Not QUITE the Classics

by Colin Mochrie

  “Daddy was who he was.”

  “Just like Popeye, huh?” Burn smiled.

  Just then Allyson’s son entered. “Honey,” said Allyson, “why aren’t you in the playroom?”

  Ashley shrugged, then clung to his mother.

  Weird kid, thought McDeere. And jeepers was he ugly.

  Looked like a collapsed lung. McDeere looked around the room and then went over to the large mahogany desk. Upon it was a statue that looked strangely familiar. He’d seen it in a photo. It was an exact replica of the car keys falcon.

  “That’s odd,” said McDeere.

  “What?” asked Gurney a little too quickly.

  McDeere picked up a small ceramic rhino paperweight.

  “This doesn’t really fit in with the theme of the room. Your father, Mrs. O’Hara, has very peculiar tastes, but there is a pattern. This doesn’t fit the pattern.”

  The horn of the rhino had odd grooves on it. McDeere was suddenly slapped with an idea. He picked up the statue of the falcon and turned it around. On the back of the feathered neck was a small opening. The horn of the rhino fit it perfectly. McDeere turned the rhino horn, and the head of the falcon sprung open. The statue was hollow, and inside, at the bottom, rested a ring of car keys. Attached was the small replica of a falcon.

  “Must have taken a lot of work to misplace your keys in here,” said McDeere slowly.

  “Took more work to find ’em,” said Gurney bitterly.

  McDeere spun around. His eyes immediately took in the three guns trained on his head, heart, and groin. The fried egg curdled in his belly.

  Ashley, speaking in a voice that was whiskey soaked and high pitched at the same time, chortled, “Thanks for the help, flatfoot.”

  “A flatfoot is a cop. I’m a shamus.”

  “Whatever.”

  “So, you’re not an ugly kid after all. You’re a dwarf.”

  “Midget.”

  “Whatever. And you look like your face got caught in a meat grinder.”

  Allyson stepped forward. “Sorry it had to be like this, Burn.” Her lower lip quivered as though she really meant it. She’s good, McDeere thought. Even she believes her lies.

  “Throw the keys over,” ordered Gurney.

  “Gurney, I have to say this is very disappointing. I really thought you had turned over a new leaf. I’m hurt.”

  “Frankly, McDeere, I don’t give a damn. Just throw the keys over.”

  “Since you asked politely and your gun is pointed at my belly, I guess I’d better.” He tossed the keys to Gurney. Gurney caught them one-handed and quickly unscrewed the head of the falcon. A small piece of paper, tightly rolled up, poked out from the body.

  “It’s here,” he called triumphantly to Allyson.

  “You mean the research on the super-grape?” McDeere asked innocently.

  Gurney scowled. “What do you know about it?”

  “Come on, Gurney. I don’t just use my head as a place to keep my hat. Something about this case seemed fishy from the start. Asked a few questions of a friend at the Napa Wine Association. First thing I found out is that O’Hara does have a daughter. But she lives in Spain with a painter who draws dogs playing poker. She’s still there. Have a friend in the village where she lives. She’s quite a famous beauty, apparently. Though she doesn’t have the animal magnetism you do, Allyson O’Hara. But that’s not your real name, I take it?”

  “No,” she whispered. “It’s Lily.”

  “You said something about the super-grape,” said Gurney, who seemed amused by the ruse. McDeere would have loved to slap him around a little. Gurney had the kind of face that was like a buffet table. You wanted to hit it more than once.

  “My friend at the NWA said that there had been rumors flying that O’Hara was developing a super-grape that could grow under any conditions. That would revolutionize the whole wine industry, wouldn’t it? I’m guessing that Bin 451 was the first test wine. How is it?”

  “It’s delightful,” said Ashley. “Complex with a meatiness that—”

  “Yeah,” said Burn. “But O’Hara wasn’t going to share it, was he? That would anger a whole lot of people. Especially a small winery trying to make a splash in the industry.” McDeere turned to the ugly midget. “A little winery situated in Oregon of all places. Lady Littleman Wines. I figure you for the Littleman.” McDeere then turned to Allyson. “I guess that makes you the lady. Oregon must have a looser definition of the word than we do here.”

  Allyson’s eyes flashed with anger. “We offered O’Hara a tidy sum and”—she paused—“other considerations. He laughed! No one laughs at me.”

  “Is that why you killed him? For the super-grape or because he didn’t want to swim in your lady pool?” McDeere’s question dripped with revulsion.

  “Don’t be disgusting!”

  Gurney kept the gun steady. “What makes you think we killed him? He’s in—”

  “Argentina?” McDeere interrupted. “Chasing the blue-throated macaw? Yeah, you kept pushing that story like it was an old rich lady at the top of the stairs. Only problem is, that particular bird is only found in a small area in Bolivia. And a bird enthusiast like O’Hara would know that.” McDeere smiled at the astonished faces of Gurney and Allyson. “Yeah, I’ve dabbled in birdwatching. If Daddy O’Hara’s not in South America, chances are he’s dead. I’m guessing buried out back, pushing up the daisies. Be interesting to see if that will influence the taste of the wine.”

  “Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” Gurney sneered. “Well, you were dumb enough to swallow that straight-and-narrow story earlier. Littleman and I were cellmates on the Rock. Got to be good friends. Told me how his sister was keeping his business going while he was doing time, how they needed a little help. Discovered I had a useful connection. Before I was in for the long stretch, I spent a night in the drunk tank with O’Hara. We’d been at a speakeasy and things had gotten out of hand. He was plastered and kept yapping about this super-grape that was going to make him millions.”

  McDeere stopped him. “Let me see if I can guess the rest. After you get out, you plead with the guy for a job, which he gives you. A job that gives you access to the whole house. Nice way to repay his kindness. I figure he got wise to you.”

  “Yeah. So I had to use some persuasion to get him to tell me that he had hidden his notes in the little falcon on his key ring.” Malone cracked his knuckles (not an easy feat while holding a gun) and shrugged. “He stopped breathing before he could tell me where he hid it. So I told Allyson here to hire you. Knew you could find it and figured that I could get my life back once you did.” Malone took a step closer to Burn and raised the gun so that Burn could see down the barrel. “I lost part of my life when you put me away, and now I get to take all of your life in return.”

  “Doesn’t seem fair,” said McDeere. “My whole life for eight years of yours.”

  “Well, life ain’t fair. So long, sucker.”

  A shot rang out. Gurney looked down at the hole in his chest, then over to Allyson’s smoking gun. His eyes asked a question that would never be answered, then he fell to the floor, dead.

  Ashley whipped around. “What the fu—” The bullet ripped through his brain.

  “Good shot,” McDeere said.

  “I just wanted to shoot him in the leg. Misjudged.” She shrugged. “Midget.”

  “So where we at, doll? Didn’t want to share the research?”

  “No, that’s not it at all! I love you, Burn. From the first day we met. Tell me you feel the same,” she pleaded.

  McDeere looked at her like a kid looks at a car accident. “I usually like to get to know someone before I fall for them. You’re a sweet little package, I’ll grant you. But I need to know your dreams, your hopes, your fears. I need to find my center of gravity before I get dizzy with a dame. Call me old-fashioned, but that’s the way I roll.”

  Allyson pointed the gun at him.

 
“Of course,” he said, “I am starting to feel some affection for you…”

  “You’re a fool, Burn! I’m offering you everything! And you dare to turn me down? Me?”

  McDeere could see she was going to shoot. He leapt to his left as he pulled his gun from his holster. Her shot almost parted his hair but his found its mark. Shot the gun right out of her hand.

  McDeere looked around at the bodies littering the floor. An ex-con, a midget, and a woman holding her hand and whimpering. Make a great beginning to a joke if it wasn’t so tragic. Three dead, including old man O’Hara out back. And all because of a stinking grape.

  Burn walked over to Allyson and helped her up.

  “I could have made you happy, Burn,” she sobbed. “Very happy.”

  “Sure, if I just forgot about the lying and murdering. We coulda been delirious.”

  “It’s not too late, darling.” Her eyes were shining bright, too bright for someone who had control of their marbles. “We could start all over. From scratch. I love you. I could make you love me…I know I could. Could we do it? Could we start a new life?”

  McDeere looked at her with a mixture of pity and revulsion.

  “Sorry, babe. There will be the beginning of a new way of life. Not for me, but definitely for you.”

  “Really, Burn? Really?” Whatever sanity remained just took the A train out of town. “When …when will my new life start?”

  Burn smiled sadly and put the handcuffs on her. “When we reach the city, baby. When we reach the city.”

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