The Long Lavender Look (28 page)

"No good, you tricky bastard. I heard it go whining off, tumbling. Couldn't have touched you.

What did you do to her?"

Lilo answered. She squalled behind the packed wad of tissue, a sound of pure animal anger, muffled, like a cat in the bottom of a laundry hamper. "Tied and gagged, eh?" Henry said. "That would take some doing. That I would like to see. I really would. Getting warm enough for you in there?" No point in answering him.

"I've figured out something, McGee. I think what I'll do is go around and turn off the bottle gas for the stove at the tank and cut the tubing and shove the end back into the hole and turn the gas on again. Good idea?"

Yes, it was a splendid idea. Simple and effective. After a while he could figure some way of igniting it, if I didn't come choking and stumbling out. It was such a good idea, that it did not seem logical that he would stand around and chat about it. He would go do it. So there was a factor that kept him from doing it. And that was most probably the serious effect it would have on the health of Miss Perris.

I moved back to the galley, put the knives down, and in one surge slid the small refrigerator out into the middle of the work space and crouched behind it.

"Henry, at the very first whiff of propane, I am going to take one of these dull kitchen knives and saw that throat open on your little pal. You had better believe it."

"Now why should that make any difference to me?"

"I wouldn't know. The abiding love of a stepfather for a high-spirited girl, maybe. It's the only thing you left open that I could try, Henry."

"Go ahead and cut away." Just a little too much indifference.

"Henry, you could try to smoke me out. Or you could get a piece of rope, or cable and fasten it low on one side of this thing, throw it across the roof, hook it to the Buick and roll this thing over. Let's see now. You've got a car here. You could swing the Buick around and get a good start and just run the hell into this hunk of aluminum. But if I smell smoke, Henry. Or feel movement. Or hear the Buick. Or hear anything else I can't understand, I am going to start sawing."

In the long silence Lillian made muted bleating noises, and even tethered as she was, managed to snap and flex enough muscles to bounce herself around on the bunk bed.

"She tied up good? Can't get loose?"

"Guaranteed," I said. I moved as quietly as I could, over to the bunk bed and sat close to her, and put the oyster knives on a shelf above the foot of the bed, blades outward. "Matter of fact, Henry, I'm sitting so close to her that if you try any more trick shooting, you can just as easily get her as me." I looked down at her. She was on her left side in her curled position, her feet toward me. She looked at me with a ferocity that was an almost physical impact. Then her muscles bulged and her eyes closed as she strained to stretch or break the tough tape. I could hear little poppings and cracklings of joints and sinews. Then she let her breath out and relaxed, snuffling hard. I reached and gave her a friendly caress along the flank, a little pat on the brown haunch.

She snapped into the air like a shrimp on a dock eyes maniacal.

"We can work this out, McGee," he called.

"Now just how do we do that, Henry?"

"The thing you want to do most is stay alive."

"I guess I'd give that the number one priority."

"I could trade some time, maybe. I don't know how much time I'd need with her, or how much time I'd need after I get through with her. If I back off, far enough, and get the car keys to you, you could get away from here. But there'd be the problem of you going straight to a phone and messing me up."

"And you can't take my word."

"I wouldn't think so."

"And I can't take yours, Henry. Stalemate."

"What?"

"It's a chess term. Neither player has any way to win."

"Oh. By God, I sure messed up when I tried the idea of using that envelope. I guess I was edgy. I thought you were some dumb-dumb who'd look good to Mister Norm. Lilo told me it was a bad idea, but I told her to do it anyway."

"You left the envelope in the phone book in the booth when you went to deliver the Olds, eh?

Then she picked it up and took it to Baither's place."

"I guess you just fixed it so there's no way I can leave you go now, McGee. Sure. Lew let her into Frank's house to see where it happened. Gave her a chance to drop the envelope when Lew wasn't looking. All she had to do was promise Lew a quick piece. Lew was so hooked on it, he'd have chopped up his old mother and sold her for cat food for a chance to get into Lilo's pants.

She kept that boy on short rations."

Lilo was trying to tell me something with her eyes. Pleading. Working her mouth around. I leaned and got an edge of the tape with my thumbnail and ripped the X off her mouth. She tongued the spitty mass of Kleenex out and swallowed several times.

She said in a low voice, "I know where a lot of money is. He wants to make me tell him. If you kill him, I'll tell you. We can take it all and go away."

"Killing is something I charge high for."

"Your end would be four hundred and fifty thousand. Right down the middle. No tricks. I wanted to leave him out because he's stupid. You're not. I need somebody like you to help me with it."

"No tricks."

She smiled her happy smile, her pretty and disarming urchin grin. "No tricks, honey. Ever."

"So tell me right now where it is. You know. Give me a motivation."

"Afterward. I promise. Get this tape off, huh?"

Henry shouted from a new position outside the trailer, "Having a little talk, are you? She trying to sell you something, McGee?"

"She's trying to sell me you, Henry."

I saw her face contort, and I put my fingers to my lips before she could join the conversation. I reached and heeled her jaw shut and put the old X of tape back on, tore some more strips and sealed her off, and once again she tried the bonds, in a convulsion so violent it seemed possible she might break bones in the effort.

"You know what she is?" Henry called.

"I've got a pretty good idea."

"What she was doing to Frank kept making me sick to my stomach, McGee. I was over at the window, gagging, when he finally told her, his voice so weak I couldn't hear it. She had that ice pick into his heart before I could take half a step. She wanted to make sure he wouldn't say it twice. You want to trust her?"

"I don't want to trust either one of you."

Again he had changed his position. He was moving quietly. "It's that word you said before.

Stalemate?"

He was back near the pile of block under the window above the bunk bed. I could guess the chance he was thinking of taking. Crouch on the block then come erect and fire through the
Page 101

screen. The window was three feet square, and the bottom sill was about twenty inches above the level of the bed. I debated the idea of backing off and then taking a dive out the window. The unhooked screen would swing out. But I would have to hit it hard enough to carry all the way through, to get my legs high enough to clear the sill. I would overshoot him and land sprawling and rolling away from him, giving him the perfect shot, because he would have time to recover from surprise before I could reverse direction and get back to him. If I waited until his silhouette popped up in the window, I'd give him a wing shot.

The last thing he would expect would be for me to come back outside where he had the considerable edge. I slipped my shoes off and leaned closer to the window. "Henry, if you are thinking of taking a pot shot through the window, I've got her right in front of me. Think it over."

I gathered my four oyster knives and went toward the door as quickly and as quietly as I could.

He would think it over for a few seconds, and realize his best move would be to suddenly yank the screen off and stand up and cover me and the girl at close range. He could come in over the sill and have it all his own way, because he could get so close I couldn't use her for cover. She was too small.

Out the door and down, and quickly around the front of the thing. Heard the tinny clatter of the falling screen as I rounded the last corner. Henry leaning in the window, fifteen feet away.

Miguel's voice from long ago, speaking inside my head. "The elbow, amigo, should point toward the target, and it should not move until after the release. At the release the arm is straight, then it moves down so the hand ends up to the rear of the right calf of the leg. Throw strong, but never hurry it. The left foot is ahead of the right, both knees bent. The knife is close to the right ear before the throw. The wrist, it is locked. It does not move. The aim is to the center of the body. If it is an armed man, finish the throw with a dive to the ground, and then roll to the right, if it is a right-handed man, because he must then swing the gun to fire across his body, which is more difficult, no?"

So, squinting in the dazzle of sunlight against bright aluminum, I threw strong, and plucked the second blade from my left hand and threw strong again, and dived forward and rolled hard to the right, found the third blade as I came up, heard the close-range shot, felt the sting of gravel against my thigh, knew as I released the third that I had hurried it too much and was off target.

Nearly dropped the fourth, fumbling for it, snapped it back into position, and held it there as Henry in a crooked crouch showed me his white grin, fired directly down into the ground, and tumbled off the block lifting his arms to break the fall. He rolled onto his back and over onto his face, an arm pinned under him. Both legs quivered and kicked and leaped about, like a dog asleep in a dream of running. Then he flattened against the packed earth in that unmistakable stillness, that death-look which changes the clothes into something stuffed with cold ground meat.

I had a sudden chill which chattered my teeth. I approached him. His left arm was flexed, hand over his head. Right hand and gun were somewhere under him. The first one had to be the one socketed into the left armpit, hitting when he was still leaning in the window. Another lay on the ground by the blocks, unstained. A third was hanging by the tip from a long groove it had sliced in the aluminum side, under the window. There wasn't much blood on the coveralls near the protruding steel handle. It had to have done a mortal damage in there, in the arteries above the heart.

"So a knife is ogly Travees? I know. And a gun is ogly and death is ogly. Sometimes there is only a knife to use. And the difference is the knowing how to do it. We are here for a time. So? Why not learn from one who knows, to pass the time?"

Thank you, Miguel. Thanks for the lessons. Without them both of us would be dead, instead of only you. Sleep well.

I WENT BACK into the increasing oven temperature of the trailer. She had wormed herself around so she could watch the door, sweating so heavily in the heat she looked oiled. I could see the momentary astonishment in the lift of black brows. She had no reason to believe the shots had not gone into me.

And if I could walk in, the stepdaddy had to be dead. The upper half of her face changed, showing that she was trying to smile under the black tape. If I took it off, she would tell me that all is well, lover. We bury Henry in the marsh. Half the money is yours. We'll be a great team.

I sat on the corner of the bed and looked at her. Making someone dead is a game for the unimaginative, for someone who cannot ever really believe they, too, can die. The curse of empathy is to see yourself in every death, and to see the child hidden in the body of every corpse. The local box score was sick-making. Hutch, Orville, Baither, Lew Arnstead, Betsy Kapp, Henry Perris. Might as well add Linda Featherman. Meyer came close to being on the list.

I don't know what she read in my face, but it took the smile-try away. Her eyes turned watchful.

Glossy black hair was sweat-matted, and droplets slid down her cheeks, her ribs and breasts and belly, darkening the faded blue spread.

I got up and opened the other windows so some breeze could come through. Her eyes followed me. I stopped by the bed and said, "Somebody will come after you, Lillian."

Violent negative shake of the head. Grunting attempts at speech. She doubled further, grinding her mouth against her round knees, trying to wipe the tape off.

I took a last long look at her. "I wouldn't want to hear anything you could say. I wouldn't want the whole score, if you were part of the deal. Or double the score."

I put the screen back on and went inside and hooked it. I made sure the other screens were all hooked. I locked the trailer and put the keys in my pocket, sat on the low step outside and tied my shoes. I had to touch Henry's body to get the keys to the Buick.

After a quarter mile I rolled the windows up and turned the air on full, aiming the outlets at me.

My shirt was unbuttoned, and the chill air dried my sweaty chest. I found my way out to Shell Ridge Road, and turned back on it, heading northeast.

When I came to the Perris place, I turned in and went to the door. An elderly woman, tall and stringy, opened the door and looked at me without expression. She was saffron-brown, the racial mix of Seminole and black in her face.

"Are you Nulia?"

"Yem."

"Miss Perris asked me to stop and tell you that she won't be back tonight, and neither will Mr.

Perris."

"Fixing to go on home now, back to keer for my own. No way I can stay on. She know that."

I found one of Lennie Sibelius's fifty-dollar bills, damp with my exertions. I handed it to her and said, "Please stay on and look after Mrs. Perris, Nulia."

She looked at it and would not let herself be impressed. "Some bad thing going on, cap'n?"

"You could say that."

"I pray to the Lord ever living day of my lifetime for the devil to come a-crawlin' up out of hell, huffin' fire and stompin' his clove hoofsies, and claim his own, and snatch her back down to the black pit and the eternal fire." She put the fifty in her apron pocket. "I'll stay take keer, but working for you, cap'n, not her, til you come tell me stop. Much obliged."