟来纽约干什么？” “到希尔顿饭店参加保险从业人员的会议，这会议从明天开始，伦桑·贝里一直住在希尔顿饭店。” “你可以当个大骗子。”提摩西很欣赏地说：“真是经验老到。” “我也不是第一次玩这种游戏了。”泰瑞·麦克艾佛说着合上了公文包，站起来。“见了艾蕊卡之后打个电话袷我，别对她说得太露。尤其不能说溜嘴，提到被偷的那把亚述短刀。” “我并不是业余骗子，”提摩西说：“我只扮乡巴佬，我只会说，'噢，这只是不值钱的东西嘛。'别担心！” “你告诉艾蕊卡，我在纽约停留到耶诞夜，然后就飞回达拉斯，免得她拖。如果她真的卖偷来的艺术品，她会想尽快脱手的。” “我和她见过面之后，会尽快打电话给你。” 提摩西向他保证。 麦克艾佛走了之后，提摩西点了一根骆驼牌香烟，把整个计划再温习一次，看不出来有什么破绽。如果艾蕊卡·拉波瑞斯做生意非常正直，那么整个心机都白费了。现在就看她淸白不淸白了。 截至目前，仍看不出这檔事和拉波瑞斯投资公司有任何牵连之处。 还不到中午，他前往拉波瑞斯美术陈列馆。远远朝里面看，里面没有顾客，提摩西暗自窃喜。他走进拉波瑞斯美术陈列馆，脱下帽子，那个美丽无知的脂肪球英格丽·拉波瑞斯，一看到他就吃吃地笑个不停。 “我就知道你会回来，”她说：“我就知道。” “真的？”提摩西说，他也笑了。“最近如何？忙吗？” “才不忙咧！”她娇憨地噘噘嘴。“很少人会到我们店里买古董当耶诞礼物。你对这儿的东西有兴趣吗？” “是啊！你堂姐艾蕊卡在吗？” “噢，她就在后面的办公室，我去告诉她你在这见。” 她说完走了，他一直目送着她，心里咒骂自己，怎么会有非非之想了。 隔了一会，只有艾蕊卡一个人走过来，见了她，脑海一下子也冷静下来。她全身紧绷绷地穿了一身皮装，看起来就像一根管子，紧得好像她的身子会从另外两端挤出来似的。 “啊，”她说：“哈德林公司的柯恩先生。” “你还记得，”他说：“这很好。” “我当然记得，”她冷淡高傲地笑一笑。“需要我服务吗？” “我有一个姊夫，”提摩西说：“叫做伦桑·贝里，他很富有，是个保险业务代表，从达拉斯飞来，在希尔顿开会。他非常喜欢收集古剑，我就告诉他曾经来过你的美术陈列馆，他要我来问问你这见可有任何他想收藏的东西？” “呃？”艾蕊卡·拉波瑞斯说：“他想找的到底是什么様的东西？” Timothy shrugged apologetically. “我对剑一无所知。有一回我去达拉斯看他的收藏品，全是些破铜烂铁，不是垃圾是什么嘛！” “听你这么说，他对古董很有兴趣啰？” “喔，是啊。他从不买时髦的东西，专门喜欢老东西。这就是他的名片。” 他把名片递给艾蕊卡，她仔细看着。 “富吉曼保险公司，”她说：“我听过。” “我姐夫在那儿是最红的保险经纪人，只有最成功的人才能参加希尔顿会议。你这儿可有他会感兴趣的古剑？” 艾蕊卡的手指放在唇上沈思了一阵子，皱起眉头。 “目前是没有，”她说：“不过如果你愿意等等，我打几个电话给卖古代武器的同行，看看他们那儿有没有。我们经常交换询问一些罕有的东西。” “当然，”提摩西说：“那么你就去打电话吧。我在这儿逛逛，看看你这儿这些美丽的东西。” 提摩西很明白，她去打电话，一定是打给纽约的希尔顿饭店，确定那儿有没有一位富吉曼保险公司的业务代表伦桑·贝里。五分钟足够了。她回来的时候，脸上一层寒霜融解了些。 “你姐夫很幸运，”她说：“我认识一个同行，他那儿有一把非常古老的匕首，情况还不错。如果贝里先生愿意来，我很高兴让他看看。” “对，这很好。”提摩西说道：“他耶诞夜就要飞回达拉斯了，所以时间也不多。那么我跟他说，要他打一通电话给你，互相约个时间如何？” “当然好。我很高兴和贝里先生见面。” “太好啦！”提摩西说：“我姐夫大多数的时间都忙着开会，四、五点的时候，我想他会打电话给你，那时间你方便吗？” “没问题。”她说，将那涂着深蓝色寇丹的手轻轻地放在他的手臂上。“我们是生意人，当然会在这儿等着。” 看来，麦克艾佛的约会订好了，这下子没问题了。还没有证据证明她和买卖赃品有什么关连，可是她似乎也没有拒绝他。下面就要看泰瑞·麦克艾佛了。 当他回到办公室时，拨了电话给麦克艾佛。 “我告诉她你下午会打电话去。她说她从另一个同行那里借了一把铁剑给你看看。这样处理适当吗？” “噢，当然。”麦克艾佛说“卖古董的，经常跟同行调借，这没什么不对。她的行为中，有没有可疑之处？” “艾蕊卡深蔵不露，看不出她在想些什么。你跟她见面后，看发生什么事再打电话告诉我，好吗？” “会的。你家有电话吗？” 他告诉麦克艾佛他的电话号码，然后挂了电话。点了一根烟，打电话到快餐店叫了食物，然后又要写每周报表。公司里已经开耶诞派对，可是没有人邀提摩西。 他回家时绕了些路，确定这回没有被人跟踪，或许受雇的杀手也要过圣诞节了。当然有可能，他们也可能要准备家宴，布置耶诞树，购买礼物。 买礼物物？God!明天就是耶诞夜了，还没买任何礼物送珊曼莎或克丽奥。猫倒简单，给牠吃些意大利腊肠就行了，不过，送意大利腊肠给珊曼莎，她是不会满足的。提摩西总只想到买瓶便宜香水——或是买一盒薄荷糖。 他走到住处大楼，发现临街的那扇门又被撬开了。他爬楼梯到六楼的阁楼，发现门已经开了几吋，他迅速从脚胫的枪套里拔出枪。 他踢开门，走到里面，四下看看，什么也没有。提摩西又回过头来检视门钮，也不见有什痕迹。看来是内行人干的。 克丽奥吓得躱在浴缸下面。 “你真是只差劲的猫，”提摩西不悦地说：“你难道就不能拚一死战，来保护我们的家吗？” 他迷惑了一阵，突然间发现什么不见了：是那尊柚木雕刻的弥勒佛像。他僵直地站在阁楼中央：毫无疑问，他闻到空气中凋谢的玫瑰气味，那是拉波瑞斯家族特有的气味。 十二月二十四日，天空一片铅灰，风一阵紧一阵地吹，天气变得更冷。提摩西一直在等泰瑞·麦克艾佛的电话，可是他的电话却没打来。公司里耶诞派对的气氛愈来愈浓厚热闹，提摩西索性走了出去，去买珊曼莎的耶诞礼物。 为了杀时间，顺便去中央公园走一走，但第五街却充满了抢在最后一分钟购物，赶着回家的人潮。他最后还是招了一辆出租车回到住所附近，到商店里去买了些啤酒和克丽奥喜欢吃的腊肠。回家冲了澡换了身衣服，就带了一瓶酒，到珊曼莎的公寓去。 珊曼莎要搭早班的飞机到她父母家去，他去时，她正忙着收拾行李。 “你今天到哪儿去啦？”她质问道：“公司里开一个盛大的派对，每一个人都想知道你到什么地方去了。” “我一直在工作。”他说。 “狗屎。你很可能在你的阁楼里睡觉。听着，我要淸掉冰箱里的剩菜，待会儿我们就吃那些剩菜。然后你就回去，让我把东西整完，然后睡一个好觉。如何？” "Of course." 她把一些零零碎碎的剩菜都拿出来，一碗冰冻的炖羊肉、烤豆子、一片比目鱼、一些冷甘蓝菜，一盘菠菜，还有面条、靑豆、干酪、薄煎饼、一碟咖哩饭、马铃薯、小胡瓜等等。他俩配着酒，把这些剩菜都吃完了。 “嗨，”提摩西说：“那个可以分开成两部分的佛像，你还保存着吗？” “艾兹。当然在我这啰。” “我想借一阵子。” "why?" “当证据。” She stared at him. “什么证据啊？” “只是有个主意。” "tell me." “这个主意太疯狂了，现在还不能告诉你。” “算了吧，”她说：“你想的全是些疯主意。” “不，”他辩驳着说：“但我却有个很合逻辑的大脑。” “你根本没有大脑，”她告诉他：“你的头骨里面只有一些淀粉质。” “噢，原来你转弯抹角骂我笨，可不是？” “不跟你斗嘴了，”她说：“咱们来拆礼物吧！” 她为克丽奥买了一个玩具老鼠，三个塑料球，一包让牠咬着玩的玩具，一罐鲑鱼罐头。她给提摩西是条克什米尔羊毛围巾。 “很漂亮的围巾，”他说，仔细看了看。 "Thanks." “你最好围着吧。” "Oh, I will." 提摩西送她阿特玛斯一百美元的礼券。 “这是我收到最罗曼蒂克的礼物。”她对他说。 “呃，我不知道你喜欢什么，所以我觉得还是由你自己买。” 她直勾勾地看着他。 “你真是个傻瓜——你可知道？傻瓜、傻瓜、傻瓜！” “我想也是。”他说着，叹了一口气。 这一晚，他俩谈着珊曼莎回纽约，两人一起度除夕的计划。 “除夕夜是个很有趣的晚上，”提摩西说：“你到我的阁楼来，我会买很多气球，两顶可笑的帽子，还有五彩碎纸。” “我真等不及了，”珊曼莎说。“这个星期之内我会打电话给你。好啦！耶诞快乐！别在这儿一直坐着不走。我还得把行李收拾完，然后睡场好觉。” “把那个佛像给我。” “老天，”她说，“你从不放弃，可不是？我还能要得回来吗？” “当然会还你。” “真的是原来的艾兹？” “绍对是的。” “你最好告诉我实话，否则这一辈子，我都会对你大吵大闹。” 她为他围上围巾，并把那尊佛像和克丽奥的耶诞礼物都放在纸袋里。 “该走了吧！”她说。 “对，”提摩西说：“祝你玩得开心，别跟那些军人搭讪。” She steps forward. “保重了，傻瓜蛋。” “你也一样，狗屎头。” 两人拥抱轻轻一吻，感伤的微笑，然后他走了。 他搭出租车回到阁楼，把礼物给了克丽奥，那只猫对每一样玩具都玩得很有兴趣。 提摩西为自己倒了一杯白兰地喝。 “她走了，”他对猫说：“耶诞快乐，小猫。” 他取下围巾，一边啜着酒，怅然若有所失。