The Man Who Would Be F. Scott Fitzgerald (27 page)

Very:
It was.

Hoag:
Still, you managed to turn it to your own advantage, didn’t you, Todd? Everyone assumed Ferris killed Skitsy. You certainly made it look like he killed Charlie. … You loved Charlie. More than you could stand. It was incredibly painful for you to see them together, her and Ferris — the man with the career, the woman, the
life
, that should have been yours. You were elated when she left him. You thought this was your chance. Only it wasn’t, was it? She left a note for me at my apartment Saturday morning saying she’d meet me for lunch if I got back from Connecticut in time. A somewhat romantic note. You saw it when you let yourself into my apartment that morning by way of my easy-opening front door.

Lesser:
I-I wanted to see if the two of you were … if she was …

Hoag:
You freaked. Decided if you couldn’t have her, no one could. You’d already killed one person. You decided to kill two more, especially because it all fit together so very neatly — at least it did if you moved quickly and carefully, and you did. You’re very good with plots, Todd.

Lesser:
Thank you.

Hoag:
You hightailed it right over here and waited for your opportunity. You got it when Ferris and Vic went out for a nice long run. The second they left you slipped inside the house. Spare key?

Lesser:
Boyd had one made for me in case I ever needed to drop anything off to be signed or whatever.

Hoag:
You went upstairs and stole the bowie knife. You knew there were photos of Ferris with the knife, that it would be traced to him. Then you laid your groundwork for later on by doing some dry-wall work in the kitchen. What with New York contractors being so notoriously unreliable, you knew no one would question it, and that it would draw attention away from your main intention. You slipped out before Ferris and Vic got back. Went to Rat’s Nest with the knife and waited across the street for the clerk to leave on her break. You knew Charlie would be alone in there waiting for me. You knew the setup there — you’d picked her up there a few times when Ferris was running late, or forgot her. You also knew you had to work fast. You buzzed the second the clerk left. Charlie let you in.

Lesser:
She died in my arms. No more pain. I was the one who could make her happy, you know. I was the only one. But she wouldn’t have me. She was blind. All she knew was the pain. So I freed her from it. It was an act of mercy, don’t you see? It was beautiful. I put her back up on her canvas when she was gone. She deserved to be up there. She was a great artist and
Blue Monday
was her greatest statement. Her last statement. I gave it to her. It was from me to her. Something we’ll always have. Together. No one can take it away from us. No one.

Hoag:
You ducked out before the clerk got back, before I arrived. You came directly here and let yourself in. Ferris was asleep upstairs. Vic was out guarding Merilee. That was a stroke of luck for you — he left Ferris here all alone. Tell me, what would you have done if he hadn’t?

Lesser:
That’s easy — I’d have killed him, too.

Early:
Kill me? Just exactly how, pal?

Lesser:
Mind if I take off my raincoat, Lieutenant?

Very:
Whatever.

Lesser:
With
this
.

Hoag: (silence)
What is that you’re pointing at me, Todd?

Very:
It’s a Mossberg pistol-grip pump-action .22-caliber shotgun, dude. Current weapon of choice among drug enforcers. Can be concealed along the leg and whipped out like a pistol. But it packs the punch of a longarm. Nice toy. Where’d you get it, Lesser?

Lesser:
Bought it from a drug dealer I know.

Hoag:
Is it loaded, Todd?

Lesser:
Yes, it is.

Hoag:
Just checking. Shall I go on?
(no response)
I’ll go on. You went upstairs and murdered Ferris in his sleep. Did you use that?

Lesser:
No, too messy. I wanted no traces to be found. I strangled him. It was so much more …
personal
. Intimate. I felt so powerful, so
right
as I held that sleaze there in my hands, knowing I was not only choking the life out of him but
ruining
him, too. His reputation, I mean. No one would ever think of him as a great writer now. He’d just be a murderer. A common murderer. I dragged him down here in the sheet and dug a hole and buried him. Then I smoothed it over and laid the patio. Then I went back upstairs and remade the bed and packed up some of his clothes, cigarettes, the book he was reading, anything that he might take with him if he were on the run. I stuffed it in the trunk of the Olds and drove off. I couldn’t disappear for a long time — I knew Boyd would start calling me as soon as he heard about Charlie — but I wanted to get the car past the tollbooths before the police put out the word on it. I stashed it in a twenty-four-hour garage in Hoboken. Then I took the train home.

Hoag:
And so began the manhunt. That was a nice touch, telling Boyd that Ferris had just called from a gas station in Mount Vernon. Boyd believed you. I believed you.

Lesser:
People tend to. It’s because I’m so nonthreatening. They think only winners know how to lie. After work I went back out to Hoboken, got the car, and drove it to Trenton, where I left it. I wanted the police to think he was heading for Atlantic City.

Very:
Score one for you.

Lesser:
From Trenton I caught a bus to New Haven. I hitchhiked the rest of the way to Crescent Moon Pond. I assumed the police would eventually find out about the shack after they struck out in Atlantic City.

Hoag:
And you wanted it to look like he’d been hiding there. Another nice touch. Convincing. I waited two whole days there for him to come back. How did you get out to the shack without a boat?

Lesser:
There’s a trail through the woods behind it that runs into a road after a couple of miles. I backpacked in and out. I had a flashlight. When I got there, I made a fire and lit the lantern and unpacked the stuff I’d brought with me — the package of Marlboros, copy of
Gatsby
, food, half-empty bottle of tequila …

Samuels:
That sounds like an excellent idea.
(sound of chair scraping)

Lesser:
Where do you think you’re going, Boyd?

Samuels:
Nowhere. Just raiding the liquor cupboard.

Lesser:
Sit down. Now!

Samuels:
Okay, Toddy. If that’s what you want.

Lesser:
And don’t call me Toddy! I hate that name. It’s a name for an ineffectual wimp.

Hoag:
Which you are not.

Lesser:
You’ve always used me, Boyd. Treated me like a nothing. Maybe you’ve changed your opinion of me now.

Hoag:
I think we all have, Todd. You’re no wimp. You’re the boss, whatever happens now is up to you.

Lesser:
Nice to see that you know it. I guess this is what it takes. I guess you have to point a gun at people to get their respect.

Very:
You got it, Lesser. But what are you gonna do about it? Kill all four of us? You’re gonna have to, because if even one of us survives this — and I don’t think you can take out more than two of us before the other two jump you — you’re smoked. We got your whole confession right here on tape. Don’t make it any worse for yourself, Lesser. Just hand over the gun.

Lesser:
What have I got to gain? My life is over no matter what I do.

Hoag:
Maybe not, Todd. Everyone’s going to know the truth about you now, about how you wrote
Bang
. You’re going to be famous, and there’s going to be a great deal of interest in your new manuscript. Don’t you think so, Boyd?

Samuels:
Give me ten minutes on the phone and I’ll get you seven figures. Guaranteed.

Hoag:
You’ve
made
it, Todd. Ferris is gone. It’s
your
time now. You wanted to be a great author, not a mass murderer. Don’t blow it.

Lesser: (silence)
Maybe you’re on to something …

Hoag:
Sure I am. Hand over the gun, Todd. Just hand it over. That’s the spirit. No, don’t, Todd! Not that! No!
(sound of explosion
,
indistinguishable curses)

(end tape)

T
HEY HAD TO WAIT
awhile before they could dig up the patio. The photographs had to be taken. The body had to be bagged and carted away, the blood and brains hosed off. It wasn’t a neat job. You don’t get a neat corpse when you blow your own head off with a shotgun.

Two of them moved the patio furniture aside and started in on the bluestone with picks and shovels while Very talked to the FBI on the phone inside. I watched them work. Boyd Samuels sat in a garden chair next to me gulping a large whiskey. He was trembling and quite pale.

It was a warm day, and heavy work. The diggers offered no resistance when Vic returned from the basement with a sledgehammer and joined them. Soon they were standing back, watching in awe as the big guy ferociously attacked the stones and mortar. The ground shook from each thundering blow. His chest heaved. The sweat flew from him. He had failed Ferris. Now he was atoning.

“Thought you had him there for a second, dude.” Very was standing next to me now, popping his gum.

“Had him?”

“Talked him out of pulling the trigger. He seemed to be wavering there for a second, y’know?”

I shook my head. “Never. He had to do it.”

“How come?”

“His hero had.”

The stones and mortar were broken up now. Vic and the diggers began to shovel it aside.

“Felt kinda sorry for him, actually,” Very said, eyeing Boyd Samuels, who was staring morosely into his glass. “He did get pretty royally screwed. That didn’t give him the fight to take out three people. No way. But still … ”

I tugged at my ear. “Yeah. I think I know what you mean.”

“Lieutenant!”

They’d found the shallow grave. A corner of white sheet stuck out of the bare, dark earth now.

Very nodded to them. They started digging.

“What will you do with him, Lieutenant?” I asked.

“Take his remains over to the coroner,” he replied. “See that he’s given a proper burial.”

“Couldn’t you just leave him here? He’s dead and buried. Why disturb him? We know what happened.”

Very narrowed his eyes at me. “Procedure, dude. Gotta be followed. Besides, this is a private residence. A body can’t be buried here.”

“He belongs here.”

“In his backyard?”

“In Gramercy Park, with all of the other major figures in American literature. In his own weird way, he was one of them.”

They lifted the body out by the sheet and laid it on a stretcher. Then they unwrapped it. It was him, all right. They carried him through the house to the ambulance out front.

Boyd Samuels followed them, barking at them to be careful. “That’s my friend there,” he cried. “My best friend.”

Very’s jaw worked on his gum as he stared at the empty grave. “Gotta admit I doubted you there for a while, dude. Thought you were jerking me around, and you were. But I see where you were coming from now.” He stuck out his hand and burped. “Take care of yourself, dude.”

I shook his hand. “Likewise, Lieutenant. And take care of that stomach.”

“What I gotta do is find a less stressful line of work,” he said, nodding. “But hey, what else is there that’s so much fucking fun, huh? Sometime we gotta get together. Like I told ya, I gotta million stories to —”

“Now wouldn’t be a good time.”

“Whatever,” he said easily as he left.

Vic was sitting in the shade, mopping his face with a towel. I sat down next to him. Neither of us spoke for a while.

“There was nothing you could have done, Vic,” I finally said. “If you
had
been here to protect him, Todd would just have killed you, too.”

“I could have tried,” he said softly.

“He had a shotgun.”

“I could have tried,” he repeated. “It’s what I’m paid to do.”

“No, you’re not. You’re not paid to die.”

He shrugged that off, hung his head.

I went inside and found two beers in the refrigerator and came back out with them. He took one from me and drank some of it.

“Listen, Vic. Merilee is going to need a live-in caretaker at her new farm. Someone handy and reliable and self-sufficient. Might be a good situation for you. Nice area. Fishing’s good.”

“Don’t know, Hoag. I was thinking about heading back out to L.A. It’s where my friends are.”

“You have friends here.”

He ran a big hand over the lower half of his face. “To tell you the God’s honest truth, I hate L.A. Always have.”

I patted his meaty shoulder. “Good deal. I’ll tell her you’re interested.”

“Thanks, Hoag. And you don’t have to worry. I wouldn’t make a pass at her or anything.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“When are you two gonna get back together again, anyhow?”

“Hey, mind your own business.”

He chuckled. It wasn’t a pretty sound, but it beat silence.

It took me twenty minutes to find Lulu. She was upstairs cowering under the bed in the master bedroom. Gunfire is not one of her favorite things. Skitsy’s red lipstick came sliding back out from under there with her. I picked it up and looked at it.

This time it was my turn to throw it against the wall.

I spent most of my time after that in my mukluks. The writing went smoothly now. I had the whole story. And another best-seller. Surefire.

In my free time I thought a lot about Ferris Rush, and how he’d scammed me and how I just couldn’t seem to make myself hate him for it — no matter how hard I tried. I thought about Todd Lesser, whose hunger for respect twisted and ultimately devoured him. I thought about Charlie Chu, who was done in by both men through no fault of her own, and about what might have been. I thought about all three of them, and Skitsy Held, too, and felt no anger. Just sadness.

I don’t ever want a kid brother again.