Mary, Mary, Shut the Door

by Benjamin M. Schutz

  Kiki showed up a little after eight. She wore tooled mid-calf boots—the leather a brown and white patchwork—and a short, clingy white dress, sleeveless, cut low in the back. Her white Stetson had a turquoise ornament on the crown.

  I stood up and pulled out a chair for her. She scooped her dress underneath herself and sat down.

  “May I get you something to drink?” the waitress asked.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I got an early start.”

  “Iced tea will be fine,” she said.

  “You look great.” I nodded in agreement with myself.

  Easy boy, you’re just passing through. What would a good-looking young woman want with a beat-up old man like you? Nothing. Don’t go thinking about it or wishing for it. Just do what you said you would. Enjoy some pleasant company, for a change. If you wanted to get laid, you should have lined up a pro.

  “Thank you,” she said and smiled. Her eyes were green.

  “So what’s good here?” I asked.

  “Everything. I usually get the Carne Asada.”

  I sipped my water and just looked at her. Her face was a narrow oval with a thin straight nose and mouth. With her thick red hair, I thought of a fox. I could do this for hours, I thought. Not say a word. Just look. Prisons are the tower of Babel. Everyone scrambling over each other to be heard, to make their point, to tell it like it ain’t. Silence reminds you what a sloth time is.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “I could tell.”

  “I was, but not to what you were saying, just how you look.”

  “There was a time that would have pleased me, but I know I’m not that good looking. You looked at me like you’d never seen a woman before.”

  She drank her iced tea. “Let’s see. How bad is this? You haven’t felt rain in years, you hardly say a word about yourself, and you look at me like I’m a Martian.” She paused then clapped her hands. “Hospital. You’ve been in a hospital. In a coma and now you have amnesia.”

  She shook her head. “No, not a coma. Where’d you get the muscles? I’ve got it. A monastery. Lots of time on your hands. You pump iron for Jesus. You’re some kind of ninja monk.”

  “Why is this so important to you? I don’t like to talk about myself. That’s all. You’re like a starfish on a clam. The harder you pull, the harder I’m gonna pull.”

  “No. You aren’t a monk. Not now, not ever. I got it wrong again. When will I learn?” She took another drink, picked up her purse and pulled out her wallet. “I’ll pay for the tea, thank you very much, don’t bother to get up.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m leaving is what I’m doing.”

  “Why? What did I do?”

  She put her elbows on the table and leaned forward to speak. “Just do me this, answer one question, okay?”

  She didn’t say tell the truth. “Okay, what is it?”

  “You’re a con, aren’t you? You’re just out of prison. That would explain things. Am I right?”

  I weighed the effort in constructing and carrying off a good lie against her green eyes, the wisp of hair that had eluded her French braid, and her fragrance riding across the table at me.

  “That’s it I’m outta here.” She started up.

  I reached out and grabbed her wrist. She stared down at my hand. She was shackled to me, unable to move.

  “Don’t go,” I said, and released her. “Please. I’m sorry I touched you, that was wrong. Yes, I’m an ex-con, and yes, I’m just out of prison.”

  She sat down, rubbing her wrist.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No. You just scared me.”

  I shook my head, amazed at my stupidity. Maybe I did want to go back inside. “I’ll pay for the tea. I’m sorry I scared you. You’re the first woman I’ve spent any time with in five years. Just looking at you is enough for me. I can imagine that’s not as much fun for you.”

  She stared at me, considering what I had just said. “What did you do?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes. It does.”

  “What makes you think I’d tell you the truth?”

  “I think you will. Let’s leave it at that.”

  I exhaled long and slow, and closed my eyes to gather my thoughts.

  “I was charged with felony murder of a police officer, a capital offense. I was found guilty of involuntary manslaughter, and sentenced to and served the maximum, five years. Any questions?”

  “Did you do it?”

  I nodded yes. “Sure did. He was trying to kill me and a witness I was protecting. There was a gunfight in the street. I was chasing him. He got hit by a car.”

  “You say you were protecting a witness. Were you a police officer?”

  “No. I was a private investigator. She was a witness who could expose the involvement of the police and the district attorney in a pornography ring. He was sent out to kill her. He bought it instead.”

  “If that’s true, why were you found guilty?”

  “I couldn’t prove the conspiracy part. By the time it went to trial, all the other witnesses had had fatal accidents. All that was left to see was that he was a police officer pursuing a legitimate warrant on a fugitive. I was assisting her in escaping. That’s a felony. Chanda—that’s my lawyer—she did a good job in getting it knocked down from murder to man two. For felony murder I’d have gotten the chair. Considering what could have happened, five years was a bargain. But then again, I don’t often look at it that way.”

  She sat staring at me, her mouth pursed in thought.

  “So,” I said. “It’s been nice having this talk. I’m glad we got that all cleared up. I won’t try to stop you if you want to leave.” I hoisted up a dead smile.

  “I’ll stay,” she said.

  “I’m glad. Why don’t we order something?”

  She ordered the Carne Asada and I followed her lead.

  “You said you got it wrong again? What did you mean?”

  “I can’t say ‘nothing’ can I?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Thought so. My track record with guys isn’t so great. There’s a line out there between exciting and dangerous that always confuses me. My compass goes haywire and I always wind up on the wrong side of that line. That’s what I meant. That’s why I was being such a pain. I had all these questions about you. I figured let’s just go straight to the bottom, avoid the whole disappointment part. That’s really gotten old.”

  “If you had all those questions, why did you say ‘yes’ to dinner?”

  “How else was I going to get them answered? Besides, you look like no two days with you would be the same. That’s exciting.”

  Her food arrived, and she ordered a beer to go with it. I stayed with water.

  “You know an awful lot about cactus. Are you a botanist?”

  “No. I mean, I read a lot about them, but I don’t have a degree or anything.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “Good. You see, I invented my job. So if I sound like I know what I’m talking about they won’t replace me with a trained botanist.”

  “What do you mean invented it?”

  “Well, I was living up in the desert with Ricky, Ricky Mendoza—Mr. Switch-hitter 1990. We both worked in gyms in Tucson. Anyway, after we split I didn’t want to be part of that crowd anymore so I got a job as a trainer for the cruises. It was okay but I hated being indoors all the time and around all those pampered bitches, waiting on them hand and foot. I started going for hikes on my own whenever we put into port. People started going with me and they liked them. It got back to the cruise director. I made a pitch to make it my full-time job. And now it is. I’m always afraid I’ll screw up and they’ll replace me. So I read all the time: botany, zoology, geology.

  “What about you? What are you really doing out here?” she asked.

  “I’m working, following a guy who’s on board. He mu
rdered his first wife and got away with it. He even inherited her estate. I’m here to see that he doesn’t do it again.”

  “What do you feel when you see a guy like that. Someone who got away with murder?”

  “What do I feel? I feel like picking up a steak knife and burying it up to the hilt in his chest and then breaking off the blade. That’s what I feel. Then I try not to feel anything. That’s the way back inside. I don’t want to go back inside.”

  “Are you working as a private investigator?”

  “No. I can’t do that anymore. I can’t ever do that again. This is just something I’m doing until I can find a permanent job.”

  “Do you have any offers?”

  “Oh yeah, I’ve got a permanent job waiting for me in Fresno.”

  “That’s good.”

  “No, it’s not. How shall I put this? Chief of Security for a west coast pharmaceutical distributor. How’s that? The head of a biker gang liked my work in prison so much that they want me to handle security for all of their west coast runs. In return, I get the pick of the litter for my woman, a company chopper, and all the product my body can process. What’s not to like?”

  “You aren’t going to do that, are you?”

  “I don’t know. Most of the time I think ‘no’. Then there are some days I get up and think ‘why not?’ I was one of the good guys once. What did it get me? Maybe it’s my way of getting to the bottom in a hurry, avoid all that pointless wishing and hoping that things will be different.

  “The only thing I know for sure is that I’m not the man I once was. The man I am now is not an improvement. I’d like to get back the good things I lost, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

  We finished eating and lingered over our coffee. I paid the check and escorted Kiki out of the café.

  “How’d you get here?”

  “Over there,” she pointed to a white jeep in a corner of the lot.

  “I’ll walk you over.”

  “That’s okay. I had a nice time. I hope you find those pieces that you’re looking for.”

  “Thanks. Maybe your compass is starting to work a little better. You’re still on the right side of things.”

  “Maybe,” she said, smiling.

  “Goodnight.” I turned and walked away. Three steps later, I felt a hand on my arm. I turned. She was already backing away.

  “Don’t go to Fresno, Leo. That’s not you. Keep looking. You’ll find something better.”

  I started to speak, but she was already too far away, so I told myself, “I’ll try. I really will.”

  The next day I saw Kiki after my run. She was taking two couples horseback riding. We exchanged smiles but nothing else. I was following Derek and his lady on a guided tour to some local ruins.

  Throughout the tour, I kept my distance. I asked no questions and did nothing to draw attention to myself.

  After lunch we went back to the ship. I was able to eavesdrop on Derek’s plans to go soaring in the afternoon and got my own directions to the airfield. I spent the afternoon in the weight room and then just sitting in the lounge.

  At four, I got into my car and headed for the airfield. Five miles from the dock and there were no signs of human life, except the dirt road running towards the distant mountains. Up ahead, I saw the dust of Derek’s cab and kept my distance. I knew where he was going. And a car in the desert gives itself away.

  I turned into the lot off the road and parked on the far side of the office, away from their car. A bi-plane idled on the runway by the office. A white plane was gliding in out of the still, blue sky. It bounced twice on its tiny wheels and then rolled to a halt when one wing tilted over to touch the ground. A young man, tanned and muscular with silvered sunglasses jumped out of the cockpit and began to talk excitedly with an older couple sitting on a bench under some trees. He shook the pilots’ hand, walked over to the couple, and all three went to their car.

  I watched Derek and the woman talk to the glider pilot and then to the pilot in the tow plane. The blonde shook her head ‘no’, and Derek pointed to the bench under the trees. He helped the pilot roll the glider over to the cable and attach it to the tow plane. Derek and the pilot got inside, and the blonde helped keep the wing level until the tow plane began to taxi down the runway. Then she walked over to the bench.

  How long would Derek be up, I wondered? How far could one of these gliders go? They couldn’t go too far. Not with Blondie on the ground. She wouldn’t want to spend her afternoon sitting out here in the middle of nowhere. But suppose Derek wasn’t coming back? No way to follow him. Can’t ride with him. There’s only one tow plane. By the time he gets back he could be anywhere. I began to manufacture possibilities in my mind. You take a parachute with you. You don’t need a big landing strip. You can bail out in the desert. With a four-wheel drive vehicle you don’t need to be near a road. These planes don’t file flight plans. Nobody would know where you were going until you’re up in the air.

  I got out of the car and walked over to the office. The man behind the counter squinted up at me.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes. These flights—how long do they last?”

  “Thirty minutes to an hour, depending on whether you want to do any fancy maneuvers.”

  “Is that the maximum?”

  “Oh, hell no. Depends on how high up you want to go. I’ve ridden the thermals here for almost four hours.”

  “How far would a trip like that take you?”

  “Two hundred, two hundred and fifty miles. Why? Would you like a trip like that?”

  “I don’t know. How much is it?”

  “A hundred dollars an hour.”

  “You got any scheduled like that now? Before I put out that kind of money, I think I’d like to talk to someone who’s done it, see how they liked it.”

  “Nah. Nothing on the books right now.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  I turned to walk away but saw the blonde at the other end of the porch at the soda machine. She bent over to pick up her drink, looked at me for an instant without recognition, and walked back to her seat.

  I got into my car, left the parking lot and drove back toward the ship. A half-mile away I found a flat, open space, turned off and drove into the desert. I turned around so that I could see the road and waited for a dust plume leaving the airfield. A half-hour later one appeared. I pulled back onto the road, followed it to the paved road and then back to the ship.

  I sat in the bar and watched for them in its mirror. A half-hour later they walked in. I watched the woman pull him close to herself and whisper in his ear. I bowed my head and reached for some nuts. They walked past me towards the pool. Time to go before my cover gets blown. Once is nothing; twice a coincidence; three times is a pattern. I’d give them a day or so without me in their space. I waved to the bartender for the check.

  “You’ve been following me all day. What is this? I told them I’d make …” Derek, in full umbrage, had pulled up next to me.

  I watched him in the mirror and spoke to his image, giving him only my profile to stare at.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I picked up my drink and hid my face behind it.

  He stared at the mirror. “No … Wait a minute. It’s you. You can’t fool me. Haggerty, Leo Haggerty. You son of a bitch. Old man Scolari sent you out after me.” He pointed a finger at me.

  I looked past him to see if heads were turning. They were. The blonde was standing at the far wall near the door. Her arms across her chest, she was worrying a nail.

  “I won’t be hounded like this. You have no right to harass me. This is stalking.”

  I focused on his soft, pale face, the color of outrage in his cheeks, his quivering lips, and his thin brown hair.

  “I’m not stalking you, Derek. I’m not doing anything to you. I’m just out here on vacation, relaxing. It’s nice to see a familiar face in a strange place.” I smiled at him and began to raise my voice. “Old man Scolari didn’t s
end me, Derek, Gina did. She can’t rest, Derek. She wants to know why you killed her? Was it the money?” He stumbled, backing away from me, as my voice grew louder.

  “What am I supposed to tell her? She loved you. Why did you kill her?” I smiled at everyone in the lounge.

  Marshall disappeared into the hall. I returned to my drink. No sense in going anywhere. They’d just come to my cabin. I gobbled a few more nuts and held up my drink for a refill. No need to be parched when they arrived.

  Ten minutes later, a gentleman in a suit came up next to me. I turned towards him and made my face a wall. I kept my hands in plain sight.

  “My name is Munson. I’m chief of security here. We have a little problem. I’d like you to follow me to the captain’s office.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  Munson stepped back so he’d have room to swing or draw. He had a high, square forehead and a flat nose dividing his broad, flat face. He looked like a mallet to me. A mallet that needed swinging, that cried out for John Henry to slam it against a steel spike. I grimaced as I suppressed that impulse.

  “Then I’d have to call for backup and have you thrown into the brig.”

  “Really? You think so?” I started rocking, then stopped. “Let’s do it the easy way,” I said and followed Munson to the captain’s office.

  He opened the door and motioned me inside. I sat in the chair facing the desk. The captain, a Nils Lennartson, had a phone to his ear nodding at what he heard. He put the phone down and spoke to Munson.

  “No need for you to be here, Tom. I can handle this.”

  Lennartson’s hair was cut short and waxed stiff like a blonde bristle brush. Ruddy-cheeked and fair, he had the penetrating gaze of a man who had no doubts.

  “Mr. Marshall says you are here to harass him. That you are an agent for his ex-wife’s family and that there’s a long history of that sort of thing.”