Masters of Noir: Volume Four

by Lawrence Block

  I stopped. The tracks came in from the road. “Somebody's been here.” I sounded like Papa Bear.

  Celia frowned, but pulled me toward the house. “Probably some salesman."

  Footprints in the sand led around the house, paused at every window. “Persistent.” I said.

  For no reason I could explain, I felt that old sense of wrong mixed with unexplained fear. “I'll take the ‘copter. Maybe I can catch him before he gets back to the Trail."

  "Don't be a fool.” She pressed against me. “I've waited all day. You're not chasing down some salesman. You're not going to leave me tonight."

  I didn't, either....

  Next morning I woke up thinking about those tire tracks and footprints. Too many things were unexplained, wrong. I fixed breakfast but didn't eat anything. Celia ate like a plowman.

  I followed the flight pattern but my mind wasn't on it. Celia never relaxed. We'd not found one encouraging sign, yet she never mentioned quitting. One thing was now certain. She was compelled by something stronger than that love she'd talked about the first day. Did she love Carmic at all? She never discussed him outside the ‘copter. She never worried about the hell he endured if he were alive in that swamp country. All she did was glue her gaze to that ground.

  When we returned, I searched first for new tire tracks. There was none. I couldn't say why, but I felt no better.

  Celia pretended disinterest, but she looked for them, too.

  After supper, she started the phonograph. It blared but only intensified the silence. She toppled into my lap. “It's too quiet, doll. I'm a big city girl. The Embassy—F Street. Got to have excitement. Where you going to take me?"

  I smelled the warm fragrance at the nape of her neck. “I know where I want to take you."

  "There's a juke joint about a mile down the Tamiami Trail from your road."

  "Twenty miles. Nickel juke. Ten cent beer and mud farmers."

  "That's where I want to go."

  I looked at her squared chin, didn't even bother to argue.

  She drove recklessly on the twisting roadway, parked beside the Seminole Inn. An anaemic neon glowed fitfully. There were gas pumps out front, motel cottages in the rear. Inside was boot-scarred bar, small dance space, unpainted tables, candles in beer cans, booths. There were half a dozen customers. We sat at a table, ordered beer. She seemed to have forgotten her husband, so I tried to.

  A man sat alone at the end of the bar near the juke. I didn't pay any attention to him at first. I noticed he was pretty-boy handsome, with a golden, sculptured profile, thin mouth.

  We'd been there about ten minutes before I realized he was watching every move we made. Every time I looked up, his eyes would go flat and he'd stare beyond me.

  "You know that character?” I said to Celia.

  "Who?” She said it too carelessly. There weren't that many people in there. I got that old empty feeling.

  "Handsome,” I said. “The blond god over there. He must know you, he's staring at you."

  Celia looked dutifully. Her eyes met Handsome's for an instant. I saw something flicker in his flat eyes—something green like jealousy, red like hatred. It flashed and was gone. He looked at his beer.

  "I'm sure I never saw him before,” Celia said. “Want to dance?"

  What I wanted was to hit somebody or something. If she knew the guy, why didn't she say so? I had to be sure. I excused myself, went through the door marked “His'n."

  From inside I watched Celia. She got up after a moment, walked over to the juke. Handsome swung around at the bar as I'd known he would.

  For a moment I was ill. I pressed my ear against the pine paneling, trying to hear what they said. Celia punched coins into the juke. “Stay away.” Her voice was a sharp whisper.

  "I've got to see you!"

  "You can't. I told you you couldn't."

  "You're crossing me—” The blaring music drowned his words. I washed my face, rinsed out my mouth, staring at my reflection in the dirty window.

  I was silent driving home. Celia laughed, teased, called me a baby. She slid over close, laid her head on my shoulder. It was a gray night, strung with stars and full of wrong.

  "I wish you'd teach me to run the ‘copter, Jim."

  I felt pebbles in my throat. I wanted her to tell me the truth, but by now I knew better. I wouldn't waste my breath. “You couldn't take your eyes away from those binoculars long enough to learn."

  She sighed. “That's right. That's most important, isn't it?"

  I didn't say anything. It didn't seem important at all.

  When we got back next afternoon from the fifth flight pattern, I saw the new tracks. “Well, he was back again,” I said.

  She took it big. “Somebody is trying to sell you something."

  "That's God's truth."

  "—and just can't believe you're gone so much!” She met my gaze evenly when she said that and didn't even blush.

  We ate supper silently. Afterwards she marked out the next flight pattern. I didn't even bother to look at it. I told myself I was going to bed alone. I didn't. She had me all clobbered, but I wanted her worse than ever.

  The next morning we took off as usual. I asked her to explain the prowler.

  She said it must be a neighbor of mine, or a salesman.

  I shook my head. “Don't give me that. I have no neighbors. A salesman would travel that road once, maybe; never twice."

  She shrugged. “It's your country."

  "It's your boyfriend,” I told her.

  "My boyfriend!” She laughed. I let her laugh. She got tired and stopped, cold.

  "I heard you two at the juke.” My voice was as tired and empty as I felt.

  Her eyes flickered.

  "Why not level with me, Celia? What are you looking for? What do you want?"

  She stared out at the horizon. She bit her lip and closed her eyes tight, but didn't speak. My heart hurt against my ribs. I wanted her to be something she wasn't and never would be.

  I wanted her and hated her, and wondered what she was really here for.

  We reached the beginning of the flight pattern, the same parched pepper grass, same tufted pines and endless silence. This was the next to the last day. I heard her sigh; she placed the binoculars against her eyes. After a moment, she removed them, wiped her tears. “I love you, Jim."

  "Sure you do."

  "I didn't mean to, I didn't even consider it. But—you don't know what it means to me to find Curt.” She sank her fingers into my arm. “You won't be sorry, Jim."

  "I'm already sorry. I went nuts when you walked on my place. All I've thought about was having you—and I couldn't afford you, even if I could overlook the rest of it."

  "We've got to find him.” She turned back, put glasses to her eyes. “And we will."

  Time slipped away. And miles. I was about to make the circle, but she told me to go on a bit further. Then I heard her catch her breath, but I'd already seen it. You don't need field glasses to see smoke in that flat wasteland. She dropped the binoculars, looked at me, face rigid.

  She touched my arm, then her fingers were clinging to me. “We've found him, we've found Curt."

  "Sure,” I said. “Didn't you know we would?"

  I set the plane down near the black river. We saw the man standing beside the smudge fire. He was alone. Celia and I got out of the ‘copter and went toward him.

  He wasn't dirty, ragged or bearded—his face wasn't swollen with mosquito poisoning—the way it should be with a man lost in the Everglades. He'd built himself a hut of a parachute, sheltered by rude ribs made of pine limbs. I looked around. There was no sign of the plane.

  I congratulated him under my breath. He was a smart guy, all right. He had survived. He had been ready. He'd had a parachute. What had happened to the plane—or what had been made to happen to it—I'd never know. Neither would anyone else. Sixty feet under, in the Gulf, no doubt.

  "Well, baby,” he was saying to Celia, “I see you finally made it.�
� His voice was angry.

  She snarled back at him. “I came as soon as I—could."

  "Well thanks.” His gaze raked me and his mouth twisted. “Not bad,” he said. “Not bad at all."

  She said, “I had to wait for the air forces to call off the search. I had to get a pilot."

  His brow tilted. “Yes, I see you got a nice young one. Another in your long list? Is this what delayed you until the last day, Celia?"

  "We did the best we could, Curt.” Her breath was sharp. “Did you have sense enough to save the money along with yourself?"

  Carmic laughed. “Well, your grief hasn't changed you, pet. You've still got to have money, haven't you?” He glanced at me. “My wife has some kind of complex—maybe it's an allergy—she can't stand poverty. She was born in it and she scratched her way out. God help anybody who stands in her way. My dear little wife. Never wanted anything but old money and new men."

  Celia said, “Your exile didn't improve your disposition."

  "Nothing will improve my disposition except a long rest in Rio."

  She shrugged. “Where is the money? I'm ready to get out of here."

  Carmic laughed, reached up inside his parachute hut. He pulled down a bulging brief case. I didn't have to see inside. I knew what was there—what Celia had been looking for—all the cash and negotiable securities he'd managed to get his hands on—his profits from Carmic Detectives.

  "Well, baby, it's finally working. Just the way we planned. I wish you hadn't brought a ‘copter. I'm not sure I can handle it."

  I went cold. The nightmare was complete, I saw all they'd planned. Carmic disappeared, destroyed his plane. Celia searched for him and was lost in the search. That must be Handsome's part in this—to make sure the authorities wrote her off as well as her husband. Then much later two very rich people would turn up in Rio—and live happily ever after. I wasn't sure where that left Handsome, how much he was getting out of this.

  But I saw where that left me. The river looked cold and black. I wouldn't be lonely—the alligators would keep me company. What was murder when Carmic faced prison and his wife faced poverty? It had been a well-planned if desperate gamble—but the odds hadn't been as long as they seemed.

  Carmic pawed in the brief case. I saw the gleam of green bills, the black of an automatic. He said, “We'll take care of your boyfriend and then we'll get out of here."

  "Curt.” Celia's voice was deadly.

  We both faced her, moving in slow motion.

  "Curt,” she said again. “You're not going anywhere. You were lost in a plane crash. Remember? We couldn't find you. I'm sorry, Curt. But I'm not sure I'd like Rio. Why should I run? I can go back to Washington—the rich widow of a martyred hero."

  We both stared at the .25 automatic she'd taken from her shirt. A woman's weapon. She'd had it all the time. She'd saved it for this.

  Curt's mouth dropped. His eyes widened, hurt and sick. Maybe no man can ever believe the woman he trusts will cross him. It was like that with Carmic. He stared at the gun in her hand and still didn't believe it. He looked in her eyes and saw it all there, and still doubted it. It was clear enough. She wasn't going to run the rest of her life. She didn't have to run. She could have his money and a life even better than she'd ever had. In her eyes he saw that had been her secret plan all along, no matter what lies she'd told him.

  "You think you'll have her?” he said to me. “You think you'll be different than the hotel clerks and the band leader and football heroes on Saturday night—” he was almost crying, the poor dope. “But you won't be different—they've got to be new. They've—"

  The little gun in Celia's hand made a popping sound in the silence. It popped again. She didn't miss. He was too big a target and she was too close.

  Curt stopped talking and he stopped breathing as he crumpled to the ground where he would stop living. I heeled around suddenly and grabbed Celia's wrist. I twisted hard. She didn't fight and she didn't cry out. She folded a little at the knees, bit her lip. She dropped the gun. I picked it up, thrust it in my pocket.

  She stared at me. “I had to kill him, Jim. Don't you see? He was in the way. I love you and he was in the way. It's all right. Everybody thought he was dead—and now he really is. There's a quarter of a million dollars there, Jim. A quarter of a million! It's all ours. He didn't steal it—not all at once—nobody can ever claim it. He accumulated it, as steadily and as quickly as he could. There was some suspicion, but nothing they can prove. It's ours, Jim! Didn't you say you wanted money enough so you could afford me? We've got it now. We'll be rich. Richer than any dream you every had."

  "You killed him. Murdered him."

  "You don't know. How he has beaten me, insulted me, hurt and degraded me. He was a beast, Jim. He deserved to die.” She shook, her shoulders sagging and she looked as if she might fall. I steadied her.

  Her arms went around me, her trembling mouth found mine. She was sobbing then and I felt her warmth, her animal-like warmth against me. “Let's get home, Jim,” she cried softly. “Let's get home."

  I couldn't forget her husband's body, but there was nothing I could do for him. Not now, not here.

  Celia didn't speak all the way back. She sat with the satchel of money between her feet.

  I didn't say anything. There wasn't anything more to say. That little .25 had said it all back there on the black and bottomless river in the unchartered glades, into which the ‘gators would have pulled Curt Carmic by now.

  I thought about the way I had wanted money enough so I could afford Celia, and there it was—the money and Celia. But would I have come back, would she have let me come back if she could have handled a ‘copter? If I had taught her, would I be doing the dead man's float beside her husband?

  I set the plane down in the front yard. Handsome's car was baking in the sun beside Celia's Caddy.

  I helped her out of the ‘copter. I managed to hide what I felt. I tried to remember back to when she'd come here that first day. I couldn't make it. I was cold. In the blazing sun, it was ten below.

  We reached the steps. We went in. The door slammed behind us, hard. Handsome had a gun in his hand. I stared at him. Then at her. I got it. They had what they wanted now.

  "Stay right where you are,” he said to me.

  "Do I have a choice?” I asked him. “Now take it easy with that thing ... “

  Celia would be happy with him, him and Curt's money. They could buy the world. I was all that stood between them and freedom with that quarter million.

  Handsome nodded at the satchel in Celia's hand. His mouth broke into a smile. “You found Curt.” It was a statement. He dampened his lips. “You got the money."

  Celia must have nodded. I wasn't looking at her. I was watching him, and that gun.

  He jerked his head toward the Caddy. “Get Norton's gun, Ce. Take it and get into the car. I'll follow in mine, as soon as I've taken care of Hayseed here."

  She didn't look at me. She went around behind me. She held the satchel in one hand—that previous, bloody satchel. With her hand he felt my pockets for the guns, mine and the one she'd used on Curt.

  I felt lighter without the guns, and helpless. I sweated, wishing I could sucker Handsome near enough to jump him. I'd give him odds, I'd let him have the first shot. Celia had not moved from behind me.

  "All right, Celia,” he said. “Get away from him—get out to the car."

  "No. I'm sorry. We can't get away with killing him. We'd have to run. Hide. Always. If you'd had the guts or brains to learn how to handle a ‘copter, like I wanted, it might have been different. But no. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to run and have to hide forever."

  She stepped away from me. It sounded like a cannon. I swear I felt the burn of it, my ear drum felt as though it were bursting.

  The surprise and horror in Handsome's face were deeper even than Curt's had been. All the hours he must have spent planning the way it would be ... and now he, too, was in her way. She'd knocked him out of her life, be
cause I'd stepped into it.

  He looked as though somebody had hit him in the chest and left a dirty brown stain on his shirt. He rocked backward under the impact of the bullet but his knees buckled first and he toppled forward and fell slowly down to the floor.

  I didn't move. I stared at him, knowing he was dead. I didn't have to touch him. His gun lay on the ground at my feet. I didn't touch it either.

  Celia's voice seemed to be coming at me from across the widest everglades. I could hardly hear her.

  "You'll say you shot him, Jim. It'll look better that way. He was prowling and you shot him. He really was prowling, wasn't he? They won't even hold you. Then we'll meet, in Rio—anywhere. But we won't have to stay, Jim. We can come back, live on the west coast or in the northwest. Anywhere, in fact. Jim, it'll be like you wanted!"

  Like I wanted. I'd told her I'd do anything to have her and she'd dealt me in. Her hand was double-murder and she was making me her partner. I heard her that first night saying You might be held to that. And soon.

  I was hearing Curt Carmic asking if I thought I'd have her, if I thought I'd be different than all the other men she'd had. Old men and new money....

  I was Number One on her hit parade now. I'd won the jackpot—the quarter million dollars and Celia—because I'd owned a ‘copter, and was six-two and rugged and had fallen in love with her. But six months from now, a year? I felt Handsome looking up at me, sightlessly, and was sorry for him.

  Who will be next, Celia? What man will you want tomorrow, next week, next year? How will I get it, Celia, when I'm the one who stands in your way?

  She was staring at me, lips parted, breathing hard, reading my thoughts, the questions in my eyes. “You don't love me,” she whispered softly. “You're like the rest of them. Just talk. I killed for you—and you're afraid of me. You'll turn me in, won't you? You'll tell them. All this money—and you'd tell them.” Her voice rose, was almost a shriek.

  I lunged as the gun came up in her hand. I grabbed her right wrist; the satchel flew out of her left hand. I twisted hard.

  She fought at the trigger, and never fought me at all. Her arm went limp and I heard the gun blast between us, rocking the very earth. For a moment she quivered as though in a spasm and then she relaxed all over. I held her to keep her from falling. But it could do no good. She was falling away from me.