“Lipinski got cold feet. He wanted out. Wanted to take his money and run. I tried to talk to him, but he was really freaked out. So I went over to see if I could calm him down.”
“You succeeded. You can't get much calmer than dead.”
“He wouldn't listen, so what could I do? I thought I did a good job of making it look like a suicide.”
“You have a nice life—a nice house, a nice wife and kids, a good job. Why were you skimming?”
“In the beginning it was just fun money. Tipp and me used to play poker with a bunch of guys on Monday nights. And Tipp's wife would never give Tipp any money. So Tipp started skimming. Just a couple accounts for poker money. But then it was so easy. I mean, nobody knew the money was gone. So we enlarged until we had a nice chunk of Vito's accounts. Tipp knew Lipinski and Curly, and he brought them in.” Shempsky wiped his nose again. "It wasn't like I was ever going to make money at the bank. I'm in a dead-?end job. It's my face, you know. I'm not stupid. I could have been somebody, but nobody pays attention to me.
“God gives everybody a special talent. And you know what my talent is? Nobody remembers me. I have a forgettable face. It took me a bunch of years, but I finally figured out how to use my gift.” He gave a crazy little laugh that sent all the hairs on my arm standing at attention. “My talent is that I can rob people blind, kill them on the street, and nobody remembers.”
Allen Shempsky was drunk or crazy or both. And at the rate we were going he wouldn't even have to shoot me, because he was scaring me to death. My heart was pounding in my chest, echoing in my ears.
“What will you do now?” I asked him.
“You mean after I kill you? I guess I'll go home. Or maybe I'll just get in my car and drive somewhere. I have lots of money. I don't need to go back to the bank if I don't want to.”
Shempsky was sweating, and under the flush on his cheeks his face was pale. “Christ,” he said. “I really feel sick.” He stood up and pointed the gun at me. “You got any cold medicine?”
“Just aspirin.”
“I need more than aspirin. I'd like to sit and talk some more, but I gotta get some cold medicine. I bet I have a fever.”
“You don't look good.”
“I bet my face is all flushed.”
“Yeah, and your eyes are glassy.”
There was a scraping sound on the fire escape outside my window, and we both swiveled our heads to look. We saw only darkness beyond the broken pane.
Shempsky turned back to me and cocked the hammer on his revolver. “Now hold still so I kill you with the first bullet. It's better that way. There's a lot less mess. And if I shoot you in the heart, you can have an open casket. I know everybody likes that.”
We both took a deep breath—me to die, and Shempsky to aim. And in that instant the air
was pierced with a bloodcurdling roar of rage and lunacy. And Ramirez filled the window, his face contorted, his eyes small and evil.
Shempsky instinctively whirled and fired, emptying his gun in Ramirez.
I wasted no time running. I flew out of the room, through my living room, and out my front door. I sprinted down the hall, leaped down two flights of stairs, and almost bashed in Mrs. Keene's door.
“Goodness,” Mrs. Keene said, “you certainly are having a full night. What now?”
“Your gun! Give me your gun!”
I called the police and went back upstairs with the gun in my hand. My apartment door was wide open. Shempsky was gone. And Briggs was still alive in my closet.
I ripped the tape off. “Are you okay?”
“Shit,” he said. “I messed my pants.”
THE UNIFORMS CAME first, then the paramedics and finally the homicide detectives and the medical examiner. They had an easy time finding my apartment. Most of them had been there before. Morelli had arrived with the uniforms.
It was now three hours later, and the party was winding down. I'd given my statement, and the only thing left was to get Ramirez into a body bag and haul him off my fire escape. Rex and I had set up camp in the kitchen while the professionals did their thing. Randy Briggs gave his statement and left, deciding his apartment without a door was safer than living with me.
Rex still looked perky, but I was exhausted. I was all out of adrenaline, and I felt like my blood level was a pint low.
Morelli wandered in, and for the first time all night we had a moment alone together. “You should be relieved,” he said. “You don't have to worry about Ramirez anymore.”