by Ed McBain
I held her close, and my nose drank in the faint scent of her hair, the deeper, muskier, woman smell of her. I closed my eyes tight, and her fingers came up to the back of my neck, spreading wide there. Her cheek was against mine, soft and smooth, and her breath whispered along the side of my neck.
The song ended, hung on the air like a distant echo, and then was gone. She leaned against me, her head cradled against the side of my neck, waiting for the music to begin again. When it started once more, she led me back to the blanket. She sat down, then rested one hand on my shoulder and lifted her lips.
She brushed them gently against mine, then pulled them back slowly, as if reluctant to end the sweetness of the kiss. Her lips held to mine for a moment, and there was warmth and moistness, and an inexplicable tenderness.
Her eyes were clouded when she backed away. She stared at my face for a moment, studying my bruises.
“I’m glad he didn’t hurt your lips,” she whispered.
She touched them with cool fingers, then covered my mouth with her own mouth, again lightly, tenderly. She squatted back on her heels and smiled. Her blouse spread out in a wide V, still tucked into her skirt band.
She kissed me again, and her lips were a little more demanding this time, her body tighter against mine. My hand slid across her breast but she pulled it away gently.
It came to me, then, that she wanted to prolong things, savor each delicious moment before she allowed herself to move on to the next. She was giving us both something to remember, something we could look back on later.
She took my hand in hers, studied it with the respect only a woman can show for a man’s hands. She turned it over then and kissed the palm, her lips warm and moist on my skin. She leaned back, her golden hair cushioning her head against my shoulder. A shiver wormed up her back and she twisted her head, her lips seeking mine.
She was suddenly out of my arms again, and standing, and she pulled the blouse from her skirt and let it fall to the ground. Then she dropped to her knees beside me.
“Steve, I want you,” she said. I reached for her with aching arms.
Our bodies crumbled into each other, stopped being bodies, merged into a warm mixture that blended with the blackness of the night, while the stars blinked their wonder.
We lay back, the coals of our cigarettes two fiery eyes in the night.
“It was good,” she said. “It was really good.” Her voice was soft, fuzzy with contentment and weariness.
I didn’t answer. It had been good. Jean. Sam’s wife. Fowler and Fowler.
She turned her head, and her eyes were shining, her face flushed. “Didn’t you like it, Steve?”
“I liked it.”
“You sound … I don’t know how you sound. Disappointed … or … or angry. Did I do something wrong? Didn’t I please you?”
“You pleased me.”
“Then what … why …”
I didn’t know what I wanted, I guess. You sometimes get that way when something has been too perfect and you know it’s just a one-shot. “Let’s skip it,” I said. “It was something to remember, Jean. I won’t forget it easily.”
“You talk as if … as if this is the last time.”
I didn’t answer. She propped herself up on her elbow, and her breasts shimmered with the sudden movement. “Sam! You’re thinking of Sam!”
When I didn’t answer, she said, “Forget that son of a bitch!”
The vehemence of her voice startled me. I looked up at her, puzzlement in my eyes. “He’s your husband, Jean.”
“I know.”
“I mean …”
“I know what you mean.” Anger seemed to settle in the depths of her eyes. Her face turned suddenly soft, and she looked like a young kid pleading with her mother for her first evening gown. “But he doesn’t have to keep us apart, Steve. We can still …”
“I don’t like sneaking around corners,” I said. It sounded a little harsh, but it was what I felt, and I couldn’t help saying it.
She was quiet for a long time. Then she asked, “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Divorce him?”
“Maybe.” It hadn’t occurred to me before this. Now, I suddenly wondered why she hadn’t done it a long time ago. “Would you want to?”
Her voice caught in her throat. “It … it doesn’t seem fair somehow.”
“How do you mean?”
“After all he’s done for me. Don’t laugh at me, Steve, please don’t.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You must think I’m strange. I mean, being able to do … to do this with you, and then being worried about divorcing Sam.”
“Well.…”
“You’ve got to understand that I was nothing when I met Sam. A kid from the Lower East Side, a file clerk. Nothing.”
“Now, you’re Fowler and Fowler.”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
“You don’t see.” She shook her head dumbly, then asked, “Where’s that bottle?”
I fished the pint out of my pocket and she unscrewed the cap and took a big swallow. She handed me the bottle and I followed suit, the liquor burning a fiery trail down my gullet.
“Sam is a bastard,” she said, “but even bastards warrant pity sometimes. He hasn’t got anyone in the world, not a soul. He’s an only child, and both his parents were only children. There’s just me, do you understand that? No brothers, no sisters, nobody. Not even a cousin. Just a wife who doesn’t love him.”
She took the bottle from me and gulped at the lip again. I took another swallow, realizing all at once that I hadn’t had any supper. The two drinks were traveling to my head, and fast.
“If you don’t love him …”
“Why don’t I divorce him? Is that what you’re going to say?”
“Yes.”
“I’m his partner.” She saw the sudden look that came onto my face and hastily added, “Not only business. I mean, he thinks I’m really a wife. I don’t think he realizes how much I hate him.”
I lifted the bottle and took another swig. It was getting too complicated for me. Now she hates him, now she doesn’t. Can’t divorce him because he’s her partner. So what? Partnership dissolves … or does it? No, it doesn’t. Hell, they could dissolve both partnerships, marital and business. Simple.
“Have a drink,” I said.
“We have to get to the party.”
I suddenly remembered Mark. “Yeah, yeah. That son of a bitch Mark went and killed …”
“I can’t buy that,” Jean said. “I know Mark too well.” She took the bottle, tilted it to her lips and then handed it to me. I took a long draw, wiped my lips with the back of my hand and tried to concentrate on what she was saying.
“I’ve known him for years,” she said. “Lois introduced me to him.”
“Mmmm?” I asked. Her body was beginning to swim before my eyes.
“He just isn’t capable of murder, that’s all. I think you must be mistaken, Steve.”
I waved this aside with a broad sweep of my arm. “Sure,” I mumbled, “Steve’s always wrong. Steve finds a body and he’s wrong. ‘Hell, ain’t no body,’ everybody says. Always wrong.” The whiskey was warm in my stomach, and my head was clouded, but I didn’t give a damn.
“People shooting at me and killing people, and I’m always wrong. Goddammit, I’m right this time.”
“We’d better go, Steve,” she said. She got up and wrapped the blue cloth around her and it became a skirt again. Then she pulled on her blouse, fastened the safety pin at her leg, put on her moccasins, and began folding the blanket.
“Aren’t you gonna put on your underwear?” I asked.
She smiled at me and held out her hand while I staggered to my feet.
“Well, aren’t you?”
“You know I’m not wearing any,” she said reproachfully.
“Hell, I gave you back a big bundleful the other night.”
“I kn
ow.”
We were walking through the woods, down toward the canoe, Jean carrying the portable and the blanket, with me holding tight to the pint.
“Sure,” I agreed. “Even gave you one of Lois’ bras.”
“Don’t be foolish,” she said.
“Well, hell, I did.”
“All right,” she agreed.
“Black one. Gave it to you free of charge when Sam barged in on me. The bastard.”
“All right,” she said again.
“Must be nice to be able to wear your sister’s bra. Wish I could wear my sister’s bra.”
Jean giggled, and I nodded in the darkness, convinced that wearing your sister’s bra was a very nice thing indeed. I remembered that I didn’t even have a sister, and I was puzzling this one out when the green canoe loomed up ahead of me. I climbed in, and lay down in the bow. Jean giggled again and climbed down into the stern. We began moving, and the movement was pleasant and gentle, and the whiskey made me feel drowsy, and happy, and Jesus, I felt good.
Jean kept paddling steadily, pushing the canoe into the blackness. I kept a big grin on my face, looking up at the stars as they passed by. It had been one beautiful night, one really nice beautiful lovely night.
“My gal’s a corker.…”
“She’s a New Yorker …”
The singing started suddenly, and I sat up in the bow of the canoe, peering into the darkness.
“I buy her everything …
“To keep her in style.”
I turned to Jean, a puzzled look on my face. “Singing,” I said.
“That’s our party, lover.”
“Oh.”
“She’s got a pair of hips …
“Just like a battleship’s …
“Hey, boys, that’s where my money goes!”
Jean edged the canoe up alongside the dock. I figured we were on the other side of Big Burnt. The voices were louder now, and there was laughter and the sound of a fire crackling, and I wanted to get out of the canoe and hurry up and join the party.
“Come on,” I said. “Come on.”
Jean told me to sit down while she got closer to the shore, so I sat down and waited impatiently. Gee, that party sounded swell.
“All right?” I asked.
“All right. Be careful getting out.”
I jumped out, and my feet slapped against the wood of the dock. I stumbled and almost fell back into the water again.
“Whoa!” I shouted, a laugh bubbling up into my throat.
Jean was suddenly beside me, her arm around my waist. “You are looped, lover,” she said.
“I am looped,” I admitted. “Christ, it’s wonderful!”
“Come on, let’s get up to the fire.”
“Let’s get up in the fire,” I said.
She kept her arm around my waist and I swung my arm over her shoulder. We staggered up the path, the voices much louder now. And then one voice boomed out, real loud, and all the other voices seemed to stop all at once.
“How was it, Romeo?”
I looked up and then stared around me, looking for this guy Romeo. I was curious to know how it was, too. In fact, I was curious to know what it was.
A big guy was standing in the path, and I figured he was Romeo until Jean let out a little gasp and shouted, “Sam!”
Then I knew it wasn’t Romeo at least, but I had trouble remembering just who Sam was. Sam seemed to recognize me, all right, because he lumbered forward and gathered up the front of my shirt in his big fist.
“All right, Richmond,” he said. “I warned you.”
“You warned me, all right,” I said, smiling up at him.
“Sam, stop it! He’s drunk.” This was Jean’s voice, and I nodded in appreciation.
“Yes, Sam, stop it,” I said.
Sam didn’t stop it. He bundled up his fist into a big iron ball and smashed it into my stomach. I flew back a few paces and my bottom smacked against the ground. I sat there shaking my head, wondering what the hell Sam was all het up about. Then I felt a hand in my shirt again, and I was being yanked to my feet.
“Hey …” I started, but a big fist erupted against my mouth, and I swallowed the words together with a splash of blood.
Another fist clipped me on the side of the jaw, and I reeled backward and my head began to clear and I knew who Sam was and just what his beef was. It didn’t make me feel any better.
I was tired and I’d had too much to drink. I’d also taken a hell of a beating this afternoon, and Sam was bigger than me and heavier than me to begin with.
“I’m going to kill you, you bastard,” he said, and I believed him. I believed him enough to pull up my hands when his fist came flying at me again. Jean screamed, and I guess it was because his fist clipped me anyway, right over the adhesive that was stuck to my nose.
I staggered back again, shaking my head violently this time, trying to get all the cobwebs dislodged. Sam was all over me now, his fists battering against my face. My afternoon bruises began to hurt like hell, and when the blood spilled down onto my shirt, I realized he’d opened my cuts all over again.
“Break it up,” I heard a voice shouting, and it was a familiar voice, and a voice I liked, but I couldn’t remember who owned it.
I swung at the air, hit nothing, and almost fell off my feet.
“Break it up,” the voice came again.
Sam did his best to comply. He started pounding at my face with new vigor, doing his best to break it up. I fell back against a tree, and he started working at my middle, pushing his fists clear back to my spine.
Then all the fists stopped at once, and I sank to the ground, leaning against the tree, my breath ripping out of a bleeding mouth.
“Son of a bitch,” Sam was yelling. “Let me at the bastard. I’ll kill him.”
“You’re not going to kill anybody,” the voice said. It was a strong voice, full of authority.
“Playing around with my wife. Lousy son of …” Sam’s voice broke off, and right after that one of my ribs almost broke off as a foot collided with my chest.
“Grab him,” the voice I liked said. “Come on, grab him.”
“I’ll kill him,” Sam kept mumbling. “I’ll kill him.”
“All right, hold him now. That’s it. Hold him.”
I shook my head again, and my lips seemed to be liquid. At least, they splashed when I moved my head.
“Calm down, now,” the strong voice said, and I wished I could place it because I knew it was someone I liked a lot.
“Just calm down, that’s all,” it repeated. There were a lot of other voices now, and I heard Jean say, “This isn’t the first time this has happened, Sheriff. Please don’t …”
“You’d better take him home, Mrs. Fowler,” the strong voice said. That must be the sheriff, I thought. Owens, that was his name. Yes, I liked him. I tried to open my eyes, but a big lump was standing in the way, so I closed them quick and leaned back again.
“Take him home and see that he sleeps this off,” Owens said.
“I will, Sheriff.”
“I’ll come along with you, Jean.” This was Mark.
Mark.
Something I had to tell Owens about Mark.
I tried to get up, but my legs folded under me, and I fell back against the tree again.
“Take it easy,” a strange voice advised, and I followed its advice.
The voices seemed to be moving down toward the shore now, and I kept my eyes closed, appreciating the quiet. I heard a speedboat start up and then gun away from the dock, and I wondered idly who had climbed into it.
Owens’ voice was beside my ear then, soft, strong.
“How are you, Richmond?”
I nodded my head dumbly.
“Can you talk?”
“Yes.”
“He really gave you a working over, didn’t he?”
I nodded again.
“Where’d you get all those other bruises?” Owens asked.
“Semi-final
s,” I mumbled.
Owens didn’t laugh. “You shouldn’t ought to fool around with the wife of such a big man.”
“He almost killed me, didn’t he?” I asked.
“He sure as hell did. Big guy like that can …”
Owens went on talking, and his voice droned in my ear. I wasn’t listening, though. I was thinking over what I’d just said.
“He almost killed me.…”
I guess I said it aloud because Owens stopped talking suddenly, and stared at me as my eyes opened abruptly.
Why, of course. He’d tried to kill me. Sam had tried to kill me, and that failing …
“Where’s Mark?” I asked.
“He helped Mrs. Fowler take her husband home,” Owens said. “Why?”
It was clear now. Every bit of it. The whole thing had suddenly fallen into place, and I knew now why Johnny had been killed, and a boiling hatred rushed up inside me. It carried down into my legs, and I pulled myself upright and shoved Owens out of my way.
“Hey!” he shouted.
My eyes found the lake, and I sprinted down toward it. There was a speedboat tied up at the dock, with the police launch alongside it, bumping against the shore. The breeze was strong on my face, and I was cold sober, and I had the answer to three murders, and I had to hurry.
“Hold up, Richmond,” I heard Owens shout.
I didn’t pay any attention. I jumped into the speedboat and threw on the ignition, gunning the engine into life. I yanked the throttle wide and the boat leaped away from the dock like a startled deer. I heard Owens’ feet crunching against the rocks as he ran down toward the water.
“Goddammit, Richmond!” he shouted.
His voice was drowned in the roar of the engine as I streaked out onto the lake.
I kept the prow pointed toward Little Harbor.
Little Harbor and Site Two. My site.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was cold out on the lake, and I kept my head bent low against the wind and the spray that leaped over the side of the boat. I shivered once in the blackness, and I didn’t know whether I was really cold or just apprehensive of what lay ahead.