by Ed Teja
He laughed. "And you think that she was above lying to you? Pretty women lie, and those who are professional killers lie constantly. I imagine she was just making sure that you wouldn't look for me. She wanted to increase her odds. There was a chance that you might find me, hide me and nurse me back to health, which would be an annoyance. Much nicer if I am crippled and alone. It gave her a clear field for the final hunt."
"Hunt for you?"
"And the money. She could have killed me straight out, but she wanted to know where the money was hidden."
"So, what happened?"
"She wounded me. She caught me off guard. There, I admitted it." He smiled. "No, admission didn't make me feel better at all. Still, it was worth a try. Anyway, she shot me. While she was making sure no one heard the shots, I escaped, and she let me run."
"Why let you get away?"
"She wanted the money. She needed to find it before she killed me. I'd framed her for taking it, and she was determined to get it. Get the blame, take the same."
"And so you ran?"
"Of course, I did. Self-preservation and all that. I was bleeding rather badly, although, contrary to her report, with no serious damage done. I stopped the blood and followed her when she came here and searched for the money or a hint to where it was. Apparently, she overlooked my note but you found it. Well played. I think that put her in a very bad mood."
"I didn’t understand it but I was surprised you wrote it down."
He smiled. "I thought it was cryptic enough."
"Yeah, I forget things too."
"Knowing I'd need to get some medical attention before I could even do a runner and, better yet, hoping I might have given you a clue to where I had the key, she went to see you. I wasn't hurt nearly as badly as she thought, however. Thinking I was running, looking for help made her careless, I suspect. I watched her visit with you over a lovely looking roast chicken. When she left you, I let her see me. I made my appearance as a wounded duck."
"Wounded, okay, but duck?"
"The duck pretends to be wounded to lead the hunter in the wrong direction."
"What's the right direction? She knew you'd left the money in a locker."
"In this case, I was just leading her mind. I got her to think she didn't have to worry about me. I made a show of making my clumsy and faltering way back here. I assumed she would decide that killing me here was far more convenient than on the street. Besides, she wanted the key. If I was seriously hurt, then time was on her side. If she simply waited long enough, she might simply waltz in and remove the key from my cold, dead fingers, as you Americans say. I encouraged that belief. I think I gave a stellar performance of a dying man."
"You certainly are now," I said, watching the light in his eyes flicker. Simon was fading.
"She indeed got careless, but I underestimated how weak I was. My performance was taxing and almost a self-fulfilling prophecy. The bitch is extremely fast with a knife."
"But you got your own in."
He smiled. "By Jove, I did, you know." His head rolled to one side. "She got the key, however. It was in my pocket."
"I'll try to see that she doesn't get to it first."
He nodded. "I hope she paid for your lunch."
"She brought the beer. She stole one of my papas fritas."
"Typical of the evil bitch." He looked pained. "I apologize for not killing her for you. Don't assume the wounded bird is not dangerous. Be careful."
"She was hurt pretty badly, I think. Bill was in pursuit."
He nodded. "I hope so. Would you do me a personal favor?"
"What is it?"
"About Raul."
"What about Raul?"
He smiled. "Go to the bar, drink a martini in my honor and give him a huge tip, if you would."
"Sure."
"Thank you," he said. "Now go. Watch to see if you are followed. My death might interest a few people. You never know, in a few days, even the policia might even show up."
"Bon voyage, Simon."
He smiled. "Fair winds, sailor boy."
He was gone before I left the room.
He died alone, much as he'd lived.
# # #
When I left Simon's room, I trotted down the hallway in the direction I'd seen Bill disappear in pursuit of the woman with the gun.
The door to the stairwell was open and blood drops, sticky and starting to congeal, decorated the carpet in the doorway. I followed them through and down the stairs. The stairs grew increasingly bloody as I went down.
I saw a pool of blood on the landing, and then the trail stopped. I took a breath and continued down.
On the ground floor, I saw Bill. He had his back against the wall and his feet out, propping him up.
I panicked. "Bill!"
He looked up and grinned. "Hey Junior," he said. He stood and looked at me. "Is Simon okay?"
I shook my head. "Dead for real this time."
Ugly Bill frowned. I knew that he hadn't wanted Simon dead, no matter what he thought of him alive. Billy was of the opinion that death seldom improves people.
"That makes the body count for this round two, then," he said sadly, looking down. "For a grand total of four dead citizens from this episode. And two of them more or less innocents. Not Simon, of course."
I followed his gaze down and saw her body on the ground below the stairs. Anita lay still, looking broken, arms akimbo.
"What happened?"
"She was bleeding something fierce, but never had time to bleed to death," he said. "I was chasing her, and she spun around to take another shot at me. I think she slipped in her own blood. Her feet went out from under her and she tumbled down the last flight of stairs. I think it broke her neck. She didn't move once she hit. I was just coming back up to check on you."
I went down the stairs and squatted down next to the body. I was sure Bill had already checked, but I felt for a pulse at her neck. Nothing. It made me sad.
I touched her chin and turned her face toward me. That was a mistake. Her glassy look was as eerie in death as it had been when she was alive and staring across the table at me.
The power of the look was different now but just as intimidating. It was a death mask that screamed, "I'll get you for this."
Her skin was taking on a waxy look that made her seem unreal. Even my vivid imagination found it hard to stuff the concept of life back into her, to imagine that she had been alive.
"She looks dead," I said.
I stood, wishing that the clammy feel of a dead person's skin washed off as easily as blood. I couldn't shake the image of her drinking a beer across the table from me, her cold eyes threatening me, just a short while ago.
"That's because she is," Bill said.
I looked at him. "The point being that dead people don't always look dead to me, but she definitely looks dead."
Bill snorted. "There is an argument to be made for congruency in things, but you sound like you liked her."
"No. I was intimidated by her. To state the feeling with precision, she scared the shit out of me." I stood up and stared at the broken doll on the floor. "I think we can declare the fight between these two officially a draw, with her scoring a few more useless points than Simon for being able to walk out of the room."
Bill came down and stood beside me. "I'd show her ahead on my scorecard too. So now that you've called the fight, let's get out of here."
I looked at him. "Leave them? Don't the good guys call the cops?"
Bill stood. "You nuts, Junior? The good guys, never, under no circumstances, do anything that results in them spending all day in a South American police station filling out paperwork, in triplicate, using torn scraps of ancient carbon paper and applying their thumbprints to endless confessions."
"But we are witnesses of a double murder," I said.
"Given their life choices, I consider this encounter more akin to a double suicide. Besides, when calami
tous events occur in Venezuela, the police consider witnesses a major annoyance," he said.
"Unlike two unexplained dead gringo bodies?"
He shook his head, clucking his tongue. "Think, Junior. Remember where you are. As far as they care, the bodies explain each other," he said. "It's just basic police science around here, Junior."
"How basic?"
"You find two dead people, murdered, then obviously they killed each other. Assuming, of course, that there is no one standing around trying to contradict this conclusive evidence. The policia will not appreciate being given a convoluted story that has to be checked out, after it is tediously and tendentiously written down. This way, the job is to make sure both people are dead, note that she has a gun in her hand that was used to kill Simon and that he probably has a weapon that accounts for her wounds. That takes you to the happy end of the investigation. Then it's back to the cop shop where you do a minimal amount of paperwork and then everybody heads for the nearest cantina while the coroner calls the families, if they are known, and tells them to pick up the bodies."
"So, we leave Walker dead at the hands of bandidos and these two killing each other as we good guys ride off into the sunset?"
"That sounds about right." Bill grinned and opened his hand showing me a key with "Finco 234" stamped on it. "Before we depart heroically, we have one last task. The lady was trying very hard to hang onto this key. It looks to me like it might fit a locker at the airport."
I laughed. "It took me days to find out what that meant, and you knew at a glance?"
Bill gave me that look that says he pitied me. "Doesn't everyone?"
"No," I told him. "Just you." I pointed at Anita. "And her."
"I keep explaining to you about the importance of a good education and you continue to ignore me. At any rate, there is a time limit on these things, so we have an obligation to go empty the locker. I think this unpleasant lady stole this from Simon and I doubt he'd want his things to fall into the wrong hands."
"Her name was Anita," I said.
"That is a pretty name," he said. He poked her arm with his toe. "With her ugly heart, it's likely the name was an alias."
"Everything else about her seems to be a lie. So, you are probably right." Then I smiled. "Hey, you and Simon finally agreed on something."
He shrugged. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. Anyway, we should collect what's in there. It's important to be tidy."
"Is that another axiom from your old pal Seneca, I suppose?"
"No. A sentiment of L. Manning Vines, as I recall."
I took a five-dollar bill from my pocket and tucked it into Anita's mouth.
Bill smiled and scratched his head. "Okay, I know the coins on the eyes bit. Is this some new religious thing I haven't heard of yet?"
His question surprised me. "No. It's more that I like the cleaning lady. She was helpful. The odds are she will be the one who finds the body and has to call the policia. You have to admit that we are leaving her one hell of a mess."
"Junior, sometimes you amaze me. You are actually learning manners. I am starting to think you might still have some potential."
CHAPTER NINE
Sometimes crime pays
When I told her that Simon was dead, Evelyn was not particularly shocked. Surprised, but not appalled.
"I got the impression that he was your lover."
She shrugged. "So? He was a lot of fun for a time," she said. "But I wonder what he actually had in store for me."
"Maybe he liked you and just wanted to have fun in Europe on your money."
She gave me a sharp stare. "Right. Well, whatever he had in mind, he was definitely pushing things hard, looking for trouble."
And he had found it.
After we got through the entire, we-knew-that-she-knew routine, Evelyn was quite open about what had happened. She even filled in a few gaps.
"Of course, I knew Simon was going to have Clyde killed," Evelyn said. "The bastard needed killing, the way he treated me. Simon warned me that Clyde was planning on leaving the country. Simon found out that Clyde has stolen some money to use for his escape and I'd be stuck here broke. He told me he knew a hired killer who was affordable and had a decent track record. I never met her."
"He wasn't lying, except that it backfired, and the killer he hired also killed him," I said, rolling my eyes to make a point.
Evelyn missed my theatrics entirely.
"What goes around comes around," she said.
"Very philosophical of you. But why is it that, in talking things out, divorce seems to be a possibility you all overlooked?" I pointed out.
She gave me a look that said I didn't have a clue. "Simon thought a killer was far more effective from a financial point of view. Even in the States, a court can't touch money he doesn't technically have. Clyde was officially broke. Even if he was going to get some money for selling the business, and I didn't know about that, if I divorced him, I'd get nothing."
"Ah."
"Ah, indeed. The reason our credit cards were maxed out wasn't because he didn't like paying bills or forgot to pay them. It was because he wanted to appear broke. Simon suggested that if he was conveniently killed by bandidos, then the insurance money would finance us relocating to Europe."
"So, Simon came up with the idea."
“It was a dream offer. And I didn't have to do a damn thing." She smiled. "Well, nothing I didn't want to do anyway. Take a trip to Margarita."
"And live happily ever after."
She laughed. "It wasn't that much money, but I liked Simon. I didn't figure he'd hang around once the money was gone, but we were going to have fun for a while."
"You weren't suspicious that he had the boat burned, that he was doing something that would slow down the insurance payment if they couldn't identify your husband's body?"
She laughed and asked the obvious question. "What the hell do I know about staging a murder? I was a married woman with vengeance in her heart. I didn't know the boat had been burned until you told me. It isn't like we went over the details of what he had in mind. He said he could hire someone to do the deed when Clyde went off sailing with his bimbo. Even when you told me, I figured it was just to obscure the fact that it was a hit."
"And you don't mind telling us this?"
"Why should I mind? Simon is dead and the authorities think that bandidos killed him. I didn't do anything, and you aren't cops anyway. Why should we confuse things by poking into this further?"
"Don't you care that it got Simon killed?"
She looked at me with concern. "C'mon. He was a fun guy, but I know he played with some rough people. You tell me he played a gamble and that did him in. Hell, I'm sorry about that, but I didn't profit from it and I don't want anything to do with it."
"They were after the money Clyde was holding."
"Which I know nothing about. If someone official asks, I know even less. Hell, I was in Margarita."
"At Simon's suggestion."
She smiled. "Lots of friends have recommended the island as a great place for a short vacation. And if I need a serious alibi, well the cute guy who cleans the pool at the hotel will tell you I had a really nice time and seldom left the room."
She picked up a bag and moved to the door. "Now if you will excuse me, I have a plane to catch. Barcelona airport to Caracas, to Miami and then...Paris. It will be springtime there. Do you know how long it's been since I've seen the seasons change?"
"It's vastly overrated," I said.
"Paris?" For the first time, she looked shocked.
"Seasons," I said. "It's nice to watch them change. There is a novelty that comes with them. But after a few months of winter or an overly hot summer, you are waiting anxiously for the next one."
"I'll adapt somehow," she said. "My taxi should be downstairs by now, so thank that darling James for me."
"Some of the friendly folks at the insurance company might want to chat w
ith you about this death further."
She smiled innocently. "But Martin, I don't know a damn thing about what went on," she said. "Clyde took out the policy, bless his black heart, and I didn't even know about the buyout policy. I would make a terrible suspect in whatever happened. Even if I did receive my now-beloved husband's death benefits there is nothing to suggest I had a hand in any of it. Don't begrudge me this. It is the only benefit I've gotten from this marriage."
Bill and I looked at each other, knowing she was right.
As the door closed behind her, Bill shook his head. "You know, now we are taking her word for things. For all we know, she was the one that suggested whacking Walker. Simon might have seen it as a perfect opportunity for a double score, with one of them being private, even from her."
"Having second thoughts about Simon?" I asked.
He grinned. "Not really. Bertolt Brecht said, 'Do not fear death so much, but rather the inadequate life.'"
"Did he know?"
"We love the sea because that sentiment is always in our faces. Simon used his training, shaped by his temperament to live the life he wanted. You told me he wasn't upset when he died. I assume he had always known it would end that way sooner or later." He looked at me. "You are wrong if you think I disliked him; I just didn't trust him because of the choices he made. I am uneasy around people I can't trust."
"So here we sit, in Evelyn's deserted apartment with a partially solved mystery on our hands. What do we do about it?"
"Nothing," Bill said.
"Nothing?"
Bill shrugged. "The suspects are all gone away or dead. The insurance company has settled and won't want to spend more investigating pointlessly. The Guardia is happy to think that bandidos killed Walker and are uninterested in the pursuit of gringos for no gain. We have settled the business matter for James, and you have the paperwork in your pocket to prove it. The only one who cares about the mystery, in fact, the only person who still thinks there is one, is you."
"You don't think there is a mystery?"
He shook his head. "None that require my undivided attention or that are worth putting my life on hold for."
