Ella spent the night in my apartment, doing all sorts of nice things to me again and again, though I wasn't able to climax anymore. She worked so damn hard to please me, I had to comply with her request. I promised, as long as Debbie wasn't around, I'd give her first call for any business.
It was noon of the following day, Monday, when she finally left, satisfied she'd accomplished what she'd set out to do. When I finally managed to dress and get to my office, after having had a sparse breakfast, my telephone-answering machine let me know four prospective clients had called. I called each one back and set up appointments with them for the following day.
I called Judy Roberts and made sure she was all right.
She wanted me to come over, but I didn't have the strength. Ella had done too good a job on me.
I spent the day watching videotape reruns of myself with Judy Roberts and a half dozen other former female clients. There wasn't much else to do.
At six o'clock I had a light supper at the hamburger place across from the Elton. I wanted to see if Andy Durslag had any additional. information for me, but he never showed up.
Getting into my Falcon, I drove to Seabrook and parked my car in the same shopping center parking lot I'd used on Friday evening. Then I watched the members of the murder club show up. Cy Roberts was the last one, and from the tired way he dragged himself into the building, it was obvious he had been working on Joan Randall again.
I was tempted to enter the building by way of the storeroom window again, but I had a feeling this was a good time to stay out of there. And sure enough, twenty minutes later, a half dozen squad cars pulled up in front of the building and twelve cops with riot guns poured out and charged inside.
The skirmish was short. The members of the murder club were in no way equipped to fight the police and all surrendered. But on the way out of the building I saw one of the club members break away, make it across the street and get lost in the early evening twilight. Four cops went chasing after him, but lost him.
"It was that guy with the chicken face," I heard one of the cops say as he got back. "You know, that doctor."
"Carreba?" another cop asked.
"Yeah, that was the one."
They piled the handcuffed members of the murder club into the cars and drove off. And that was when I saw Cy Roberts emerge from the building. He stood outside, leaning against the front entrance. He didn't see me standing in the shadows nearby. Neither did Carreba, who for some unknown reason had decided to return.
"How'd you get away?" he asked Roberts.
"I was in the craphouse when they broke in," Roberts explained. "So this is the end of it all, huh?"
"We were finked on," Carreba nodded. "In a little while they'll know your name as well as mine. I suggest we both get the hell out of the country. An APB'll sure as hell go out for us shortly."
"But who could've finked on us?" Roberts wanted to know.
"I only know of one guy," Carreba responded. "It has to be Kalman Albert. Something must've happened and he wanted out. And he'll never get caught because no one else knows he's been the head man."
The two of them moved out of range and I wasn't able to hear anything else said. So I returned to my car and headed for my apartment.
Parking my car in the area behind my building, I went inside, went up to my apartment, opened the door and turned on the light. Surprise! There was a dead body in the middle of my living room (actually my only room) floor. It was bleeding all over the place, letting my carpeting soak up the gore. And the body was that of Mitch Evergrad. I was so surprised at seeing the dead police chief, I forgot to shut the door and came into the room. Did I dare call the cops and tell them their chief was lying dead in my apartment?
The decision seemed to be taken out of my hands when Kalman Albert himself appeared from my bathroom waving what appeared to be a.38 Police Special.
"You happy, Fokker?" he asked, pointing the gun in my direction. "Mitch told me he was canceling the murder club. He told me he wasn't taking any more chances. He also said I was to stay far away from Moira, his sister. But then you know all about it, don't you. You set everything up this way. I know. I spoke to Raquel Roberts just before she tried leaving town, yesterday."
"Tried?" I asked.
"She's dead meat, Fokker, just the way you're gonna be. Why couldn't you leave things alone?"
"I'm paid not to leave things be."
"You're nuts. I sent those two broads here to keep you off my back, and this is how you do things?"
"You sent Ruth and Cassandra here to make sure I wouldn't work for Judy Roberts. By that time my job for Judy was finished, and I haven't worked for her."
"You stopped Ignatz Randall from killing her, didn't you."
"Right the first time."
"You broken-nosed son of a bitch. I'm gonna kill you with Mitch's gun. Then I'm gonna put the gun with which I killed him in your hand. It's gonna look like the two of you killed each other. Oh yeah. I let Moira know where her brother is, and when she comes up here, I'm gonna kill her with the same gun I used to kill Mitch. That way it'll look like you invited Evergrad up here, and Moira as well. You killed the two of 'em, and Mitch killed you just before he died."
"What's my motive?" I asked.
"You were gonna blackmail him," Albert replied, smiling, taking out the newly developed photographs I'd hidden away. "You saw him fucking Moira and you took pictures. You wanted money. Mitch wouldn't pay and went for his gun. You shot Moira and Mitch just as he shot you."
"And what about you?" I asked.
"Me? I'm Judy Roberts' attorney. I'm gonna handle her divorce when she dumps Cy Roberts, who'll be either dead or in prison very shortly. And then I'm gonna set it up so I marry Judy and get that money anyway."
"Moira might not like that," I pointed out;
"Moira's gonna be stone cold dead, Fokker. Just like you."
He'd said it good and loud, just in time for Moira Evergrad, who was outside my open apartment door, to hear. She stood there, frozen for the moment, and then very quietly opened her purse and dipped her hand in. She came out with a tiny.25 caliber pistol, probably given to her by her brother for protection. Then she silently came into the room and said, "Kal."
He half turned and took the small slug right in his temple. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Then she fainted.
I took the gun from Moira and put it in Mitch Evergrad's hand. Then I took the other gun from Kalman Albert's pocket and put it in his own hand, returning Evergrad's pistol to his holster. Then I called the cops who, when they arrived, decided to keep my name out of things because they not only wanted Evergrad to get full credit, but didn't want his sister's name smeared. It seemed both Roberts and Carreba had been caught, and the two had given the cops the name of Kalman Albert. It looked as if Evergrad had somehow or other apprehended Albert in my apartment, where Albert had come with a gun looking for me. Just how the cops thought I was involved was never satisfactorily explained, since I destroyed all the photos and negatives I had of Evergrad making it with his sister long before the police reached my apartment.
At any rate, Mitch Evergrad ended up dead, as did Kalman Albert. Cy Roberts and all the other members of the murder club, including Dr. Joe Carreba, received life sentences for the heinous murders they'd either committed or abetted.
Joan Randall phoned me once, trying to collect the insurance I'd supposedly written on her husband just before he'd died. I told her the policy was void since he'd died committing a crime.
I had one helluva cleaning bill having Mitch Evergrad's blood shampooed out of my carpet. I also had a long sob story from Moira Evergrad once the police had left my apartment with Mitch's body. She had enough money, but now that she was used to getting laid (under the influence of some considerable liquor she confided her incestuous relationship to me), she didn't know whose cock to depend on.
I spent two nights a week for the next month consoling her in her bed, keeping her happy. I spent another night each week keeping Joan Randall content. And I had a night for Nicky, Dr. Carreba's nurse, who was unemployed and in need of consolation. Boy did I console.