I asked why.
"Roscoe Lawson was his brother."
I marveled at that. "So Ivy Lawson's the sheriff's niece? And Debra Lawson's his sister-in-law?"
Timothy kept nodding.
"One last thing," I asked. "Whatever happened to Roscoe Lawson's body?"
"It was cremated," Timothy said.
Stu Philips shook his head. "That lil' devil! She shouldn't say the things she does. Her claims are groundless, and her accusations are inaccurate and unjustified. Don't feel bad personally, Mister Bishop, but this investigation of yours is a waste of my taxpayer's money."
I stopped him. "This is not an official visit from the Federal Government."
"I understand. I feel for her, too. I took those accident reports and went over to the Sheriff's Office. We spent hours pouring over those pictures." He gestured behind him. "I have them in a drawer back there, and I can let you look at them. There was nothing there anywhere."
"Roscoe Lawson was a sailor in the Merchant Marine, right?"
"He was a cook," Stu clarified.
"How large was the insurance settlement?"
"Roscoe Lawson was a very frugal man--"
I interrupted. "And the widow got it all."
"The widow is supposed to get it all. That's how the will read. It's a shame Ivy doesn't get to share in the settlement, but it does happen all the time."
"And Debra Lawson bought the Paradise Bowling Lanes."
"She made a wise investment. She started her own business. She provides jobs in the community and she pays her taxes. It gives her a future to build upon and it keeps her busy today."
"She's new to Hawaii, right?"
"Three, four years. Look, Debra Lawson's a welcome part of the islands. She's warm, friendly and generous. She supports a softball team. She's even involved in local politics."
I perked up. "She's political?"
"She's been involved with Saundra Collins for several months now. They're both active in that campaign to recall the county sheriff."
"Her brother-in-law?"
"Her ex-brother-in-law. See, he's in favor of more hotels along the Kaanapali coast, and she's not."
"What kind of man is the sheriff? What kind of sheriff is he?"
Stu considered the question carefully. "Walter Lawson is progressive. Intelligent. Hard-working. He gets solid convictions, but he's also good behind the desk. The island's lucky to have him."
I found this all so interesting.
"Roscoe Lawson?" the shop foreman at Dougan's Wreckers Garage said. "Yeah, I remember his car. Yeah, there was nothing wrong with it." He shrugged. "I'll tell you what happened. A drunk rolled it over."
"Thanks," I said.
I found Flea laying about his office with a pint of Irish whiskey.
"You got it all solved?" Flea asked.
I said I did. "Corky's girl friend was married to the sheriff's brother. He died fishy and now they don't want the sheriff questioning the second kill."
Flea snickered into his whiskey.
I took away his bottle. "No more, Flea, until it's over."
Debra Lawson entered the bar at the bowling alley and found me nursing a beer.
I noticed her. "How ya doing, Mrs. Lawson?"
Debra was filled with cold fury. "What are you doing here!"
I was pensive. "D'you think Ol' Corky's got any misgivings about this scheme of his?"
"None at all," she snapped.
"I wonder if he's got any good memories of that woman. Probably not. She don't mean enough to him to divorce her and let her live." I noticed Debra. "You two planning marriage?"
Debra was cautious. "Yes. Afterwards."
"Think he'll ever divorce you?" I asked.
Debra tried to smack my face. I caught her hand in mid-swing and bent it back without effort. When I released her, she sullenly rubbed her wrist.
"Yeah, I guess not," I mused. "He's not the divorcing kind. But then neither are you. I wonder when you two are gonna stop trusting each other."
"We won't."
"Your husband died in an auto accident? Two years ago?"
Debra gritted down. "I don't see--" Exasperated: "Yes."
"Did Corky kill him for you?" I asked.
Debra was outraged. "Ask him yourself!" She turned, called to Corky. "Corky!"
Corky entered the lounge. He acted like the pit of his stomach dropped a thousand feet seeing us together. Walking up to us must have been like walking those last few yards to the Death Chamber.
He said, "You two shouldn't come out in the open together like this."
"Why didn't you tell me your girl friend is the sheriff's sister-in-law?" I asked.
"She isn't any more," Corky said.
"Did you kill her husband? Is that why you want me to kill your wife? Because the sheriff thinks there something suspicious about his brother's death that might tie the two of you together?"
Corky looked guilty. "His death was accidental. Even the county coroner's report shows that."
"How much did that cost you?"
Debra was smug. "We didn't kill him."
I disagreed. "You did it. And somehow you got away with it. Lady, you musta figured you couldn't get away with it twice. So, now you both need perfect alibis."
Debra could not have been angrier. "Okay. Forget it. We'll do it ourselves."
"No, you won't," I said.
"You're fired!" Debra insisted.
I ignored her. "See, Corky, if you do waste the old lady yourselves, the word goes out about how you both came looking for somebody to ice her. And if anything happens to her, we'll make sure the cops nail you both for it."
"Blackmail!" Debra called it.
I left my bar stool. "I ain't getting paid enough to take the rap for you." I pocketed my money from the bar counter. "Ciao, babes."
Ivy worked her full shift. She found me parked outside the Pier Inn when she got off work. She went over to my Mustang and leaned inside my window, letting me get a clear glimpse of her cleavage. She had nice breasts.
"Hey, sailor, you wanna party?" Ivy joked.
But I got sour with anger. "Get in!" I barked.
Surprised by my ferocity, Ivy got into my rental.
I was pissed. "Don't ever talk like that again!" Then, calming down: "It's not you and it's not me." Then, filled with a sudden remorse, I added, "That's not the way I want us to be." I slammed into first gear and peeled rubber away from the restaurant.
I could see Ivy was astonished. He cares about us!
More than G-forces from the Mustang kept her off-balance.
That night as she lay naked atop me and the covers, while I was cuddling her breasts, nuzzling her earlobes, I guess Ivy found herself thrilled by my proposal, but also puzzled by it.
She said, "You want me to go with you?"
"Yeah," I said.
She pushed me away from her ear. "How come?"
I didn't know what to tell her. I kept staring at the cottage cheese ceiling of the motel and couldn't add any more to what I was asking of her. How could I tell her how much I hated the hollowness I was becoming from my job? How could I tell her she was a rope tossed to a man swept up in a flash flood? Better I start anew, without any chains to my past.
Ivy didn't know what to think. "No guy ever said to me he wanted to take me away from here." She tried joking. "A guy'll say anything to get whatever he wants."
"You're already sleeping with me," I retorted.
Ivy was confused. "You trying to live with me, Michael?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
Then she acted like I was ignoring her. That she wasn't here. That I had run out of words at such a special moment like this really pissed her off.
She shook me angrily. "Why!" She shoved harder. "Damn you! Why!" She had to know.
"I love you."
Ivy stared at me, and I stared back.
I was thoughtful, still mulling over my runaway words.
She said, "Jesus Chri
st Almighty!"
I said, "Are you saying no, or do you need more time to think about it? We got only one or two more days."
Ivy was both astonished and desperate. "What am I supposed to think now? How could you--demand--so much after such a short time together? How could you be so sure after such a short time together?"
I didn't know. "I just do."
"No shit?"
"No shit," I said. "Do you want the lights on or off?"
"Turn them off," Ivy said. "Let's celebrate."
The lights in my room went off.
Morning brought a blood-red sunrise over Maui. In the west a full moon was falling slowly into the sea. Ivy and I were finished with sex. Both of us were exhausted. Ivy took the nearest pillow and used it as a sponge to soak the sweat off her naked chest.
I looked over. "Finally-- Finally-- Have you had enough?
Ivy was exhausted. "Aw, god--. Yeah."
I stroked her thigh, then kissed it.
But then I got up and got out of bed.
Ivy almost panicked at the suddenness of my move.
"Where are you going?"
"The shower."
Ivy calmed. "Don't take too long."
An hour later I walked with Saundra Collins on the beach and told her, "A national park is just talk at this stage. There'll be a million public hearings before any decision will ever get contemplated."
"Because Smokey the Bear hates getting sued," Saundra said, grinning.
"A national park might be one alternative to more hotels."
Saundra picked up a seashell, rinsed it in the surf, then gave it to me. "A souvenir of Hawaii."
"Thanks. You're a beachcomber."
Saundra was gracious. "Thank you. That's just about the nicest thing anyone's said about me in years."
"D'you know the names of everything that washes up on the beach?"
Saundra laughed. "Not all of them, no. But most of them. Crazy, right?"
I didn't understand. "Why should that be crazy?"
Saundra focused on me. "Do you know the price of gold these days?" She indicated the seashell. "Well, what's the price of a seashell these days? When people lose their values, all they're left with is greed." She gestured at the whole wide world. "They think I'm crazy. I know they're crazy."
"That's the way you look at it."
"I won't look at it any other way. When I was growing up, my father used to tell people he didn't want to be the richest man in the cemetery."
"So what is important to you?"
"Living a good life."
"Have you had a good life so far?"
Saundra considered my question seriously. "I've been very lucky."
"Any family?"
Saundra nodded. "Oh, there's my husband and me. Our two boys are both grown men and moved away. A grandson and another one on the way--"
"What's your husband like?"
Saundra spoke carefully. "He's a good man. We've been married twenty-five years next month."
"And you still love him?"
"Oh yes. Very much."
I ate lunch in the Pier Inn and read a newspaper as I ate. Ivy came and joined me. Her eyes were wide and she seemed solemn. She had a brown paper bag in one hand.
"This morning, when you went in to take a shower, I needed a cigarette."
I said, "Yeah?"
"Your suitcase was opened." She opened the brown paper bag and showed me my Browning nine-millimeter. "I found your gun," she said.
"Thank you," I said. Casually I took the Browning from her and slipped it into my jacket pocket. I resumed reading and eating. But I wasn't reading anything and I wasn't tasting anything I was chewing. I may have looked calm and collected, but my mind was a roller coaster of conflicting emotions.
Ivy said, "After you dropped me off at my apartment, I followed you. With all the tourist traffic, staying close enough behind you not to lose you and far enough away not to be seen was easy."
I cursed myself for thinking I was in paradise.
"You stopped outside the Collins' processing plant. I saw you and Saundra Collins talking together on the docks. Then I watched you two walk away from the processing plant towards the beach, still talking together."
"We were talking about the national park."
She tapped the paper bag that held my gun. "You said National Park Service," Ivy said. "You said Smokey the Bear."
"People who cause forest fires oughta be shot."
Ivy snorted her disbelief and contempt for my answer. "Who are you?"
"Sometimes I get scared at night in a strange town. That's why I carry a gun."
"Then how do you know Flea Nichols?"
I had wary eyes. "The game's up?"
"Who are you?" Ivy insisted.
Go for it, I thought. See if you get away with it.
"I'm a collector of last resort," I explained. "I collect gambling debts. Football pools, mostly, but whatever else, too. A guy makes a bet in a bar about a football game, his team doesn't win, he has to pay off."
"He pays you?"
"I get twenty-five percent of whatever I collect."
"What about Corky Collins?"
"I'm just here to collect what he owes another guy."
"How come he hasn't paid you yet?"
I could be magnanimous. "He needs a couple days to get it together."
"Are you going to beat him up if he doesn't?"
"I don't beat people up. People pay off their gambling debts. It's a matter of pride. The principle of the thing."
"What if Corky doesn't pay you?"
"He'll pay me," I said.
Ivy was dubious. "Then what's the gun for?"
"I don't want to be robbed."
"What!"
"The money's not mine. If I'm robbed, I have to pay it back."
She stared into my eyes to read my soul.
"See, that's why I want us to start my life over. I don't want to do this shit no more. That's why I want us to work so well together."
She wasn't sure if she should be skeptical or not.
"If you think I'm lying, Ivy, there's no reason for us to stay together."
She loved me. She hugged me with all her heart and soul.
Me, I kept worrying.
Corky banged on the door like a deranged husband. When I let him in my room, he was livid with rage.
"What were you doing with my wife on the beach this morning?"
I amused. "Do I tell you how to do your job? Do I bother you when you're working?"
"You'll jeopardize everything!"
I stopped him. "It can go down tonight, if you're ready." Smiling: "It'll look like a robbery, a burglary gone bad. And you'll be down at the bowling alley having a beer."
"With Debra?"
I shrugged. "Sure. Why not?" I had a sudden thought and stopped. "Are you both planning to go somewhere together afterwards? Las Vegas or Acapulco or Paris? Maybe meet there, having come separate ways, under assumed names, and then celebrate together?"
Corky's guilty expression was enough to convict him.
I was ice-cold. "Don't."
Corky swallowed hard. "What do you want me to do tonight?"
An hour before twilight I stood on a deserted beach. I held my Browning like a crucifix. Flea was on the ridge above the beach with a pile of empty soda cans. I had my back to him.
I spoke to myself: "A professional calls his shots and then makes them." Then, calling to Flea: "Now!"
Flea threw an empty can down the rocky slope towards the beach.
I heard the clattering can, spun and fired once from the hip. The tin can was hit by my bullet, which sent the can flying.
"The longer I'm here," I said to myself, "the harder a clean hit becomes."
I turned my back and waited for Flea to throw the next tin can.
When it came clattering down the rocky slope, I fired again.
The tin can blew apart.
"And then there's Ivy," I said, and turned my back.
When Flea threw the next can down the rocky slope towards the beach, I watched the clattering can and fired my pistol from the waist. I shattered the can.
"I'll call her," I said, "tell her, gotta go, take care of yourself."
When Flea threw the last can down towards the beach, I heard the clattering can, spun around, aimed and fired. The can went flying, then landed among the other tin cans.
"That's the last one!" Flea called down.
I reloaded, while Flea came scrambling down the slope. Flea looked over the tin cans.
Why say anything? Just walk away and never come back.
Awed and frightened, Flea approached me. "You never missed!" he said. He shut up, seeing the frustration in my eyes. He thought it was anger.
Night falls fast in the tropics.
I parked in front of the processing plant. I was behind the wheel, and Flea sat beside me.
"Wait in the Mustang," I told Flea. "If we get company, use the horn until I tell you to stop. You do not leave without me."
When Flea nodded his head, I left the Mustang, taking the car keys with me.
I came up behind Debra and Corky as they walked through the deserted, dimly lit plant. They talked, not knowing I was listening.
"Still want to go through with it?" Debra asked.
Corky was paranoid. "Why keep on hassling me?"
"This is your last chance to bail out," Debra said.
Corky was determined. "I want her dead."
Debra kissed his cheek. "My stallion!"
Corky was scowling. Short-tempered from the stress, he had acquired a nervous twitch in one eye. He was impatient with her. "No more, Debra!" Softer: "Not till this is over."
Debra showed Corky the gun in her shoulder bag.
"What's that for?" Corky asked.
Debra grew bold. "I'm not afraid of his blackmail!"
Corky freaked out. "Don't be an idiot, Debra! Put it away!"
I moved back into the shadows and waited.
I met them on the loading docks. Corky handed over a manila envelope and a set of housekeys. She kept her arms crossed over her chest.
"It's all there," Corky told me. "Housekeys, the floor plan of my house, Flea's checks."
I looked up. "The money?"
Corky passed over the money.
I counted it, then put it with the housekeys and the floor plan and handed it all back to Corky. I pulled my gun, checked it was loaded, then aimed it at them.
Dead Wrong About the Guy Page 5
