The Monkey Rope

by Stephen Lewis

  She pouted for a moment, and then shrugged.

  “Maybe there’ll come a time when I won’t be able to give it away. But not now, not yet. You always were a weird one.”

  “I guess so,” he said.

  They sat in silence for a moment, as they had so many years ago after their lovemaking, never knowing how much more time they had, until a knock on the door brought them back to the present, and they stiffened. As though they were teenagers again, they straightened their clothes and smoothed back their hair before Seymour got up to go to the door.

  “It’s probably Rosalie,” he said.

  “Well, it’s sure as hell not my mother,” she said. “She would’ve used her key.”

  Seymour opened the door, and Rosalie threw her arms around him and squeezed him to her. He felt himself recoil, just a little, before she was ready. He stepped back and nodded toward Lois who was still sitting on the sofa.

  “She was just leaving,” he said.

  Lois got up slowly and unsteadily. She smoothed her sweatshirt down tightly enough to show the curve of her breasts.

  “Sister Rosalie,” she said. “Like the man said, I was just on my way out. I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about that doesn’t concern me.” She walked to the door, but stopped next to them to give Seymour a pecking kiss on the cheek. Then she looked briefly at Rosalie, her eyes hard.

  “Remember, Seymour, whatever you might hear, if you want to know about Junior I’m the one who can tell you.” She turned again to Rosalie, her face opening to a warm smile.

  “You and Seymour must come over some time, for dinner. When this mess blows over.”

  Rosalie returned the smile.

  “Sure, Lois. When, and if, it does.”

  The two women measured each other for a moment, and then Lois closed the door behind her.

  “Please stay, Rosalie.”

  She was still standing where she had been when Lois left, her hands clenched.

  “All I could think about all day was when I should come over here, how I could help you, what I could do, and when I get here, she’s leaving like it had been some kind of a party.” She fought a sob. “What am I supposed to think?”

  “I didn’t know she was coming over here. But I wanted to be with you, and at the same time I wanted to be alone. To sort things out.”

  “Okay,” Rosalie whispered, and brought her hand to his lips. “You don’t have to explain anything. I know Lois. And I know my brother. I came now because I know you need me. And also because I want to be here when he calls.”

  Seymour switched the lamp off. Sunlight now bathed the room fully. Rosalie yawned delicately behind her hand. They had been sitting silently on the sofa, huddled against each other like two orphan children. Seymour looked at his watch and stretched back against the sofa.

  “I guess I should think about getting ready for work,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Not today. If you need anything from the office, I’ll get it for you. You’ll get some rest, and I can be back in an hour. Don’t argue. Besides, your most important client is going to contact you here.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “He won’t go near your office.”

  “I know that. But maybe he just took off.”

  “No. He needs you. And he’ll get in touch with you. Probably today. And before he does, I want to talk with you about him.”

  He waited while she collected her thoughts.

  “I don’t believe,” she said slowly, “that he killed that woman.”

  “I’m not sure I do either,” he said. “It really doesn’t seem in character. But then, again, how well do I really know him? I have seen him in action.”

  “Yes, when he was saving your ass.”

  He drew back at the unexpected bluntness.

  “Yes, that,” he said, “and stories he’s told about taking on a black con who was trying to rape him.”

  “Did you ever consider that they might be just that?”

  “Stories?”

  She nodded.

  “Why do you think he told you that?”

  “I hadn’t thought, but I guess, just part of his macho trip.”

  “Right, but more than that, why tell you, in particular, unless he wanted to impress you.”

  The idea astonished him. It was one explanation that had not occurred to him, but now he remembered the conversation a little more fully, how Junior’s eyes had studied his reaction and maybe there had been a little apprehension or even hope behind the mocking smile.

  “Didn’t you know that he has always wanted your respect, ever since you were kids beating each other up.”

  Seymour smiled.

  “That’s more like ever since he used to beat up on me.”

  “You’re forgetting that one time.”

  “I guess so. There were so many others that went the other way.”

  “But he never forgot.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” he conceded. “But it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

  She took his hands and searched his eyes.

  “Please, trust me. I know I’m right. And you’d better begin to understand it.”

  He turned the idea over in his mind. All the times he had been unable to explain Junior’s behavior and had shrugged his confusion off became just a little clearer if he thought of Junior forcing them into a contest of wills not to establish dominance, as he had always thought, but to gain equality.

  “I always figured he had something perverse in his nature, and found me to be a good target to work it out on,” he said.

  “There’s that, too,” she replied. “It’s all mixed together.”

  They sat quietly for a few minutes.

  “I have to tell you one more thing.”

  He wanted to deflect any further revelations, and tried to think of something light to say, but she insisted on being heard.

  “I lied to you. When you asked about my parents, and I told you how they moved out to the Island. That’s only partly true.” She looked away for a moment.

  “My brother and my father fought, fiercely, for a time.”

  “About?”

  “Not about,” she said sharply, “over.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  She nodded.

  “Never more so. Junior knew that our father had his eye on Lois, used to paw her whenever he got the chance. I don’t know, maybe it went past pawing and Junior found out, or maybe Lois said something. She’s more than capable of that. As you know. Sometimes she wants to hurt and does. I don’t know if that was all, but whatever it was it was enough so that my parents did move, suddenly, right after I got married. That part is true, and then I found out that Junior owned the house. And that Lois had moved in with him.”

  “And now he rents it out?”

  “I don’t know the details of that, but I think he sold or lost the house to the city.” She lowered her eyes for a moment.

  Seymour lit a cigarette.

  “Is that all?” he asked. He didn’t want to hear any more.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  Seymour sat with a cup of coffee, waiting. Rosalie had only been gone for half an hour, but he knew that before she got back, Junior would call. He had just drained his cup when the phone rang.

  “Listen carefully,” Junior said. “I want to meet with you tonight. Pier 3. At the end of the dock. Midnight.”

  The phone clicked in Seymour’s ear before he could respond.

  * * * *

  He watched the taillights of the cab disappear into the mist that thickened beneath the lamppost. Pulling his jacket more tightly around him, he dipped his head into the cold breeze from the river. All he could see was the low slung shape of the building toward which he walked.

  He stepped as carefully as he could over the beer cans and bottles that littered the pier. The moon slid behind a cloud, and the light from the street did not penetrate the gloom. When he reached the end of the pier, the breeze sti
ffened and he felt chilled. He looked down at his watch and saw that he was still a little early. He lit a cigarette and settled down to wait.

  It had been more than a half hour. Several times he had walked back to the front of the pier to check that he was at the right place, and each time he had returned to his post with growing concern. What if the police had picked Junior up and were on their way here right now? Or what if the whole meeting had been part of some ploy, and Junior was even now home with Lois, tamping hash into a pipe, both of them laughing their asses off?

  He heard a low rumble coming from behind him and he turned toward the building. At first he couldn’t see anything, but then he saw the last loading bay door inch up until it was about a foot from the ground. After a moment, Junior’s arm snaked out and motioned him toward the door.

  The moment he was inside, Junior slid the door closed and lit a candle. He huddled next to it and beckoned Seymour to sit down next to him.

  “Cozy little place.” He smiled.

  “Terrific,” Seymour muttered. “I’m frozen.”

  Seymour thought he saw a brief expression of concern pass over Junior’s hard features.

  “I’m sorry I had to make you wait, man,” he said. “But I had to be sure you weren’t followed. Or that you hadn’t brought somebody.”

  “What are you talking about?” Seymour objected. “Why would I do that?”

  Junior shrugged. “Just not taking any chances, man, that’s all.” He took a half-smoked joint from behind his ear and lit it. He inhaled, held the smoke deeply, and offered Seymour a drag.

  “Is that what you call being careful?” Seymour said, with a wave of his hand.

  “Suit yourself, man. What I said I meant about serious business. Not bullshit like this.” He inhaled again, and Seymour held out his hand.

  “That’s more like it,” Junior smiled. “We got to cool out so we can figure out how you’re gonna get me outta this mess.”

  Seymour hadn’t done pot in a long time, and he felt a rush immediately. He handed the joint back to Junior.

  “One of us better keep something like a clear head,” he said.

  “I guess that’ll be you counselor. I never was too good that way.”

  Seymour rubbed his eyes. He would have to ask right off. If he delayed, he might never get a straight answer. Junior, though, was a step ahead.

  “No,” he said evenly. “I did not do it.” He face broke into a broad grin. “Gotcha, that time, counselor. Guess I saved you the trouble of askin’.”

  “Good,” Seymour said. “But the police are going to think that you did. O’Riley would hang you out to dry, except for the moment he might find it inconvenient.”

  “Then I guess we gotta keep it that way.”

  “Maybe we can, for a while. But we’ll need more than that. A lot more.” He shivered, but not from the cold. He felt Junior squeeze his arm.

  “I’m right here, babe. Maybe you shouldn’t have had that toke.”

  “It’s not that,” Seymour replied. “At least, not only.”

  “Good, I want you thinkin’ straight.”

  Seymour got up, stretched the chill out of his bones, and then sat down again.

  “Let’s take it from the beginning. You were having an affair with Emily Levine.”

  Junior nodded.

  “You were her pipeline to coke heaven.”

  “Yeah man, her daddy had all the other faucets shut.” He shook his head from side to side. “That man is heavy.”

  “Yeah, we know that. Too late, maybe for you. And now the best for last,” Seymour paused, “she was carrying your baby.”

  Junior hesitated, and then smiled. “I think so,” he said.

  “What makes you doubt it.”

  “Nothin’ special. You just never know, do you?”

  “I think we can take that as a given.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Seymour paused. He hadn’t planned this one so soon, but he had to know.

  “And then when she found out she was pregnant, she told you to get lost. Right?”

  “No, nothin’ like that,” Junior snapped.

  “And you lost your cool. Got rough, right?”

  “No, I told you, no way.” Junior’s voice shook and the veins began to stand out on his neck. Seymour pushed another step.

  “Don’t give me that bull. I saw her neck, man.”

  “One more time,” Junior whispered. “It wasn’t me.” Seymour could see that he was about to lose it. He had him set up just right.

  “She told you to get lost,” he continued. “And you couldn’t stand the sting, the insult to your manhood. So you waited for the right time, and then you made sure that she wouldn’t dump you. You made very sure. You raped her, and killed her. Slowly, so that her dying memory would be of you.”

  Junior’s arm swung out in a short backhanded arc and his knuckles crashed against Seymour’s jaw. Seymour felt his head snap back. He rubbed his bruised chin and fought the urge to strike back. He needed to know more than he wanted to get even, at least for now.

  Junior smiled. “Sorry, man. But you been watchin’ too many TV shows, or at least the wrong ones. It wasn’t that way at all.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Seymour said slowly. “Not sure at all. But you’d better be straight with me or I’m walking out that door, and I’ll take my chances alone. Remember who stands to go away for a very long time.”

  “You’re not that clean,” Junior snarled. “They’ll be lookin’ at you. There’s plenty of people who can be persuaded to remember how you were trailin’ after her, your prick at full mast, dribbling at the thought of gettin’ a piece of that rich, kike pussy.”

  The words bit, and Seymour lashed out. Junior anticipated and ducked his head so that Seymour’s fist glanced off his forehead. They grappled and rolled over on the floor. Seymour knew that he was no match for Junior in this kind of fight, but he didn’t care. The blood beat in his forehead, and he shoved as hard as he could, his hand against Junior’s throat. Junior pushed back against Seymour’s chest and they broke apart. They sprang to their feet, and then Seymour saw the gleam of a knife.

  “Okay,” Junior said. “We both made our points. Didn’t we? That’s all for the bullshit right now.” He snapped the blade closed. “Look, we can finish this. Now, or some other time. Or maybe you just want to walk out that door. I won’t try to stop you.”

  Seymour took a deep breath.

  “You’re right. That other business is old news.” His anger flared again. “And we will settle it some time.”

  Junior grinned. “Sure, man. So you had part of it right. I did get rough. Not just once. The bitch was weirded out. Especially when she was high.”

  “Which was about all the time, from what I saw.”

  Junior shrugged, as if to say that part of it was beyond his control.

  “Like I said, she liked it rough, wanted something around her neck, at first not too tight, not too hard, her scarf, and she’d hold it while she rode me, man, and then one day she put the fuckin’ thing around my neck, and I figured what the hell, maybe there was something to this shit.”

  “And?”

  “Nothin’ man, nothin. I didn’t feel nothin’.”

  Seymour waited for the last piece.

  “Then one day, she asked for my belt. But I didn’t off her, man. That’s not my style.”

  “Tell me about it, then. All of it.”

  * * * *

  He sat alone beneath the promenade, considering Junior’s story, both his flat denial, and his admissions—that he had accommodated Emily’s taste for the bizarre, that he had met her after work the night she was murdered, that Gomez had surprised them as they lay panting on her outspread coat, and that the crazy old bastard had stood right above them, saliva dripping from his mouth until Junior had shoved him away. Finally, that Emily, deeply humiliated, had insisted he leave her alone while she composed herself, and he had reluctantly agreed, walked the streets for a
few minutes, and returned to find her body. It was he who had called the police. This last Seymour found impossible to accept, but Junior insisted. “What was I gonna do man,” he had demanded, “she’s layin’ there cold with my dead baby in her belly and I couldn’t even cover her up.”

  Seymour tried to make Gomez fit that story. He certainly had opportunity. He was there when Seymour arrived hours later, fingers covered with blood. He seemed disturbed enough to be capable of violence, but as for that, Seymour really had seen nothing but a man who aggressively kept to himself. Without a motive, though, the blood on Gomez’ fingers did not mean much. He could have tried to move the body, or just touched her to see if she would move, as Seymour himself had done.

  He tried Junior’s story one more time, wanting to believe it. Junior had admitted that Emily’s behavior had begun to make him nervous. But Junior was not stupid, and his anger always seemed controlled, even calculated. He was capable of affection, maybe even love. Would he kill what he loved?

  Had he loved Emily, or was she only a toy to engage his darker side, the depths of him where inarticulate promptings moved him like the steady and contrary pull of an undertow?

  Far away, a church bell from some lonely spire hidden in the fog tolled four times dully through the damp air. He got up and tried to rub some warmth into his arms and legs. His head ached as though with fever. He took a couple of deep breaths and started to walk toward a telephone booth.

  * * * *

  Rosalie did not ask any questions. She picked him up within ten minutes, took him home, and helped him to bed. When he awoke, she was at his side, and he could smell the warmth of a steaming cup of tea.

  “I’d rather have coffee,” he said without thought.

  “This is better for you.”

  He sipped the tea.

  “Do you always have to be right?”

  “Most of the time.” Her face turned serious. “Are you awake enough to deal with some news?”

  He nodded.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “What time is it?”

  “About noon. I’ve already been to your office. I figured you wouldn’t be getting up for a while. Anyway, I took two phone calls. One from O’Riley and one from a Mr. Goode.”

  “I know what O’Riley wants. What about the other?”