Ed McBain_Matthew Hope 12 Read Online Free Page A

greenish gray all over it where the mildew had been having
     its way for too long a time. Wooden posts rotted clear through, probably infested with termites, too, supporting a rippled
     green plastic overhang running past the entrance doors to the units, twelve on each floor by Warren’s count. He came down
     the long open corridor cautiously because the one thing he couldn’t change was his color.
    Could borrow a dented red Subaru from a friend of his, could dress in tropical beige threads made him look like a visiting
     real estate salesman or a banker come to call, he
still
looked out of place in this shitty run-down condo where the only tenants were white. So he came cautiously down that long
     second-floor corridor with the sun hitting the rippled overhang at an angle that cast the plastic’s sickly green color onto
     the corridor floor and the lower part of the white wall, and he prayed none of the doors along that wall would open, prayed
     no one would step out to challenge him. He was a black man about to stealthily break and enter a structure or conveyance without
     consent of the owner or occupant, but he wasn’t a burglar, and he didn’t choose to be mistaken for one.
    Warren was carrying in his wallet a laminated card that had been issued in accordance with Chapter 493 of the Florida Statutes,
     and which gave its recipient the right to investigate and gather information on a great many criminal and noncriminal matters
     listed in detail in the statute. He took that card from his wallet now, and used it to loid the lock on the door to unit 24,
her
unit, sliding it deftly between doorjamb and Mickey Mouse spring latch, forcing the latch back until he felt the door give,
     and then easing himself into the unit and closing the door behind him at once.
    His heart was pounding hard.
    Sidney Brackett was asking Lainie if it wasn’t true that she had developed the idea for her so-called original bear Gladly
     while, in fact, she was still working at Toyland, Toyland. Lainie was vehemently denying this. Sitting at the defense table,
     Brett and Etta Toland sat calmly watching the proceedings, secure in the knowledge that Brackett would impeach my first witness
     and get this whole damned thing kicked summarily out of court.
    Brett was forty-four years old, elegantly tailored in a blue blazer and gray slacks, white shirt open at the throat, no tie,
     shoes invisible under the table—but I guessed they were tasseled loafers—suntanned face exploiting eyes as blue as glare ice,
     thick blond hair casually styled. He sat holding his wife’s left hand in his own right hand. Together, they presented the
     very image of solidarity against this impostor named Lainie Commins.
    In Calusa society, such as it was, they were familiarly known as Lord and Lady Toland, though neither was either British or
     aristocratic. Host and hostess supreme—I remembered an outdoor party where Japanese lanterns festooned the lawn of their multimillion-dollar
     beachfront home, and goldfish swam in tiny bowls at the more than fifty outdoor tables, and the then governor of the state
     of Florida was in attendance—invitations to their extravaganzas were sought like tickets to the Super Bowl, though I’d personally
     felt somewhat uncomfortable in such resplendent digs, perhaps because I’d grown up poor in Chicago; maybe a person can
never
put poverty behind him.
    Etta Toland…
    Ett and Brett, they were called by close friends who cherished the Tolands,
and
their Fatback Key mansion,
and
their parties,
and
their tennis court and swimming pool,
and
their ninety-four-foot yawl named
Toy Boat, and
their private jet that didn’t have a name though both jet and yacht had painted respectively on fuselage and transom the
     logo of their toy company, two dolls sitting with legs extended and heads together, the boy with blond hair, the girl with
     black hair, each smiling radiantly. This same logo was on the little round tag attached to the