Lisa Atkinson - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 131, No. 5. Whole No. 801, May 2008

Readers who enjoy this new Keller story from Lawrence Block adapted from one of the vignettes that comprised his 2006 Keller book Hit Parade wont want to miss the new novel starring the hit man, Hit and Run, sure to be witty, and due to be released by William Morrow in June of 2008. Also in 2008, Hard Case Crime will reissue one of Mr. Blocks vintage mysteries, A Diet of Treacle.

Keller, trying not to feel foolish, hoisted his flight bag and stepped to the curb. Two cabs darted his way, and he got into the winner, even as the runner-up filled the air with curses. JFK, he said, and settled back in his seat.

Which airline?

He had to think about it. American.

International or domestic?

Domestic.

What times your flight?

Usually they just took you there. Today, when he didnt have a plane to catch, he got a full-scale inquiry.

Not to worry, he told the driver. Weve got plenty of time.

Which was just as well, because it took longer than usual to get through the tunnel, and the traffic on the Long Island Expressway was heavier than usual for that hour. Hed picked this time early afternoon because the traffic tended to be light, but today for some reason it wasnt. Fortunately, he reminded himself, it didnt matter. Time, for a change, was not of the essence.

Where you headed? the driver asked, while Kellers mind was wandering.

Panama, he said, without thinking.

Then you want International, dont you?

Why on earth had he said Panama? Hed been wondering if he should buy a straw hat, that was why. Panama City, he corrected himself. Thats in Florida, you change planes in Miami.

You got to fly all the way down to Miami and then back up again to Panama City? Ought to be a better way to do it.

Thousands of cab drivers in New York, and for once he had to draw one who could speak English. Air miles, he said, in a tone that brooked no argument, and they left it at that.

At the designated terminal, Keller paid and tipped the guy, then carried his flight bag past the curbside check-in. He followed the signs down to Baggage Claim and walked around until he found a woman holding a hand-lettered sign that read Niebauer.

She hadnt noticed him, so he took a moment to notice her, and to determine that no one else was paying any attention to either of them. She was around forty, a trimly-built woman wearing a skirt and blouse and glasses. Her brown hair was medium length, attractive if not stylish, her sharp nose contrasted with her generous mouth, and on balance hed have to say she had a kind face. This, he knew, was no guarantee of anything. You didnt have to be kind to have a kind face.

He approached her from the side, and got within a few feet of her before she sensed his presence, turned, and stepped back, looking a little startled. Im Mr. Niebauer, he said.

Oh, she said. Oh, of course. I... you surprised me.

Im sorry.

I had noticed you, but I didnt think... She swallowed, started over. I guess you dont look the way I expected you to look.

Well, Im older than I was a few hours ago.

No, I dont mean... I dont know what I mean. Im sorry. How was your flight?

Routine.

I guess we have to collect your luggage.

I just have this, he said, holding up the flight bag. So we can go to your car.

We cant, she said. She managed a smile. I dont have one, and couldnt drive it if I did. Im a city girl, Mr. Niebauer. I never learned to drive. Well have to take a cab.

There was a moment, of course, when Keller was sure hed get the same cab, and he could see himself trying to field the drivers questions without alarming the woman. Instead they got into a cab driven by a jittery little man who talked on his cell phone in a language Keller couldnt recognize while his radio was tuned to a talk program in what may or may not have been the same unrecognizable language.

Keller, once again trying not to feel foolish, settled in for the drive back to Manhattan.

Two days earlier, on the wraparound porch of the big old house in White Plains, Keller hadnt felt foolish. What hed felt was confused.

Its in New York, he said, starting with the jobs least objectionable aspect. I live in New York. I dont work there.

You have.

A couple of times, he allowed, and it worked out all right, all things considered, but that doesnt make it a good idea.

I know, Dot said, and I almost turned it down without consulting you. And not just because its local.

Thats the least of it.

Right.

Its short money, he said. Its ten thousand dollars. Its not exactly chump change, but its a fraction of what I usually get.

The danger of working for short money, she said, is word gets around. But one thing wed make sure of is nobody knows youre the one who took this job. So its not a question of ten thousand dollars versus your usual fee, because your usual fee doesnt come into the picture. Its ten thousand dollars for two or three days work, and I know you can use the work.

And the money.

Right. And, of course, theres no travel. Which was a minus the first time we looked at it, but in terms of time and money and all of that

Suddenly its a plus. He took a sip of his iced tea. Look, this is stupid. Were not talking about the most important thing.

I know.

The, uh, subject is generally a man. Sometimes its a woman.

Youre an equal-opportunity kind of guy, Keller.

One time, he said, somebody wanted me to do a kid. You remember?

Vividly.

We turned them down.

Youre damn right we did.

Adults, he said. Grownups. Thats where we draw the line.

Well, she said, if it matters, the subject this time around is an adult.

How old is he?

Five.

A five-year-old adult, he said heavily.

Do the math, Keller. Hes thirty-five in dog years.

Somebody wants to pay me ten thousand dollars to kill a dog, he said. Why me, Dot? Why cant they call the SPCA?

I wondered that myself, she said. Same token, every time we get a client who wants a spouse killed, I wonder if a divorce wouldnt be a better way to go. Why call us? Has Raoul Felder got an unlisted phone number?

But a dog, Dot.

She took a long look at him. Youre thinking about Nelson, she said. Am I right or am I right?

Youre right.

Nelson, an Australian cattle dog, had entered Kellers life in unexpected fashion, and made an equally surprising exit. Hed acquired the animal upon the death of a client, and lost it when the woman hed hired to walk it Andria, her name was, and she painted her toes all the colors of the rainbow walked out of his life, and took Nelson with her.

Keller, she said, I met Nelson, and I liked Nelson. Nelson was a friend of mine. Keller, this dog is no Nelson.

If you say so.

In fact, she said, if Nelson saw this dog and trotted over to give him a friendly sniff, that would be the end of Nelson. This dogs a pit bull, Keller, and hes enough to give the breed a bad name.

The breed already has a bad name.

And I can see why. If this dog was a movie actor, Keller, hed be Jack Elam.

I always liked Jack Elam.

You didnt let me finish. Hed be like Jack Elam, but nasty.

What does he do, Dot? Eat children?

She shook her head. If he ever bit a kid, she said, or even snarled good and hard at one, thatd be the end of him. The laws set up to protect people from dogs. What with due process and everything, he might rip the throats out of a few tykes before the law caught up with him, but once it did hed be out of the game and on his way to Doggie Heaven.