by Howard Fast
Masuto stood up. “Drive Mrs. Legett home, Sy. As for you, Mrs. Crombie, I’m sorry it had to be this way, but that’s the way it is. You’re safe enough now. It’s over.”
At the door, as Masuto was leaving, Beckman said to him, “You were pretty hard on her, Masao.”
“Was I? Don’t you think it’s time she faced up to reality? She’s lived with illusions all her life, the illusion that the whole world’s like Beverly Hills, the illusion that a human pig can be a decent man, the illusion that you buy happiness-ah, the hell with it!” And he went out, slamming the door behind him.
He got into his car and drove back to Culver City. The light was on in the kitchen, and he entered the house by the side door. It was two o’clock in the morning. Kati, wrapped in a kimono, was waiting for him. She stared at him, and then she cried out, “Oh, Masao! What happened?”
He managed to smile. “Indeed? What happened to your raised consciousness? I thought you would be furious. I forgot even to telephone you.”
“I called Captain Wainwright. Oh, I was upset, but when you walked in, your face was so sad, so very sad.”
“I killed a man, Kati.”
“Oh, no.”
“An evil man-but, Kati, I am not one to judge and I judged him.”
Being a wise woman, she deflected his thoughts. “I have hot soup on the stove, very tasty. I am sure you had no supper. And while you eat, I’ll draw a hot bath.”
“That would be so good, a hot bath.”
After his bath, he dried himself and slipped into his saffron robe.
“You’re not going to sleep now?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll meditate for a while.”
“And then you’ll sleep?”
“I’m sure.”
“Then I’ll go to bed. I can sleep as long as you’re home. Masao-?”
“Yes?”
“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but this evil man-what did he do?”
“He murdered five people-”
“No, you must not talk about it,” Kati said.
Masuto went into the sun parlor, which he liked to think of as his meditation room. It was cold here, but that was good. It would help him to stay awake. He sat down cross-legged and tried to make his mind empty and calm. But he could not erase Wainwright’s words from his mind. They had no evidence to convict Crombie of the murders. He was convinced that when they examined the bullets tomorrow, they would not match the bullets used in the murders. For those, Crombie had used Fuller’s stolen gun. The chemist was dead and the Chicano boy was dead. Had he, Masuto, known that there was not enough evidence to convict Crombie of the murders? In the fraction of the second, when Crombie was shooting at him, had he come to a decision to be both judge and jury? Could he have wounded Crombie and taken him alive? His shoulder was a better target than his head.
But as much as he asked himself the question, he was unable to come up with an answer. The gray light of dawn was in the sky before his mind stilled itself and he had stopped asking the question and was finally able to meditate.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-dc3f6e-7513-a743-4685-6d71-3545-2bae9c
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Document creation date: 18.02.2012
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