If Dying Was All

by Ron Goulart

  His gun held at head level and pointing upward, Easy worked his way nearer the pavilion. He could see the flashlight more clearly. It had been set for a moment on the edge of the large rounded bandstand at one end of the domed room. A woman in a car coat and slacks appeared and caught hold of the light, disappearing down out of sight with it.

  From the sprung doorway Easy recognized Perry Burley. She was stretched out on the slick floor, attempting to pry a carved, wooden panel loose from the bandstand. She was alone, breathing heavily, puffing on a cigarette and intermittently coughing.

  Easy crossed the threshold and kept in shadows, bent low so he wouldn’t be seen from outside. His eyes and ears told him there was no one in the big hollow dance pavilion except Perry. He strode forward, putting his back to the bandstand, and faced the sprawled out blonde.

  “What was it, Bud?” Then she looked up. “Son of a bitch,” said Perry. “John Easy.”

  “You won’t find anything,” Easy told her.

  Perry shifted position until she was sitting on her heels. “What did you do with Bud?”

  “Nothing. Where is he?”

  “We heard something, something odd, outside and he took the rifle to go check. Ten minutes ago,” said Perry. “What do you mean, I won’t find anything?”

  “Whatever it is Jackie McCleary hid,” answered Easy. “I’m the one who invented this particular hiding place.”

  Slapping both hands on her thighs, Perry said, “Jesus, you mean that little, phony bitch Judy Teller shucked us with a story you gave her?”

  Easy nodded. “What exactly is it you and your husband are after?”

  “Money,” said Perry.

  “Booth Graither’s $100,000?”

  “Part of it.” Perry slapped her thighs again angrily. “Not the money they were supposed to take to Mexico … you know all about what really happened on the boat trip, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” answered Easy. “I do.”

  “Well, this isn’t the Mexico money. This is $10,000 I knew Jackie had been putting aside. Look, Bud and I need money, need it badly. You know how it is when you suddenly find yourself in your thirties and nothing has quite come out right. We decided to try for the $10,000.”

  “Where’d Jackie come by that?”

  “Oh, it was Booth’s money to begin with,” said Perry. “I was pretty close to Jackie. She talked to me. About her childhood and about her terrible father. She talked about being afraid that even after she got to Mexico and everybody thought she was dead, she might not be content. Might not be able to stay there. Jackie thought she loved Booth, really loved him, but she’d thought that about other guys before. She was restless and she didn’t know if Mexico would cure that. So she wanted to have something set aside in case she decided to come back, to leave Booth and come back to life.”

  “She took the $10,000 from Booth?”

  “Not exactly,” said the blonde. “Booth, I probably don’t have to tell you, was a nut. A nice, sweet guy, but a nut. He’d give Jackie money all the time, to buy things or just because he liked to throw stuff around. Jesus, imagine having $100,000 to play with. If only Bud and I could …Anyway, Jackie, without confiding in anyone except me, put aside about $10,000.”

  “You believe she really did.”

  “Yes, I’m certain she did. Look, I knew her. She could be devious as hell, especially with men. Me, though, she was relatively honest with. When she told me about her little sinking fund I knew it was true.”

  “She didn’t tell you where she was hiding the money?” said Easy.

  “No,” said Perry. “I’d heard a lot from her, though, and I knew a couple of places where she liked to stash stuff. She had a hidey hole behind a bureau in that cottage of hers at her father’s place. A square of wall panel that comes out. She’d mentioned that once, long before she ever talked of the money she was setting aside.”

  “You think she’d actually have come back to her father’s?”

  “Yes, she might have,” answered the blonde. “Jackie had ways of sneaking in and out of the cottage without the old man knowing.” She paused, coughing out cigarette smoke. “I really ought to stop. Look, it wasn’t impossible she’d walk right back in the front door and tell that poor old bastard the suicide was all a joke. He would have welcomed her back, too. You’ve never seen her, met her in person, Easy. She’s got a special thing, an aura. Men, lots of them anyway, they can’t turn her down. She can do impossible, nasty things to them and then call them back, and they’ll come running. Sometimes I wish I had that knack.”

  “There was no money in the cottage, though.”

  “Obviously, or we wouldn’t have fallen for this setup of yours.”

  Easy, his head still moving to watch all the entrances in turn, asked, “Why’d you wait all this time to go after the $10,000?”

  “We didn’t need it back in 1965, for one thing,” said Perry. “Every year since, it seems, things get worse. The more Bud works, the less we have. Damnit, Easy, we need that $10,000. Maybe it was cruel to play a joke on old McCleary that way, but I’d have done it for a lot less than $10,000.” She stubbed out her cigarette on the flooring. “Besides, I was certain Jackie wasn’t going to dare to come back.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of Booth, of course,” replied the blonde. “She knows she’s not going to be able to talk herself out of a murder charge. She’ll have to stay away for good now. Bud and I have talked about trying for the $10,000 before. Seeing all that in the papers about Booth’s body being found out here was the final spur we needed. I never knew she’d killed him.”

  “You saved some of her letters, all these years, in case you ever wanted to try fooling McCleary.”

  “No, I saved a few scraps of her writing from the stuff in the apartment in San Amaro, simply as souvenirs at first,” said Perry. “I knew I’d probably never see her again, and I held on to a few things and some pictures. When you’re in your twenties you’re sentimental. Before you get all involved with money.” She looked up at Easy. “You knew it was me. Me who wrote the letters and pretended to be Jackie out in Manzana.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it’s hard enough being yourself, let alone somebody else,” said Perry. “We had to try it. I knew we couldn’t get the old man out of the place, recluse that he is, without a strong lure. And, damn it, I was sure Jackie must have hidden the money around there.”

  Easy said, “I’ve found Jackie.”

  Perry inhaled, eyes widening. “She’s back?”

  “She never left.”

  “Never left? Never left Los Angeles?”

  “Never left this island,” he answered. “She’s dead.”

  Perry stood up, steadying herself against the side of the bandstand. “You mean dead since then, since 1965?”

  “I’d guess she’s been dead as long as Booth Graither.”

  “But I thought she’d shot him,” said the blonde. “She was devious enough to do that. Kill him and take all that hundred thousand for herself.”

  “Somebody else killed them both,” Easy told her.

  Up on the bandstand a voice said, “Okay, you big son of a bitch, drop your gun. You should have figured you couldn’t watch the door in back of the bandstand.” Bud Burley was up there, a rifle in one arm and a large lantern-type flashlight swinging in his other hand. “Go on, bastard, get rid of the gun.”

  “Wait now, Bud,” began Perry.

  “Shut up. Shut up, Perry,” said the red-faced man. “I told that son of a bitch to …”

  Glass exploded behind him and a slug hit Burley. He roared and staggered forward. The lantern looped up out of his hand and came down to smash on the dance floor.

  XVII

  EASY SLAPPED ANOTHER WAD of ripped shirt onto Bud Burley’s upper left arm. “Hold onto that,” he told the wounded man. “Press hard.”

  “Who shot me, one of your gunsel buddies?” asked Burley. His sunburned face was spotted with perspiration, and the moo
nlight coming through the glass dome gave it a lifeless, white tinge.

  “Get your arm up higher,” said Easy. He had Burley propped against the bandstand and had helped the wounded man raise the arm up and rest it on the rim of the low stand. “Keep pressing that pad with your good hand.”

  Perry Burley was hunched down beside them, getting back into her car coat after having taken off her shirt-blouse to tear into bandage strips. “We’ll have to get Bud to a hospital.”

  “Eventually,” said Easy.

  “It’s murder if you let me die here, you son of a bitch,” said Burley, grimacing at the slashed sleeve of his jacket and shirt.

  “The slug isn’t in there,” Easy reminded him. “All you have to worry about now is stopping the bleeding.” He pulled off his sweater and draped it over Burley. “It might help to stay warm.”

  “You’re awfully thoughtful, you dirty bastard.”

  “Stay quiet, too.”

  “Who is that out there?” asked Perry. “Is it someone who came with you?”

  Easy shook his head. “I expect that’s Ned Segal. He’s the only other one I had Judy Teller call.”

  “Ned? Why would he come here to San Obito?”

  “To dig up Jackie McCleary’s body and take it somewhere else,” said Easy. “Before my anticipated visit out here tomorrow. He was afraid I might find it.”

  “You said you did find it.”

  “Only because I spotted him digging.”

  Perry reached and wiped at her husband’s sweating face. “Then Ned’s not going to let us walk right out,” she said. “Walk right out and take poor Buddy to a hospital. Is he?”

  “What the hell is all this talk about that offensive kike bastard?” said Burley. “While I’m slowly bleeding my life away.”

  “If Ned knows where Jackie was buried,” said his wife, “he has to be the one who killed her.”

  Easy said, “He killed both of them. Mitch Stammsky, too.”

  “Why?” said the blonde.

  Easy looked at her. “For the money,” he said. “And the diamonds.”

  Burley grunted. “There were diamonds hidden someplace, too? Why didn’t you know about that, for Christ sake, Perry?”

  “Jackie never told me about any jewels.”

  “She may not have known,” said Easy. “Booth had taken the diamonds from his family and it’s possible he kept quiet about them, didn’t even tell Jackie. He may have intended to fence them in Mexico.”

  Perry shook her head. “I never heard of any diamonds.”

  “But Ned Segal had,” said Easy. “He mentioned jewels when I talked to him the other day.”

  “What did he do?” asked Perry. “Back then in 1965 he wasn’t supposed to come to the island with Booth. He was only going to provide the boat.”

  “He did come here, though,” said Easy. “He came here and killed both of them. He wanted that $120,000. He may not have even known ahead of time Booth Graither was also taking diamonds to Mexico with him. They could have been a surprise bonus Segal didn’t discover until after he’d killed the two of them and taken their luggage,”

  Perry said, “I see. Here all the rest of us were lying our asses off and pretending Jackie was dead and we’d never heard of Booth Graither. It all just helped Ned. If there hadn’t been a forest fire here, no one might ever have known anything.”

  “And if you and your husband hadn’t tried to con McCleary,” said Easy.

  “Wait a minute,” said Burley, wincing. “Are you trying to imply this Segal bastard is going to try to kill us as well? He’s waiting out there someplace to do that?”

  “There’s a good possibility,” said Easy. “Segal shot Stammsky to keep him quiet.”

  “But what did Mitch know?”

  “Stammsky hung around the beaches and the harbor towns,” said Easy. “I imagine he picked up the information someplace that Ned Segal had come out here to San Obito with Booth or that it was Segal who returned the motor launch and not Booth and Jackie. Stammsky wanted money, too. He figured to get some out of me. He must have decided to hit Segal for some.” Easy reached out and picked up Burley’s Remington carbine rifle. “Do you know how to use this, Perry?”

  “Yes.”

  Easy handed her the rifle. “Get around behind the bandstand and try a couple shots out the door. Segal should still be back there, waiting for us.”

  “I’m not likely to hit him.”

  “You should distract him.” Easy placed a pushing hand on the crouched girl’s buttocks. “Go on.”

  “That screwy kike will shoot her, too,” said Burley.

  Easy told him, “Concentrate on your wound.” He waited until Perry was around the stand and then ran, bent low, across the chill pavilion. He stopped behind the tile wall near the far door. This one hung half-opened, and Easy studied the night outside. He flattened and edged outside.

  Cold moonlight was touching everything. There were cypresses to his right, bordering the cliff edge. Directly in front of him a great, wide courtyard stretched, all tile and ruined fountains, empty plant urns and cracked stone benches. Across the court stood a resort hotel, a three-story, white stucco building with red tile roofing.

  Easy stayed close to the pavilion wall and moved cautiously back into the woods. On the other side of the dome a rifle cracked, and then a pistol was fired and more glass rattled.

  In among oaks and pines now, Easy began a slow approach to Segal. The night wind was colder and he felt it more.

  Easy came up some twenty feet behind Segal. The bald, young man was on his stomach on a rise about twenty-five yards to the rear of the pavilion, masked by dark trees. Easy lowered himself to a crouch as Perry fired off the rifle once more.

  “Okay, Segal,” said Easy when he was ten feet from him. “Put the pistol down and stand up.”

  Segal didn’t reply. His shoulders had hunched in around his neck when he heard Easy’s voice. After several long seconds he held up his right hand and let the pistol fall to the ground. He backed on his hands and knees and then stood, facing Easy with his hands half-raised. “Nice to see you again,” said the bald, advertising man.

  “Turn around and walk down toward the dance pavilion,” ordered Easy.

  Segal said, “Glad to oblige, Easy.” He turned and took two steps. He flung himself to the ground, grabbed up the pistol and fired it at Easy.

  Easy threw himself to the side and the slug passed him. He lost his balance and fell, banging against a tree trunk.

  Segal ran, through the woods and then alongside the glass pavilion.

  Easy got himself upright and followed at a run.

  When he reached the courtyard, he saw Segal skirt the edge of an empty swimming pool and then go sprinting through the main entrance to the abandoned hotel.

  Easy stayed in the woods until he was alongside the big, stucco building. He followed its walls and came to another courtyard, this one guarded by a wide wrought iron gate. He got a grip on the twisted iron bars and climbed over. This courtyard was filled with weeds and cold moonlight. A fountain in its center was topped by a naked stone boy tipping over a stone dolphin. Dead cactus and palm trees bordered the courtyard.

  Easy made a rush toward the rear windows of the building. He picked one and tried to open it. The window resisted for a moment, then opened. Easy raised it gradually, keeping it from creaking too much.

  He climbed over the sill into a pale white room: a long, narrow room, which held only one white table and a giant, white enamel stove. Across the room were white swing doors, each with a porthole window.

  From the windows Easy saw a vast dining room with a floor of mosaic tiles. Only three tables remained in the room. Easy pushed the doors open and entered. The darker tiles formed tridents, and leaping dolphins. Easy noticed a door marked Office/Private and went to it. He opened it and listened, went in. The office’s high windows were shuttered, and only thin strips of moonlight showed.

  There was another door across the room. Easy inche
d it open. He was looking out into the lobby. A half-circle registration desk was between him and the two story high lobby.

  Segal, his bald-head blue in the moonlight, had moved a fat floral-patterned chair over against the one windowless wall of the tile lobby and was in a position to watch the front entrance and most of the windows. Circling the room over his head was the iron-railed mezzanine floor, some ten feet wide.

  Easy closed the door and glanced around the office. To his left there was one final door and it said Mezzanine Stairs. Beyond this door rose a twisting, black spiral staircase. Slipping his .38 under his waistband again, Easy climbed silently and emerged on the half floor. He stepped through an arched entranceway and passed a dusty, empty glass case.

  He had to walk twenty-five feet to get directly above Segal. Easy did and then jumped facing out.

  His right foot hit Segal’s gun hand and knocked his .32 caliber revolver away to smack on the hard tiles. Easy’s other foot dug into the seated man’s groin.

  Segal yelled and tried to rise.

  Easy fell clear, pivoted on the mosaic stones and grabbed the bald ad man up by his shoulders. He let go and jabbed his fist against Segal’s chin.

  Segal sat down hard. He said, “Okay, okay. I give. Leave me alone.”

  Drawing his revolver, Easy backed and retrieved Segal’s fallen .32. “Jackie McCleary’s gun?”

  “You stepped right on my balls,” complained Segal. “I don’t feel very much like chatting.”

  Easy let him sit for a moment. He said, “Let’s go.”

  “I’m not certain I can walk yet.”

  “Try,” suggested Easy.

  XVIII

  EASY WAS SITTING IN an off-white room drawing maps for deputy sheriffs. The two fresh-faced young deputies kept nodding their heads, and the youngest, whose name tag read Lopino, repeated, “I see, sir.”

  Marking an “x” on the map he’d just sketched, Easy said, “You’ll find the body there. You won’t have to do any digging. Segal took care of that.”