by Ed McBain
I was beginning to feel good again. The place was beautiful, too beautiful almost. It seemed impossible that … I tried not to think about it.
Instead, I began a song, singing timidly at first while I kept dunking dishes into the suds, and then forgetting everything and just cutting loose in my lousy baritone.
I started a song I’d learned in grammar school, a song about a wistful maid in a strange land.
I kept dunking dishes and bellowing the lyrics, my voice echoing back to me from over the lake. I forgot completely where I was, I guess, because the intruding voice shocked me and cut my vocalizing short.
“Hey!” It was Lois, standing on the other side of the inlet. I shook the suds from my hands and walked down to the water’s edge.
“Are you in opera or something?” she called.
“Nope. Think I should be?”
“Heavens, no!” She laughed quietly and then asked, “What are you doing?”
“Dishes.”
“Sissy,” she teased.
“Want to come over and do them for me?”
“Nope.”
“Then stop bothering me,” I said playfully.
She turned and started walking back toward her cabin.
“Hey!” I shouted.
She stopped. “What?”
“What time is the shindig tonight?”
“Eight-thirtyish, I guess. I’ll call for you.”
“Okay.”
“See you later,” she said, waving.
I sat down on the step of my cabin at about eight-twenty later that night. I’d put on a pair of dungarees and a threadbare sweater. I’d also combed my hair and changed my socks. I took a drag on my cigarette and stared out over the cool calmness of the lake. I felt wonderful, really wonderful, the way you can feel only when the air is clean and sharp and the smell of growing things is around you. The crescent moon was hanging low over the water, staining the black sky with a yellow tint. There was that hush over the lake that comes just before deep night sets in, when the noises of the day have ended and the noises of night not yet begun.
Lois came over at about eight-twenty-five. She was wearing pedal pushers and a bright red sweater. The pedal pushers were plaid and they ended just above her knee, giving her the appearance again of a schoolgirl. She wore her black hair loose, and it tumbled around her face as she ran over the rocks separating our sites.
“Hi, handsome,” she called.
“Hi, gorgeous.”
She was breathless when she, reached my cabin. She threw back her head, lifted her arms to the sky and breathed deeply. “Oh, it’s a wonderful, wonderful night, isn’t it? Isn’t it, Steve?”
“Wonderful,” I said.
She turned to me suddenly and said, “Really, Steve, isn’t it?”
“I said it was.”
“Oh, but you’re joking.” She shrugged. “Well, never mind. Are you ready?”
“Let’s go,” I said lightly.
We threaded our way down to the dock, holding hands, two kids out on their way to a sweet-sixteen party, two kids alone in a blackness as big as the universe.
She stepped into the boat and sat in the bow, a big smile covering her pretty face. Quickly, I unlooped the line and dropped it into the boat, jumping down after it. The boat rocked slightly and Lois let out a surprised “Oh,” and grabbed the sides.
“Frightened?” I asked, surprised. “A good swimmer like you?”
“I just don’t feel like getting dunked,” she said, grinning. “I’d have to go back up and put my face on again.”
The only makeup she wore, I knew, was lipstick, so I grinned with her in the darkness as I yanked at the cord.
The motor gave a little protesting cough and then sputtered into action. I sat down in the sternsheets and guided her away from the dock.
Lois didn’t say a word all the way over to Big Burnt. She just sat in the bow, her knees close to her chest, her arms hugging them. There was a pleased smile on her face, and she fairly radiated happiness.
When we reached Site Seven on Big Burnt, she hopped out of the outboard and dropped the line over the dock pole. Then she held out her hand and helped me up.
“Do you like beer?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“I love it. There’s always plenty at these parties,” she said happily.
“Fine.”
“I’m going to drink gallons of it,” she warned as we walked up toward a fire glowing near the cooktent.
A tall boy with a crew cut and black-rimmed glasses peered into the darkness and shouted, “Who goes there? Friend or male?”
“Both,” Lois answered.
“Advance and be recognized,” the tall boy called.
We walked closer to the fire, and Lois squeezed my hand.
“Pass, Lois,” the Crew Cut said. “Who’s this with you?”
“Steve, meet Jerry,” Lois said. “He’s a little crazy, Steve, so don’t mind him.”
“She’s right,” Jerry admitted, “crazy like a fox.”
I wondered if it had been this fox who killed Johnny.
“Come have a beer,” Jerry coaxed. He led us to the fire blazing in the open stone fireplace. “You know everybody?” He waved his arm vaguely in the direction of everyone sitting in the circle.
“Not everyone,” Lois said.
“This is Lois and …” Jerry paused. “What was the name, Steve?”
“Steve,” I said immediately, annoyed.
“Ah yes, Steve. Lois and Steve,” Jerry said. “Now!” He took off his glasses and squinted around the fire. “Ah yes. The Lothario with the wavy black hair is called Vince. Next to him in the pointed green sweater …” he paused for effect, while the girl in green smiled prettily, “… is a doll named Claire.”
I nodded at the doll named Claire and she smiled again.
“Then, in order of appearance: Chuck, Mabel, Donny, Fred, Alice, Pat, Terry, and me. In the cooktent, we have a fat thing called Keg. Its first name is Beer.”
He waited, acknowledging the laughter. “Shall I pour you a brew or two?”
“A tall cold one,” Lois said.
We dropped down into the circle and Lois huddled close to me while Jerry went for the beer. Everyone stared into the fire, and I had the impression that this was going to be a very dull party.
Lois suddenly kicked off her shoes and stretched her toes toward the fire. “Nice wake, isn’t it?” she asked loudly.
“Delightful,” the guy with the wavy hair said.
“He was such a good man,” someone else in the circle put in.
I began to feel a bit uneasy.
One of the boys across the ring, a fellow with a long nose that had been broken smack in the middle, the guy Jerry had introduced as Fred, said, “One of the best. Never had a harsh word for anyone.”
“Never beat his wife, either,” Wavy Hair said.
The girl in the green sweater chuckled a little, and Fred said, “I understand his last request was that we break a keg of beer over his grave.”
The uneasiness crept up my spine and turned into a fullblown shiver. Lois glanced at me curiously as I shuddered involuntarily.
“Cold,” I offered lamely, and she cuddled a little closer.
I was thinking of Johnny, though, and how we were kidding about a dead man right here in his own home park. It was a little too close for comfort, and the thought was a numbing one. I thought, too, of the shots that had tried their best to crease my skull last night.
Hell, I told myself, this is supposed to be a party. Snap out of it.
“Hiya, gang,” a voice bellowed up the path. I didn’t have to turn to know it was Sam. He barged up to the fire, his big hand holding Jean’s elbow. She looked clean and fresh in a white turtleneck and black denim trousers. Her hair had been brushed back over her ears, and it caught the flicker of the fire now, held it in a glittering golden web.
“Where’s all the beer?” Sam wanted to know. He turned to the cooktent, cupped
his beefy hand to his mouth and shouted, “Hey, NYU, bring out two more, will you?”
“Jerry goes to NYU,” Lois explained, and I nodded briefly.
Jean sat down on my right, crossing her legs Indian fashion, and Sam sat down heavily beside her.
Someone started a song while Fred got up and went toward the cooktent.
Jerry hurried to the fire with four glasses of beer, handing them around quickly and running back to the tent again.
They were singing an old college song and it told of campuses, and co-eds, and mossy walls, and it knit the group at the fire together in a warm glow.
At last, the party was getting under way.
Fred hurried back with a pitcher full of beer and filled all the glasses again. We’d barely drained them when Jerry came back with another pitcher and everybody had another round.
All the old campfire songs were taken out of their trunks, and we raised our voices into the night, drowning out the sound of the speedboat that pulled into the dock.
“Hiya,” Mark said, startling me. He’d come up to the fire so quietly that I looked down at his feet to see if he was wearing sneakers.
He squeezed his way into the circle and sat down, nodding a hello to Jean and then shaking hands with Sam. Across the ring, I saw three girls grow suddenly cold toward their partners. They sucked in their stomachs like a vaudeville team, their breasts pointing across the circle at their quarry. I could almost see them lick their chops as Mark made himself comfortable on the ground.
Jerry was back suddenly with another pitcher, sweating freely now. I began to wonder which would give out first, Jerry or the beer. But it was a hell of a nice party, and I was beginning to feel nice and rosy, and Lois felt warm and soft leaning against me.
“How about Johnny’s favorite?” the girl called Mabel asked. She stood up as she spoke and began walking around the circle, the firelight shooting sparks into her blazing red hair. She was pretty in a wild, vivacious way, easily the most attractive girl at the fire.
“Sure,” Fred agreed, “Johnny’s favorite.”
My ears perked up at mention of his name again. The song was a take-off on an old favorite. It must have pleased Johnny tremendously when he was here. When he was alive. They sang it loud and strong, and every time they came to a constantly repeated word, they substituted “Hague” for it. Hague, Johnny’s home town.
I glanced at Sam in the light of the fire. He wasn’t singing along with the rest. He was staring into the fire, his face sombre. The redhead, Mabel, had walked completely around the circle and was standing behind Mark now, her hands on his shoulders.
The song ended with an outburst of laughter and someone said, “Johnny would sure enjoy this.”
“Man, could he put away beer,” Wavy Hair said, shaking his head in wonder.
I looked at Jean who was smiling and watching Wavy Hair as he spoke.
Mark lifted his glass and drained it, and I noticed that the redhead had squeezed into the circle beside him and was leaning against his chest, her eyes closed in silent delight. Lois leaned back against me, her glass tilted back, too. All around the circle, everyone seemed to start drinking as at a signal. Or maybe they’d been drinking all along and I just hadn’t noticed.
Sam collared Jerry as he came by with a full pitcher, made him wait while he downed a foaming glass, and then poured himself another. He had just put this one to his lips when Jean gently touched his wrist with her fingers.
“Don’t drink too much, darling,” she said sweetly.
Sam held the glass to his lips with her fingers still bearing on his arm, lightly but with enough pressure to keep him from fully tilting his glass.
“Oh, come on,” he said angrily. “For Christ’s sake.”
“Won’t let you drink, eh Sam?” Fred called.
“That’s grounds for divorce,” Jerry said, walking around the ring filling glasses.
“Come on, Jean,” Sam said, getting a little annoyed at the raillery.
“Divorce her, Sam,” Fred advised.
“He can’t,” someone else shouted. “She’s his partner.”
“Divorce her,” Fred insisted. “The partnership will dissolve when you divorce her.”
“Listen to the law student,” Jerry piped.
Sam brushed Jean’s hand aside with his loose hand and drained the glass. Fred began applauding and someone shouted, “Attaboy! Defend the American Male.”
There was a momentary spark of anger in Jean’s eyes, but it subsided almost immediately, almost as if it had never been there, and she lifted her own glass and said, “What’s sauce for the goose …”
“That’s it,” Jerry cheered, “let’s all get looped.”
He dropped down into the circle beside the gal he’d called Terry, and stretched out his long legs. Terry was watching Mark and the redhead with more than casual interest. I turned my head just in time to see the redhead reluctantly take her lips away from Mark’s. Quite a man, Mark, I thought.
“Man, I’m tired,” Jerry said, oblivious to his girl’s preoccupation. “Someone else will have to be bartender for a while.”
If there was anything I didn’t want to be, it was bartender. So, to make it clear I wasn’t anxious to get up and start ferrying beer, I took out a cigarette and lighted it.
Someone on the other side of the ring started a dirty joke and I listened to it, chuckling when it was all over. The redhead was climbing all over Mark now, and he accepted it calmly, like a man collecting his tithe.
Lois stood up suddenly, and I looked up at her.
“Where you going?” I whispered, keeping my voice low because another joke had already started.
“To get a beer. Mum’s the word, or they’ll all want one.”
She left the circle quietly, heading down toward the cooktent. An outburst of laughter told me the joke had ended and I leaned forward to listen to the next one.
Sam rose quietly and stepped back out of the circle. I knew he was leaving but my mind didn’t question it. When an outhouse is in the woods, you don’t ask too many questions about sudden departures.
As soon as Sam had gone, Jean moved slightly closer to me, stretching her long legs out until they touched mine from toes to thigh. I glanced over at her, frankly surprised, and she looked up at me with wide blue eyes, open and wise.
Without warning, she reached up and brushed her lips across my cheek. It was just a light peck, a trailing wisp of warmth that slid over my cheekbone. A tingle ran up my spine as I looked at her in amazement.
“Hey, hey, none of that,” Fred cautioned, waving his forefinger at us.
“When the cat’s away,” Mark said.
“That’s real grounds for divorce,” someone else added.
Jean smiled a secret little smile at me and winked knowingly. I’m afraid my mouth was hanging open. I mean, it had just come like that, no reason, no explanation for it. I’d have been just as surprised if a muskrat stepped out of the woods and took a bite at my leg.
A cold tomato, Lois had said.
Some cold tomato, I thought.
“Keep your hands off me, you filthy bastard!”
I turned my head rapidly. The cry had come from the cooktent, and it was unmistakably Lois’ voice. I leaped to my feet and started down the path.
When I reached the tent, I threw open the door and stood there, looking at what was inside.
Lois was standing with her back to the far wall, a broken glass clutched in her right fist. Her eyes were slitted and cold, and her breasts rose and fell with her frenzied breathing. Her lips were skinned back over her teeth, and she looked like a cornered wildcat ready to spring.
Sam was hulking over her like a big gorilla, his arms out, slightly bent at the elbow, his big shoulders heaving with each labored breath he took.
“That’s enough,” I said tightly. “That’s just about enough, Big Boy.”
Sam turned viciously, his eyes small in his face, his mouth open. He’d had plenty to drink, al
l right. It showed all over his bloated face.
“The pig,” Lois spat, “the filthy goddamn pig.”
Sam groaned, an animal bellow that rumbled up from deep in his gut. He turned back to Lois, his arm reaching out, his fingers clamping on her wrist. The glass clattered to the floor, splintering noisily. He reached out with his other arm and circled her waist, his big hands digging into her flesh.
“Keep away from …” Lois started.
I moved across that tent faster than I’d ever moved before. I dug my fingers into his left shoulder and swung him around as I brought my right up from the floor. It exploded solidly against the point of his chin, and I felt my knuckles crack as they connected. This son of a bitch I was going to enjoy. This lousy bastard I was going to pulverize.
There was murder in Sam’s eyes as he faced me, naked murder glaring out from under the black brows. Little ringlets of black hair clung sweatily to his forehead. His mouth was open, and his breath wheezed out noisily.
He stepped forward, muscular arms reaching for me. I ducked away from the arms, lashed out with a left that caught him just over the cheekbone. He snarled and brought his hands up to cover his face. I slammed a right into his solid stomach with all the power of my arm and shoulder behind it.
He swung blindly then, a murderous blast that crashed into my right shoulder and sent me spinning backwards. I struggled to keep my balance, falling backward, and his big fist caught me against my ear. I backed away, falling against the table, knocking several pots to the floor.
Sam reached out again, his fingers open, reaching for a home around my throat. I threw two short lefts that bounced off his nose. I slammed another right into his shoulder, almost breaking my fist against it.
He flicked aside my hands like a big bear swatting at an angry bee and threw another haymaker at my head.
I ducked the blow, heard it whizz past like a bullet. I countered with a sharp uppercut that sent him staggering back against the kerosene stove. I closed in, anxious to get at his face, anxious to slice the bastard to ribbons. I threw two sharp left jabs at his nose, then sliced my right across his cheek, smiling when I saw the splash of blood cover his face.
He reached for the cut, a hurt expression clouding his face, and I slammed his own hands into his nose. He shouted in pain, and I started pounding at his stomach when the arms encircled me.