Dead Wrong About the Guy

by Frederick Zackel

  Corky was suddenly very tired. "Why can't you just blow her away? When are you going to decide?"

  I was smiling, still amused by the man. "Nothing's going to happen for a while."

  "Why not!"

  "Killing people is easy," I said. "People do it all the time. Amateurs kill on the spur of the moment, and then they get popped by the cops just like that. Professionals take their time and don't get caught."

  Corky was thoughtful. I made sense to him.

  Afterwards I parked in a scenic area overlooking the Pacific. There were no other cars around. I waited until Flea Nichols drove up and parked nearby. Flea left his car and walked to my car, then climbed in on the passenger side.

  "Corky went to a phone booth," Flea said, "but I didn't hear what he said or who he was talking to."

  "So he's not doing this alone," I muttered.

  Flea missed my words. "What?"

  I ignored him. "They put a parking lot on a cliff and call it a state park? What's so special about this cliff?"

  Flea gestured at the ocean. "The waves out there. I don't remember what they call them, but I know they're special."

  I did not understand. "Why would anybody give a shit about ocean waves? Hell, they kept coming in forever, don't they?" I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. "Waves." I gave it up as lost. "What's Corky's old lady look like?"

  "She's a nice-looking woman," Flea said.

  "How's he get along with her?"

  "He can't be getting on too good with her, if he wants her wasted."

  "Is it visible? I mean, can Joe Blow catch on?"

  "I never thought so. This thing's taken me by surprise."

  I gave up. "Good-bye, Flea."

  Flea Nichols slunk out of my car like a wet cat. He didn't slam the door behind him well enough and had to reopen and close it again before it was shut tightly.

  I shook my head with disgust. "If I didn’t need the money--!" I rammed it into gear, popped the clutch, and the Mustang flew down the highway, until I disappeared around the next curve.

  An elementary school was below the opened window in Ivy's bedroom. I listened to the rhythm of bedsprings already at a fevered pitch creaking like a ship in rough seas, as her small urgent female moans grew louder and louder, and I wondered if we were going to drown out the noise of the kids playing in the schoolyard.

  When Ivy Lawson reached orgasm, she called upon the Creator, and then she and the creaking bed both stopped. The school bell rang and the little kids went inside. Then the distant sounds of surf and the rustle of palm trees and banana leaves in the wind again had the afternoon to themselves.

  We were sated and naked in her bed by the open window, Ivy prostrate on top of me. After a moment she slowly struggled to lift herself off me. She wiped the sweat from her breasts with a bed sheet, then wiped the sweat off my chest before laying her head on me. She snuggled closer to me, gratefully.

  I kissed her. "Tell me about Corky Collins."

  "Why?"

  "He's one of the people I have to talk with about this National Park."

  I waited for her to catch her breath.

  "Corky and my dad were fishing buddies," Ivy said. "He's a nice guy. A little blustery, but he's got a warm heart."

  "Does he flirt with the ladies?"

  "That old guy! Besides, he's married. He's nuts about his wife. They're both nuts about each other. They're going to celebrate their twenty-fifth anniversary next month. The whole town'll help them celebrate. There's going to be a luau, a band, cake and champagne ... "

  "I heard he's getting a divorce."

  Ivy stopped. "No shit!" She thought it over. "A divorce would cost him plenty."

  "How much does he have?"

  "Plenty," Ivy said.

  I felt great, so I kissed her again and kept caressing her curves of flesh. I like the feel of female skin.

  Ivy was relishing this much attention. "We have to do this more often!"

  I had a lazy smile. "Your turn, Ivy. Do me again."

  Ivy smiled a dirty smile, then slowly slid down the length of my naked body. I felt like a million dollars.

  The sign on the building read "First Bank of Maui." The sign on the door in the back of the bank said "Ollie Salazar Bank President."

  I sat across the desk from Ollie Salazar. I recognized the short, slight banker as one of yesterday’s poker players from the Paradise Bowl.

  "God, but you boys work fast," Ollie said. "Only yesterday I was reading about this National Park idea."

  I cautioned him. "That's just one Senator with a suggestion. It isn't law yet, and it may never be."

  "Yes, but still--" Ollie tried another tack. "If the National Park Service can send you here--"

  "This is not an official visit. In fact, if you check with the regional office, they will deny anyone is here. Officially, I'm a tourist. I want to see how big the coastline is, how many people live around here, what they're like--"

  "That's a good cover story," Ollie said.

  "Mister Salazar, how do you like the idea of a East Maui National Park?"

  Ollie was dubious. "People here are concerned about tourists, congestion, too much traffic--"

  "Of course," I said.

  "What does Uncle Sam do when he makes a National Park?

  "The absolute minimum," I admitted. "We put in some parking lots. Public outhouses, too. Wherever there's a parking lot. By the cliffs, too, so the tradewinds can keep them fresh.

  Ollie was still dubious. "Oh."

  "The idea is to protect the land for the ages."

  The banker blinked. "Well, there would be some development, wouldn't there?"

  "At the same time, we want to help existing businesses within the local community.

  Ollie brightened. "Really!"

  I admitted it: "Some landowners could become multi-millionaires overnight."

  Ollie grinned. Now Uncle Sam was talking his language. "How can I help you, Mister Bishop?"

  "How well do you know Corky Collins?"

  Ollie was completely confused. "Corky? Him? He's an old friend. We play poker together."

  I was deliberately vague. "He seems representative of the community."

  "Oh, he is, he is," Ollie said. "His family is very prominent in Maui history. Still--"

  "And influential?

  Ollie shook his head angrily. "You're barking up the wrong tree. He won't sell his land. That land's been in the Collins' family since Hawaii had kings and queens."

  "Sometimes some public protesters are privately holding out for a better price," I suggested.

  Ollie thought of something else. "His wife, too. Saundra loves that land as much as he does. She'll take a shotgun to you if she finds out you're with the federal government."

  I pretended his wife was a new wrinkle. "How long have they been married?"

  "Almost twenty-five years. They got two boys. Fine boys. Hell, both grown men actually."

  "How does Corky get along with his wife? Any chance they'll be separated or get divorced?"

  "None that I can see. If they quarrel, who knows? Not in public, anyway. Of course that ranch of his is a half-mile back from the highway."

  "Your bank handles estate planning, right? Are they rich?"

  Ollie tried computing: "Let's see. That ranch of his. Three thousand acres of land. His processing plant. Some commercial property in town, too. Refrigerated warehouses and some loading docks. His total estate if he croaked this minute?" He tried finding a final sum. "Oh, maybe two million."

  "Does he throw his money around?"

  Ollie snickered. "Corky's so cheap, he'd fuck his wife, then go to the whorehouse, just so he's got his ten bucks worth."

  "Who handles his insurance?"

  Ollie began flipping through his Rolodex. "Stu Phillips. I've got his number around here somewhere."

  I stood. "Just his address. I might not get there right away. You've been most helpful, Mister Salazar--"

  Ollie stood and shook my h
and. "Call me Ollie!"

  I left then. But even before I reached my Mustang, I knew Ollie Salazar was on the phone, his eyes wide, his mouth flapping away. Some people you can trust just like that.

  A sign out on Front Street said: "Stu Phillips Insurance."

  I took the staircase that led upstairs to the second floor. Within minutes, I sat across from and was talking to Stu Phillips, who was only too happy to help out a government man.

  I said, "How about insurance, Mister Phillips? Does he have adequate coverage?"

  "I don't think so. Corky's an optimist who believes nothing bad will ever happen to him."

  "How about his wife?"

  "Saundra? Oh, she's got adequate coverage. I got him to do that much at least. He'd be lost without her. She's some special lady."

  Later Corky and I were offshore and onboard Corky's forty footer. The stern read: "SAUNDRA II." I kept myself busy surveying the waters around us.

  Corky was pissed. "How come you've been checking into my background?"

  "There's a guy over there with binoculars."

  Corky brushed aside that as no threat. "He's just a fisherman. He's watching the seabirds feeding. That's where the big fish congregate to eat the little fish."

  "Let me explain some things to you, pal. You want your wife whacked. Well, before we agree, I have to see how you fit into the deal. I have to look you over, understand you. We don't do a thing unless I know every why and wherefore along the way."

  "What doesn't make sense--"

  I interrupted him. "And we've decided. I'll do it."

  Corky was taken aback. "Are you gonna guarantee my alibi?"

  "That's the only way I work."

  "When will she die?"

  I had a cold smile. "It'll surprise even you."

  Corky was jubilant. "Whoa boy! You sure had me going there!" He laughed with glee, and he sounded as raucous as a seagull. His voice made me wince.

  "It'll cost you, too, pal. Fifty grand."

  Corky made a razzberry. "Ten's all I got."

  "You'll get the rest. And I get it all ahead of time."

  "I'm not paying all of it beforehand."

  "Afraid I'll skip on you?"

  "Yes. Twenty-five grand."

  "Fifty grand up front."

  "I got twenty-five grand in cash." Corky hesitated. I could see his mind counting the coins in his pocket. "I'll go along with fifty grand if you get half before and the other half when everything stays buried." He added a caveat. "If she stays buried, I mean, if we hear nothing other than her death was accidental, or done by persons unknown, then I can give you the balance as soon as probate's over. That way you don't set me up. Or turn me in, either."

  "How do I know you'll pay me?"

  "You'll kill me if I don't."

  "You got that right. But you pay the first half just before I go do it."

  "Agreed. And the second twenty-five grand after probate. Not before." Corky hesitated. "What happens afterwards? How are you planning to get away?"

  "That's my concern." I tightened up. "Then it's agreed?"

  "It's a deal."

  Corky and I shook hands on murder.

  "How do you want her killed? Do you want her knifed? Poisoned? Shot? A pistol or a shotgun? Do you want her strangled, or maybe drowned in the ocean?"

  Corky was tired. "I've had plenty of time and I've thought of a million ways to do it." He rubbed his forehead. "I just want her killed."

  I couldn't resist teasing him. "I can put a bomb on this boat. A quarter pound of dynamite's about as big as a stick of butter. Goes by the gas tank. That would be enough. Or I can use more and what's left of the boat can fit in the trunk of your car."

  "Not my boat, please. Besides, I don't want anybody killed but my wife."

  "How do you want it to look? Accidental? Suicide? Do you want this to look like a robbery? Murder by persons unknown? Is there anybody you want to pin it on? Make it look like they did it?"

  "I just want her dead. I don't want anybody getting framed for something they didn't do. I couldn't face myself in the mirror if somebody innocent gets busted for her death."

  "Nobody's innocent any more."

  "You wouldn't say that if you had grandchildren."

  "You take drugs? How about your wife?"

  Corky was annoyed. "No!"

  "That takes care of overdoses. How strong is she? She is going to be an unwilling victim."

  "She's a strong woman. She'll put up a pretty good fight."

  "By the way, do you want her raped?"

  "Are you serious?"

  I shrugged. "It costs extra."

  Corky guillotined twenty-five years of memories. "I'll leave it up to you." His conscience winced, but he rode over it. "The only thing that's important is my alibi is fool-proof. As long as I'm in the clear--"

  "Where do you want her whacked? At home, maybe?"

  "Maybe. It's private enough. The neighbors aren't very close. And she does spend a lot of time there alone."

  "D'you mind if there's a lot of blood?"

  "I don't care about the carpets!"

  I stopped Corky from venting his anger. "Where do you want the body? Should I leave her where I kill her?"

  Corky wrinkled his brow. "Oh god!"

  I was fussy. "Do you want her buried, or do you want her coming in with the tide?"

  "Leave her where you kill her. I'd like to have the body found as soon as possible and everything resolved as soon as possible."

  Flea and I stood alongside a white plank fence looking over Corky's ranch. From the look of things, the Hawaiian had enough money to afford me killing his wife.

  "Seen enough?" Flea asked.

  I woke up. "Yeah."

  We hiked back to the Mustang.

  "How come you're doing this?" Flea asked.

  "They call it fuck-you money," I said absently. "Once you got enough of it, you can walk away from anything."

  We cruised down the Hana Highway. A pickup truck came up from behind, cut in front of us, barely missed us and shot off down the highway, then disappeared around the next curve.

  I shook my head. "That asshole's got a lead foot. Brains to match, too."

  Flea stared after the pickup. "That was Corky Collins. That's his truck that passed us."

  I hit the gas pedal.

  The pickup truck drove along the Hana Highway. We stayed a quarter mile behind him.

  Corky's truck turned off the highway onto a red dirt road that led inland. He took the red dirt road deep into the rainforest. The sunlight disappeared in a canopy of leaves and branches. Then his truck disappeared around a series of curves.

  I took the curves slowly, came around the last curve, and I found myself overlooking a church camp deep in a canyon. The church camp was mostly summer cottages and cabins for children. Tires on swings and outdoor barbecue grills. A softball diamond was beyond an empty swimming pool.

  I stared out the windshield at the church camp.

  "How come it's deserted?"

  "They don't come until later in the summer."

  I backed up, then hid the Mustang behind some large bushes. I grabbed a pair of binoculars from the travel bag in the back seat. Flea and I left the Mustang and disappeared into the rainforest. We found Corky had parked his pickup truck behind the last cabin.

  A minute later we reached the cabin. A minute later we were watching Corky through the back window of the cabin. He was pacing up and down and chain-smoking. A pile of mattresses was stacked in one corner of the cabin. The rest of the cabin was empty.

  Another car came down the red dirt road to the cabin where Corky waited. A woman--the attractive woman with the dead as a doornail eyes I had seen behind the cash register at the bowling alley--left her car, slamming the door behind her, and entered the cabin where Corky was waiting. There, she embraced and kissed Corky.

  He pulled away, irritated with her.

  Corky was angry. "Damn you, Debra!"

  Debra got panicky. "What'
s wrong?

  "I hate this! Damn you for coming up with this place!"

  Debra tried consoling him. "Corky--"

  "And damn me for going along with you!" he said half-heartily.

  I was surprised, but Flea wasn't. "That's Mrs. Debra Lawson."

  I asked, "Any relation to Ivy Lawson?"

  "That's her stepmother."

  Inside the cabin Corky set up a sleeping bag atop that stack of mattresses, while Debra Lawson shucked her clothes. She climbed inside the bag, while he stripped off his clothes. Then they were both naked, massaging each other.

  I was amused and in no hurry to leave, but Flea was paranoid and wanted only to be gone. I told him to wait.

  Corky Collins said, "I don't care any more how it's done. I don't want to know all the details. Why can't you just take care of everything?"

  She kissed him tenderly. "Corky honey, all these details help cover for us. They make it easier and safer for us. And that's better protection for both of us." She kissed him again and massaged him under the covers. "Do you still like me doing this?"

  Corky gave up. "Aw, honey ... "

  They clutched together, and their body heat was enough for combustion. They started making brutally passionate love.

  Flea turned away from the window, started to sip at a pint bottle of Irish whiskey. "She owns the bowling alley. She's the one's got me between a rock and a hard place with those checks."

  I had some choice words for Flea.

  I ended, "I thought it was Corky alone."

  Flea shook his head. "She's his main squeeze. And almost nobody but me knows about it."

  I was outraged. "You knew she was his main squeeze, and you didn't tell me?"

  "I knew you'd find out," Flea said defensively.

  I was spitting the words: "What bullshit are you giving me now!"

  Flea started scrambling. "You don't do any deal unless you know the whole set-up, and knowing who Corky's been fucking is something you'd have to find out before you'd agree to any deal with him."

  I gave up. "How'd you find them out?"

  "They were smooching in the back booth in this bar I went into in Waikiki."

  The outdoor marquee read: "CONGRATS, CORKY & SAUNDRA TWENTY-FIFTH ANNIVERSARY." When I saw the sign, I just had to stop.

  The Club Ilima was a cocktail lounge for locals, not tourists. Neon beer lights flashed on and off, on and off. The parking lot was large enough for thirty cars. Many loud drinkers were in the main lounge. There was much cigarette smoke and barroom noise.