Page 119 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Soaked to the Bone

Man: [Expletive] Out of my way, bitch! [Gives cart powerful shove;
it does not budge; Labelle’s left foot is on front wheel]
Labelle: That’s it, buddy. You want the cuffs? I’ve got you on a
342e.
Man: [Several expletives, then slumps against wall] What do you
want?
Labelle: First, some ID. [Man gawks] Never mind. Your name?
Man: Aldous. Aldous Little. Hey, I’m a vet. Agent Orange.
Vietnam. Give me a break, will you?
Labelle: Sure, Aldous. Just talk to me for a minute. Did you just
cash in across the street?
Man: Yeah, where do you think I got the money for this?
[Points to wine bottle in bag]
Labelle: How long ago?
Man: I dunno. Half an hour. Time flies when you’re having
fun.
Labelle: Then everything you sold has already been sorted and
thrown in the large bins? That’s a shame, Aldous. Now
you’re going to have to use your memory.
Man: [Indistinct groan]
Labelle: What time were you up on Camino Costoso this
morning?
Man: [Startled] How did you know? I start there before the sun
comes up: top of the hill, empty cart.
Labelle: So you know the house at the very end of the street,
number 669?
Man: [Defensively] Hey, I’m not the milkman. I don’t look at
numbers.
Labelle: Three weeks ago, the owner of that house called the
police: it was very early Wednesday morning, and
something set off his alarm system.
Man: [Frightened] God! I remember that! I swear I didn’t try to
break in. Somebody had thrown a plastic bottle, a big
one, on the lawn and I went after it. That’s all: damned
motion detectors! Had them in Nam. Charley wasn’t
looking for cans and bottles. Had to set up perimeters.
Would have slit our throats.
Labelle: [Sternly] So you know the house.

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