I couldn’t help myself. I told her. A glimmer showed in her eyes. “I’ll meet you at three,” she said. “Don’t get all upset and jealous if I’m a couple minutes late, okay Paul, darling?”
I bit my lip and nodded.
I watched as she turned back to the Plaza. She wore a formfitting yellow silk outfit, and I stood staring, almost hypnotized by her slender hips. She turned once, realized the effect she was having, and flashed me a knowing smile before disappearing into the Plaza.
I stood frozen for a couple minutes and then I went back to the Plaza’s lobby. A short time later Doris and her companion entered from the restaurant. They didn’t see me as they walked to the registration desk. The guy she was with whispered something into Doris’s ear and she broke out into a soft easy laugh. The desk clerk handed them a key and they walked across the lobby to the elevator. Before the elevator doors closed they were wrapped up in each other, too wrapped up to bother noticing me or anything else.
It was an hour before they came back down. Both of them had their hair slick wet. They still hadn’t noticed me. I waited until they said their good-byes before following the guy.
He turned out to be Connor Fairchild, a lawyer working a couple blocks away. After following him to his office, I headed back to my rooming house.
Doris was an hour late and seemed in a rotten mood. “Nice place you got,” she remarked as she looked about my flophouse room. “Why don’t we call room service and order up some champagne?”
I stared at her silently. “That’s what I love about you, your gift of conversation.” She glanced at her watch and then met my stare, a brittle smile straining her lips. “I guess I’m giving you a hard time, huh?”
I didn’t say anything. She sat down next to me and put her hand behind my neck, rubbing me gently. “I’m sorry, darling,” she said. “I’m a little messed up right now. I hate him so much.” She paused, and then added under her breath, “I can’t stand him being alive.”
“So that’s your reason,” I said.
She gave me an odd look.
“Why you picked me up at that bar,” I explained.
She backed away from the bed, disgust washing over her face. “That’s what you think?”
I stared at her, confused. She backed farther away from me. “How could you even suggest something like—oh my God, I know why you seemed so familiar. The drawings in the newspapers! You’re him, the guy who tried to kill that baby! You shaved off your beard and cut your hair, but you’re that freak!”
She stood staring at me as if I were a pile of crap. A hotness overwhelmed me. I tried arguing with her but she screamed over me, telling me how filthy she felt knowing I had touched her. Then she was asking me over and over again if I get off on hurting babies.
I begged her to stop, but she wouldn’t, and the more she kept at it the closer I got to the abyss. Everything turned red, her, everything. There was so much noise coming from her. I felt swallowed up in it. I had to make it stop. And then somehow it did stop and there was a different kind of noise. And my hands squeezing something soft.
The noise finally stopped. And then from out of the abyss I saw his face, his eyes bulging, his tongue thick and blue. I had no idea who he was but I was choking the life out of him. I let go and he fell to the floor. His chest heaved in short violent spasms, and when he turned his head to me I could make out deep purple bruises around his neck. All the strength drained from my legs and I sat down on the floor next to him. “Who are you?” I asked.
He started coughing and it took him a while before telling me, “You know damn well.”
I shook my head. “One second a lady is screaming bloody murder at me, the next I’m just about killing you. I have no idea who you are.”
He gave me a cold stare. “My wife is Doris Keegan. You’ve been blackmailing her.” He blanched, added, “Forcing her the past six months to have sex with you.”
“That’s what she told you, huh? She picked me up in a bar two days ago. That was the first I ever saw of her.”
Uncertainty dulled his eyes. “She came to me this afternoon and told me all about it and ...”
Someone was pounding on the door. Before I could get up the door swung open and a cop came in. He had his gun drawn, and as he looked from me to Keegan and saw the bruises along Keegan’s neck, a hardness shadowed his face. He pointed his gun at my head and suggested I get on my stomach.
I didn’t move. “You better do it, boy,” he ordered softly. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Keegan smiling uncomfortably. “What’s the problem, officer?” he asked.
“There was a call someone’s being murdered here.”
“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake, officer,” Keegan said. He showed the cop his driver’s license and explained how he was a vice president at the Commerce Bank. Almost choking on his words, he added, “I assure you there’s nothing to worry about here.”
The cop had a tough time buying that. “How’d you get those marks on your neck?” he asked the bank vice president.
Keegan said that his tie had gotten caught earlier in a shredder machine. The cop gave him a slow hard look, but lowered his gun from me and reluctantly left the room. Keegan blindly stared at the door as it opened and shut, then dropped his head into his hands. I saw it all then. I knew what Doris had tried to do. I’m sure Keegan did too. But he didn’t know how bad a move Doris had made. He didn’t know me well enough to know that.
“She got you pretty worked up before sending you here?” I asked.
He nodded, his head still buried in his hands.
I could see her doing it. I could see her working him into the same blind rage she had worked me into, and then sending him up to have his neck broken. I asked him if he understood what happened. Again, he nodded, his head still buried.
“She must’ve been sure I’d kill you. She timed it so the cop would come up here after you were dead, probably figuring he’d kill me too. If he didn’t, if he only arrested me, I’m sure she’d have a good story planned. Both her and her lover, Connor Fairchild. Did you have any idea she wanted you dead?”
He shook his head. His knuckles were a hard white as he pressed both hands together.
If I was capable of it I would’ve taken the first bus I could back to Bendleson’s hospital. But that wasn’t something I was capable of. Not a guy like me. I told him what we were going to do next and he sat and nodded, his eyes lifeless. After a while he left.
It was no accident Doris met me in that bar. She must’ve been out searching for me because she knew all along about me and that baby. She must’ve been one of the faces in the crowd. And she thought she knew what I was and what she could do with me. She was almost right. Almost. But not quite.
It was four thirty. I tried to think things out. Where was she now? At home, waiting for the cops to deliver the bad news. How long would she wait? As long as it took.
Would she call Fairchild? No, that part was easy. She couldn’t risk it. Not if the cops got suspicious and checked her phone calls. Or his.
So I knew where to find her.
Outside it was still hot as hell. The air hazy, dead. I gave a quick glance at the sun and had to turn my head away, my eyes smarting.
The hookers were already out along the street preparing for the five o’clock rush. Each and every one of them looked like Doris. At least at first. After a while I realized they really didn’t. Some were older, some fatter, thinner, darker. Some had bleached white hair. Some were probably bald beneath their wigs. But they all seemed like Doris.
I finally found one who did look like Doris. Same dark oval face, soft red lips, curvy slender body. At first she wanted no part of me, but when I explained what I wanted, she took my money. We both took a cab to Connor Fairchild’s office building and I waited outside while she did what I paid her to do, which was leave a message for Fairchild that it was urgent that he meet Doris at her home at seven. When she came out she told me it went smoothly, that she gave th
e message to Fairchild’s secretary without him ever seeing her.
I took a cab to Doris Keegan’s house. When I knocked on the door and she saw me there her face went blank. I pushed my way past her.
“I killed him for you.”
Her eyes were wide and confused. “Your husband,” I explained. “The guy I saw you with at the Plaza. I had followed him back to his office on State Street, so I knew where he worked. After you left my room I went back there and waited for him. How come your last name’s Keegan and his is Fairchild?”
The confusion drained from her eyes. For a moment she looked very old—older than any of the street hookers I saw that day. She moved slowly to a chair and sat down.
“I knew you wanted me to kill him. You didn’t have to spell it out any more than you did. So I waited until he left his office building. It was easy. No one saw a thing.”
“What about the other man?” she asked in a tired, sick voice. “The one in your room?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Who was he?”
The phone rang. A clock on the fireplace mantel read six thirty. Right on schedule. Doris picked up the phone and mostly listened, only uttering a few words. After she hung up, she said, “That was my husband. Whatever favor you tried to do me, you blew it.”
“Wait a minute! You pointed out Fairchild as your husband and—”
“I lied.” She smiled sadly at me. “I guess you’re in some trouble now.”
I didn’t say anything. “You murdered a man,” she continued, watching me carefully. “All on your own. And I didn’t ask you to!”
“Yeah, right. Sure you didn’t.” I looked down at my nails and picked at them. “Anyway,” I said. “I’m not in any trouble. No one saw me.”
“But you are, Paul, darling. You told me. And I know about the baby.”
“That’s right. But you wouldn’t tell anyone about that. Especially not the cops, at least not about Fairchild. They’d know I wouldn’t kill him without your help.”
She laughed a strangled cat type of laugh. I ignored her and continued, “I guess I should explain something to you. I’ve spent years in a hospital. Quite a few years.”
She laughed again. That same strangled cat sound. “No kidding.”
“No kidding. Although it’s not really so much a hospital as a private sanatorium. Sometimes I have pretty bad problems and I need to stay there.”
I paused, thinking about Bendleson, about how much I wanted to go back. I took a deep breath and told her about Bendleson and his hospital. About what a respected nuthouse he ran and how I always have a room waiting for me thanks to a trust fund my parents had set up. I explained to her how if Bendleson knew about the baby he would insist that at a subconscious level I knew I wasn’t putting it at risk. Of course I screwed up in my thinking, not realizing the carriage would bounce off the curb and roll back into harm’s way. But he would still insist I would never intentionally harm anyone unless manipulated into it. It was always how he’d explain the things I’d do and the authorities always bought it.
She stared at me with a look of utter exhaustion and asked how much was in my trust fund.
“Quite a bit. But I’m only allowed a small allowance. My pop set it up that way as an incentive to stay with Bendle—”
“All right!”
Her face darkened as she sat thinking, then a flicker of light showed in her eyes and she smiled at me.
“You’re right,” she said. “I did want you to kill my husband. And I wanted us to be together afterwards.”
I nodded. “I knew you did.”
“Of course you did.” She stood up and started towards me. “A smart guy like you would.” She lifted her head, brutally pushing her lips against mine. I could feel all the angles of her small body as it pressed against me. From the corner of my eye I could see her hands curling, her red nails like sharp cat claws.
“You could still do it for me,” she said, her mouth inches from mine, her breath so damn hot. “He told me he’s coming home at seven fifteen and the bastard’s always on time. You could make it look like a robbery.”
Of course I knew what was buzzing through her mind. It was now twenty to seven, which would give her about forty minutes to find a gun. She’d find one. Later, after I’d been shot dead, she’d explain to the cops how her husband had given her the gun for protection.
I could see it all in her eyes.
I nodded and she pushed her lips hard against mine, driving her tongue deep into my mouth almost suffocating me with it, and when she pulled back her eyes sparkled. “After it’s over, we’ll be together. And we’ll be very rich.” She pushed herself away. “I better get going. Maybe I’ll go shopping and buy myself something black. For mourning.” We both laughed at that.
She stopped at the door before leaving. “Don’t worry, Paul,” she said with the utmost sincerity. “It will all be over soon.”
Connor Fairchild rang the doorbell at seven o’clock as scheduled. When I answered the door, he tried turning away but I grabbed him by the collar and swung him into the house. “Find yourself a seat,” I ordered as I slammed the front door shut.
He turned slowly towards the living room and then tried to rush me. I blocked his punch and gave him a hard jab above the heart and he just sort of sat down. This time I half dragged him to the living room and threw him onto a loveseat while I took the sofa.
“After Doris and I had our three-hour bed marathon yesterday, she decided to change the plan. Basically same plot, just different players with you and her husband dead. This way it would be lover and jealous husband having it out. I’m supposed to cut your throat. Keegan’s going to be here in about fifteen minutes and then I’m supposed to hold him until Doris comes and blows his head off. Doris wanted me to do both of you, but that didn’t seem fair. So I let her pick Keegan.
“I had to fight with her to see you today,” I added. “I was afraid if she called off lunch you’d get suspicious. But she promised she’d think of me the whole time... .”
I leaned back into the sofa and relaxed. Fairchild’s face was twisted into a sick grimace. He asked what I was waiting for.
“I haven’t decided yet if she’s worth killing for,” I said.
A key sounded in the front door. Then the door opened and closed. We both waited silently as Keegan’s footsteps echoed from the hallway.
When he entered the living room I took him by the elbow and sat him down. He gave a lousy performance of acting surprised, barely muttering a word, but fortunately Fairchild was beyond needing any convincing. Then we all sat and waited. When I heard the faint clicking of Doris’s high heels on the stone walkway, I turned to Fairchild. “I’ve made up my mind,” I said. “She’s not worth it. Beat it.”
Fairchild bolted from his chair. I followed him to the hallway. At that moment Doris walked through the front door. She was holding a gun at chest level. When she saw Fairchild, her mouth dropped open. Fairchild’s own mouth twisted into a slight smile. “Surprised to see me, baby?” he asked, his voice sounding as if he were being strangled.
“Of course I am, darling!” I think she meant it. She must’ve forgotten about her gun because she kept it at chest level as she moved towards him. Fairchild caught her with a backhand across her mouth, then struck her again, sending her sprawling into the living room. She was still holding on to her gun.
She tried screaming at him, screaming what the hell was going on, but Fairchild was blind and deaf to the world. He was on top of her, his hands grabbing her head, his skin dead white around his eyes. His shoulders tensed as he started to jerk her head sideways. She was still holding her gun. Keegan sat impassively watching. I turned and started walking away.
As I reached the door I heard a weird sound. Maybe more like two sounds combined into one. Like a gunshot and a neck cracking.
What did they expect with a guy like me?
Stepping outside was like stepping into another world. The heat had finally broken. I stood for a moment, disor
iented, listening to a weird stillness in my head. Then a soft breeze blew from the east and I turned my back to it, letting it push me along. With a guy like me there’d always be other Dorises and Fairchilds. But that would be later. For now I let the breeze send me back towards Bendleson’s hospital.
You’re Gonna Get Yours
Stephen Allan
Raymond winced every time someone from his old life called him Brick House, and got right pissed when some young punk called him that; almost as pissed off when someone called him “nigga.” So, when the little snot ran up to him while he was eating his lunch on the back end of his rusting truck, and said, “Brick House, my nigga,” Raymond wasn’t pleased.
“The name’s Raymond to most people,” Raymond said as he took another swig from his beer can, hidden in a brown paper bag. He had held the laborer position for nearly a year and felt comfortable enough with the foreman to drink a beer or two on the work site.
“Nigga, please.”
Raymond dropped his beer and snatched the scrawny punk by the neck.
“Some white trash piece of shit called me a nigger once and I spent fifteen years in jail,” Raymond said. “That racist prick spent those years in the fucking cemetery. I don’t give a shit what color you are, nobody calls me a nigga. Do we understand?”
“Goddamn, man,” the punk said. “I just come over to tell you about Jerome.”
Raymond let him go.
“What about him?”
“They say he’s in the ER.”
“What for?”
“That nig ... I mean that boy got himself beat up real good.”
Raymond hadn’t seen his son since he got out of Angola four years ago. He tried to make contact, but Jerome was too much into the gang life. Guns, thefts, drugs, and whatever else he and his buddies could find. All of them barely in their twenties.
“What’s your name?” Raymond asked the kid.
“EZ.”
“Your mama give you that name?”
“Nah, but people been calling me EZ most of my life.”
Blood, Guts, & Whiskey Page 24
