“And of course the police figured it as a burglary.”
“Of course they did. A burglary for gain followed by a murder on impulse. There was never the slightest suspicion of my client. He was rid of a wife and home free.”
The younger man was breathing more quickly and his face was slightly flushed. “And then,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Then you killed him.”
“Indeed. Why would I do a thing like that?”
“Because the wife had hired you and once you accepted a fee the target was as good as dead. Of course you didn’t have to kill the man. The only person who knew you’d been hired to kill him was the woman who hired you, and she was already dead. You could have kept the fee she paid you and done nothing to earn it and no one would ever have known the difference. But you were true to the ethics of the profession, true to your own personal ethics, and so you killed him all the same.”
“I waited almost a month,” Colliard said: “I didn’t want his death to look like murder, and I didn’t even want it to take place in Trenton, so I waited until he made another trip, this time a short one to Philadelphia. I followed him there, stole a car off the street, dogged his footsteps until they led off a curb, and then performed vehicular homicide. He turned in my direction just as the car was about to remove him from this life, and do you know, I can still see the expression on his face. I don’t know whether he recognized my face through the windshield or whether he simply recognized that he was about to be struck down and killed. Facial expressions at such times are distressingly ambiguous, you see. Be that as it may, the car did the job and I had no trouble making a clean getaway.”
“So it really happened that way,” Haig said, eyes shining. “And then your reputation was made. Everyone knew that when Colliard took an assignment the target was a dead man.”
“Yes. They all knew.”
“So the legend is true.”
“The Legend of Wilson Colliard,” Colliard intoned. “It is an effective legend, isn’t it? And now do you see what I meant when I said a man can see to the growth of his own reputation?”
“I certainly do. But isn’t it really just a question of being true to your professional standards and ethics? Oh, I can see how you must have functioned as your own press agent and all that, because you would have had to be the source of the legend. Only the man and the woman knew they’d hired you, and even they didn’t know that you were hired by both of them, so the story could never have gotten out if you hadn’t done something to spread it in the first place. But as far as what you did, well, that was a matter of behaving professionally.”
“Do you think so?” Colliard raised his prominent white eyebrows. “Don’t you think it might have been more professional to keep the woman’s fee and not kill her husband? After all, she was in the grave and was thus certain to remain silent. The only reason to kill her husband was for publicity purposes. Otherwise, Michael, I’d have been better advised to adhere to the first principle of minimizing risk. But by performing the second murder I assured myself of a reputation.”
“Of course,” Haig said. “You’re absolutely right. I should have realized that.”
Colliard made a tent of his fingertips. “Ah, Michael,” he said, “there’s more to it than you could possibly realize. It’s interesting that the legend is incomplete. You know, I think this is really one of those rare occasions wherein the truth is more dramatic than the legend.”
“How do you mean?”
“This crazy business of ours. Wheels within wheels, complexities underlying complexities. I wonder, Michael, if you have a sufficiently Byzantine mind to distinguish yourself in your chosen profession.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The woman never hired me.”
Michael Haig stared.
“Never hired me, never knew of my existence as far as I know. She and I didn’t set eyes one upon the other until the night I stuck a carbon-steel Sabatier chef’s knife between her ribs. For all I know the poor woman adored her husband and never would have harmed him for the world.”
“But—”
“So I killed her and went on my way, Michael, and then about a month later I happened to be in Philadelphia for reasons I can’t at the moment recall, not that they matter, and whom did I chance to see emerging from Bookbinder’s after a presumably satisfying lunch than the Bicycle Tire King of Trenton. Do you know, the mind is capable of extraordinary quantum leaps. All at once I saw the whole thing plain, saw just the shape the entire legend would take. All I had to do was kill the fool and my place in my profession was assured. It was the sort of thing people would talk about forever, and everything they said could only redound to my benefit. I followed him, I stole a car, and—” he spread his hands “—and the rest is history. Or legend, if you prefer.”
“That’s . . . that’s incredible.”
“I saw an opportunity and I grasped it before it could get away.”
“You just killed him for—”
“For the benefit that could not help but accrue to my reputation. Killed him without a fee, you might say, but there’s no question but that his death paid me more handsomely in the long run than any murder I ever undertook for immediate gain. Overnight I became the standard of the profession. I stood head and shoulders above the competition as far as potential clients were concerned. I had an edge over men with infinitely more distinguished careers, men who had far more years in the business than I. And what gave me this advantage? An elementary hit-and-run killing of a former client, an act that but for the ensuing publicity would have been pointless beyond belief. Remarkable, isn’t it?”
“It’s better than the legend,” Michael Haig said. There was a film of perspiration on his upper lip and he wiped at it with his forefinger. “Better than the legend. If people knew what you actually did—”
“I think it’s ever so much better that they don’t, Michael. Oh, if I were to write memoirs for posthumous publication it’s the sort of material I’d be inclined to include, but I’m not the sort to write my memoirs, I’m afraid. No, I think I’d rather let the legend go on as it stands. It wouldn’t do me much good if my public knew that Wilson Colliard was a man who once killed one of his clients for no reason at all. My reputation has been carefully designed to build a client’s confidence and that’s the sort of revelation that might have the opposite effect entirely.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything at all,” Colliard advised. “But let me just pour us each one final tot of sherry.”
“I’ve had quite a bit already.”
“It’s very light stuff,” Colliard said. “One more won’t hurt you.” And, returning with the filled glasses, he added, “We ought to drink to legends. May the truth never interfere with them.”
The younger man took a sip. Then, when he saw his host toss off his drink in a single swallow, he imitated his example and drank off the rest of his own sherry. Wilson Colliard nodded, satisfied with the way things had gone. He could scarcely recall a more pleasant afternoon.
“Minimize your risks,” he said. “Seize the moment. And look to your professional reputation.”
“The three points of the Assassin’s Credo,” Haig said.
“Three of the four points.”
“Oh?” The younger man grinned in anticipation. “You mean there’s a fourth point?”
“Oh, yes.” Colliard studied him, paying close attention to his guest’s eyes. “A fourth point.”
“Are you going to tell me what it is?”
“Squash the competition.”
“Oh?”
“When it’s convenient,” Colliard said. “And when it’s useful. There’s no point doing anything about the bunglers. But when someone turns up who’s talented and resourceful and not without a sense of the dramatic, and when you have the opportunity to wipe him out, why, it’s just good business to do so. There are only so many really top jobs available every
year, you know, and one doesn’t want them spread too thin. Of course when you eliminate a competitor you don’t noise it around. That sort of thing’s kept secret. But there have been eight times over the years when I’ve had a chance to put the fourth principle into play.”
“And you’ve seized the opportunity?”
“I could hardly do otherwise, could I?” Colliard smiled. “You’re number nine, Michael. That last glass of sherry had poison in it, I’m afraid. You can probably feel the numbness spreading. It already shows in your eyes. No, don’t even try to get up. You won’t be able to accomplish anything. Don’t blame yourself. You were doomed from the start, poor boy. I shouldn’t have agreed to see you this afternoon if I hadn’t decided to, uh, purge you from the ranks.”
The younger man’s face was a study in horror. Colliard eyed him equably. Already he was beginning to feel that familiar sensation, the excitement, the thrill.
“You were quite good,” he said charitably. “For as long as you lasted you were quite good indeed. Otherwise I’d not have bothered with you. Oh, Michael, it’s a crazy business, isn’t it? Believe me, lad, you’re lucky to be getting out of it.”
The Tulsa Experience
They were teasing me Friday at the office. Sharon told me to be sure and send her a postcard, the way she always does, and I said what I always say, that I’d be back before the postcard reached her. And Warren asked which airline I was flying, and when I told him he very solemnly pulled out a quarter and handed it to me, telling me to buy some flight insurance and put him down as beneficiary.
Lee said, “Where’s it going to be this time, Dennis? Acapulco? Macao? The south of France?”
“Tulsa,” I said.
“Tulsa,” he said. “Would that be Tulsa, Spain, on the Costa Brava? Or do you mean Tulsa, Nepal, gateway to the Himalayas?”
“This will come as a shock to you,” I said, “but it’s Tulsa, Oklahoma.”
“Tulsa, Oklahoma,” he marveled. “So the Gold Dust Twins are going to glamorous Tulsa, Oklahoma. I suppose Harry is up to it, but are you sure your heart can handle the excitement?”
“I’ll try to pace myself,” I said.
Harry and I are not twins, Gold Dust or otherwise. He’s my brother, two years older than I, and aside from our vacations we actually see very little of each other. Harry, who has never married, still lives in the row house in Woodside where we grew up. After college he helped in the store and took over the business when Dad retired. The house was left to both of us when our parents died, but we worked out a way for him to buy my share.
I was married for several years, but I’ve been divorced for longer than I was married, and I doubt I’ll marry again. I have a nice apartment on East Eighty-third Street. It’s small but it suits me, and it’s rent-controlled. Work is a short bus ride away, a walk in good weather.
I had taken the bus that morning, although the weather was nice, because I had my suitcase with me. I worked right through lunch hour and then took the rest of the afternoon off and caught a cab to the airport. I got there over an hour before flight time and Harry was already there, his bag checked. “Well,” he said, punching me affectionately on the shoulder. “You ready for the Tulsa experience, Denny?”
“I sure am,” I said.
I’ve been at Langford Corporation for almost seventeen years. I had another job for a year and a half when I first got out of college, and then I came to Langford, and I’ve been with the company ever since. So for the past five years I’ve been entitled to four weeks of paid vacation a year. I take a week in the spring, a week in the summer, a week in the fall, and a week in the winter, and Harry arranges to close his store during those weeks. When we first started doing this he let his employees take over, but that didn’t work out so well, and it’s simpler and easier just to lock the doors for a week.
And that’s really about the only time we see each other. Each season we pick a city, somewhere right here in the United States, and we take rooms in a nice hotel and make sure we experience the place to the hilt.
Boston was the third city we visited together, or maybe it was the fourth. I could stop and figure it out, but it doesn’t matter; the point is that there was one of those multiscreen presentations in a theater near Quincy Market, giving you the history of the city and an armchair tour of the area. The Boston Experience, they called it, and ever since we’ve used that phrase to describe our travels to one another. After Boston we had the Atlanta experience. Now we were going to have the Tulsa experience, and three months ago, give or take a week, we were having the San Diego experience.
I can understand why Lee teases me. I have never been to London or Paris or Rome, and I don’t know that I’ll ever get out of this country at all. We’ve talked about it, Harry and I, but whenever it comes time to plan a trip we always wind up choosing an American city. I guess it’s not glamorous, and maybe we’re missing something, but we always have a great time, so why change?
Founded in 1879, Tulsa has a population of 360,919, and is the second-largest city in Oklahoma. (Oklahoma City, the capital, is larger by about forty thousand; we have not yet had the Oklahoma City experience.) Tulsa is 750 feet above sea level, located in the heart of a major oil- and gas-producing area. More than six hundred energy-oriented firms employ upward of thirty thousand people.
We reviewed this and other facts about Tulsa during our flight. Harry had done the planning, so he had the guidebooks, and we read passages aloud to one another. We both ordered martinis when the stewardess came around with the drinks cart. Harry’s not a big drinker, and I hardly drink at all except when we travel. But the drinks are free in first class and it seems silly not to have one.
We always fly first class. The seats are more comfortable and they treat you with special care. It costs more, of course, and it may not really be worth the difference, but it helps make the trip special. And we can afford it. I earn a decent salary, and Harry has always done well with the store, and neither of us is given to high living. Harry has always lived alone, as I believe I mentioned, and my own marriage was childless, and my wife has long since remarried so I don’t have any alimony to pay. That makes it easy enough for us to fly first class and stay at a good hotel and eat in the best restaurants. We don’t throw money around like drunken sailors, or even like Tulsa oilmen, but we treat ourselves well.
There was an in-flight movie, but we didn’t bother watching it. It was more interesting to read the guidebooks and discuss which attractions appealed and which we thought we could safely pass up. The average person would probably think that a week would be more than time enough to experience everything a city like Tulsa has to offer, but he would be very much mistaken.
You’ve probably heard jokes about Philadelphia, for example. That they had a contest, and first prize was a week in Philadelphia while second prize was two weeks. Well, we’ve had the Philadelphia experience, and a week was nowhere near enough to experience the city to the fullest. We did well, we went just about everywhere we really wanted to go, but there were still quite a few attractions we had to pass up with some regret.
The flight was enjoyable. Harry had the aisle seat this time, so he got to flirt a little with the stewardess. For my part, I was able to look out the window during our approach to Tulsa. It was still light out, but even on night flights I get a kick out of seeing the lights of the city below, as if they’re all lit up just to welcome the two of us.
They delivered our rental car just minutes after our bags came off the luggage carousel. The car was a full-size Olds with a plush velour interior, very quiet and luxurious. Back home I don’t even own a car, and all Harry has is the six-year-old panel truck with the name of the store painted on its sides. We could have managed just as well with a subcompact, but if you shop around you can usually get a really nice car for only a few dollars more. We’d had a great deal on a Lincoln Town Car in Denver, with free mileage and no charge for the full insurance coverage, for example.
We stayed
downtown at the Westin on Second Street. Harry had booked us adjoining rooms on the luxury level. A double room or even a small suite would have been a lot less expensive, but we both like our privacy, as much as we enjoy being together on our vacations. And, as you probably have gathered by now, we don’t stint on these trips. If we have one rule, it’s to treat ourselves to what we want.
We made it an early night, unpacking, getting settled, and orienting ourselves in the hotel. First thing after breakfast the next day we took a Gray Line bus tour of Tulsa, which is what we always do when we can. It gives you a wonderful overview of the city and you don’t have to find your own way around. You get to drive past some attractions that you might not be interested enough to see if they required a special trip, but that are certainly worth viewing through the window of the bus. And you pick up a familiarity with the place that makes it a lot easier to get around during the remainder of the stay. Harry and I are both sold on bus tours, and it’s disappointing when a city doesn’t have them.
The tour was a good one, and it took most of the morning. After lunch we went to the Thomas Gilcrease Institute of American History and Art. They have a wonderful collection of western art, with works by Remington, Moran, Charles Russell, and a great many others. The collection of Indian artifacts was also outstanding, but we spent so much time looking at the paintings that we didn’t really have time to do the Indian collection justice.
“We’ll get back during the week,” Harry said.
We had dinner at a really nice restaurant just a short walk from our hotel. The menu was northern Italian, and they made their own pasta. We took a long walk afterward. When we got back to the hotel Harry wanted to have a swim in the pool, but I was ready to call it a night. I’ve found it’s important to not try to do too much, especially the first couple of days. I took a long soak in the tub, watched a movie on HBO, and made an early night of it.
Enough Rope Page 48
