Lawrence Block - The Burglar Who Studied Spinoza

For Caryl Carnow

A round five-thirty I put down the book Id been reading and started shooing customers out of the store. The book was by Robert B. Parker, and its hero was a private detective named Spenser who compensated for his lack of a first name by being terribly physical. Every couple of chapters would find him jogging around Boston or lifting weights or finding some other way to court a heart attack or a hernia. I was getting exhausted just reading about him.

My customers shooed easily enough, one pausing to buy the volume of poetry hed been browsing, the rest melting off like a light frost on a sunny morning. I shlepped my bargain table inside (All books 40 / 3 for $1), flicked off the lights, let myself out, closed the door, locked it, drew the steel gates across the door and windows, locked them, and Barnegat Books was bedded down for the night.

My shop was closed. It was time to get down to business.

The store is on East Eleventh Street between University Place and Broadway. Two doors east is the Poodle Factory. I let myself in, heralded by the tinkling of the door chimes, and Carolyn Kaisers head emerged from the curtain at the back. Hi, Bern, she said. Get comfy. Ill be right out.

I arranged myself on a pillow sofa and started leafing through a copy of a trade journal called The Pet Dealer, which was about what youd expect. I thought maybe Id see a picture of a Bouvier des Flandres, but no such luck. I was still trying when Carolyn came in carrying a very small dog the color of Old Crow and soda.

Thats not a Bouvier des Flandres, I said.

No kidding, said Carolyn. She stood the little thing up on a table and commenced fluffing him. He looked fluffy enough to start with. This is Prince Valiant, Bernie. Hes a poodle.

I didnt know poodles came that small.

They keep making them smaller. Hes a miniature, but hes actually smaller than the usual run of minis. I think the Japanese are getting into the field. I think theyre doing something cunning with transistors.

Carolyn doesnt normally do short jokes for fear of casting the first stone. If she wore high heels she might hit five-one, but she doesnt. She has Dutch-cut dark-brown hair and Delft-blue eyes, and shes built along the lines of a fire hydrant, no mean asset in the dog-grooming trade.

Poor Prince, she said. The breeders keep picking out runts and cross-breeding them until they come up with something like this. And of course they breed for color, too. Prince Vals not just a mini poodle. Hes an apricot mini poodle. Where the hells his owner, anyway? What time is it?

Quarter to six.

Shes fifteen minutes late. Another fifteen and Im locking up.

Whatll you do with Prince Valiant? Bring him home with you?

Are you kidding? The cats would eat him for breakfast. Ubi might coexist with him but Archied disembowel him just to keep in practice. No, if she doesnt show by six its Doggie Dannemora for the Prince. He can spend the night in a cage.

That should have been Vals cue to give a cute little yap of protest, but he just stood there like a dummy. I suggested his color was less like an apricot than a glass of bourbon and soda, and Carolyn said, Jesus, dont remind me, Ill start drooling like one of Pavlovs finest. Then the door chimes sounded and a woman with blue-rinsed gray hair came strutting in to collect her pet.

I went back to The Pet Dealer while they settled Vals tab. Then his owner clipped one end of a rhinestone-studded leash to the beasts collar. They walked off together, turning fast when they hit the pavement and probably bound for Stewart House, a large co-op apartment building that runs heavily to blue-rinsed gray hair, with or without an apricot poodle on the side.

Poodles, Carolyn said. I wouldnt have a dog because of the cats, and if I didnt have the cats I still wouldnt have a dog, but if I did it wouldnt be a poodle.

Whats wrong with poodles?

I dont know. Actually theres nothing wrong with standard poodles. Big black unclipped standard poodles are fine. Of course if everybody had a big black unclipped poodle I could hang up my shears and go out of business, and that might not be the worst thing in the world, anyway, come to think of it. Would you live with one of those, Bernie? A miniature poodle?

Well, I dont

Of course you wouldnt, she said. You wouldnt and neither would I. There are only two kinds of people whod have a dog like that, and theyre the two classes of human beings Ive never been able to understand.

Hows that?

Gay men and straight women. Can we get out of here? I suppose I could have an apricot brandy sour. I had a lover once who used to drink them. Or I could have that bourbon and soda you mentioned. But I think what I really want is a martini.

What she had was Perrier with lime.

But not without protest. Most of the protest was vented on the open air, and by the time we were at our usual table around the corner at the Bum Rap, Carolyn was agreeable if not happy about it. The waitress asked if we wanted the usual, whereupon Carolyn made a face and ordered French seltzer water, which was not her usual by any stretch of the imagination. Neither was it mine at the end of the days work, but the days work was not yet over. I, too, ordered Perrier, and the waitress went off scratching her head.

See, Bern? Uncharacteristic behavior. Arouses suspicion.

I wouldnt worry about it.

I dont see why I cant have a real drink. The thing tonight is hours in the future. If I had a drink it would wear off in plenty of time.

You know the rules.

Rules.

Without them, society would crumble. Wed have anarchy. Crime in the streets.

Bernie

Of course, I said, I could always do a single-o tonight.

The hell you could.

The job wouldnt be that much harder with one than with two. I could handle it.

Who found it in the first place?

You did, I said, and youre in for fifty percent whatever happens, but you could stay home tonight and still collect it. Why run extra risks? And this way you can have your martini, or even three or four of them, and

You made your point.