The Man Who Talled Tales: Collected Short Stories of R.A. Lafferty

by R. A. Lafferty

  “There are emotionless persons who give away nothing to the detector.”

  “He isn't one of them. He fluttered like a jay bird at chance questions about his past income tax returns, unusual money received ancillary to his employment, and marital infidelity in the years of his marriage. But on this he showed nothing.”

  “Then we go to the fellow and his girl.”

  “All right, though Brisco said that the girl called “Than-Q” after them. Chester Barnweller and Agatha Ott are just down from Houston for the afternoon. Chester is of this town originally, being up in Houston for just two years. He didn't notice the girl particularly, didn't think he knew her, but believes it possible that he may have seen her in past years. Chester and Agatha were apparently more interested in each other than in the ticket girl. However, we are continuing to check them out.” “There's no chance that Miss Smith was killed by a more distant shot?”

  “Might stretch it to three feet, but no more. Could have been a foot or even less. Such a small caliber would hardly be deadly at more than three feet.”

  “And the noise of such a small pistol might not have been heard.”

  “No, not in the general sound of Splash Day on the pier. The toy guns of the kids around would have made lots more racket.”

  “Can we keep them all in town?”

  “The Briscos intend to be here for a week. Chester and Agatha were going back tonight, but they will stay. Chester has an aunt in town: they'll stay with her.”

  “Is there anything from the previous ticket buyers?”

  “The lady with the little girl remembers Miss Smith from last summer. They came to the pier often last summer. And Miss Smith used to sell them tickets on the—ah yes, the Razz-Ma-Tazz. They do not have a Razz-Ma-Tazz this year. They smiled recognition at each other, the lady says. The ticket girl was always such a pleasant person, she says. The lady and the little girl are locals.

  “The two little girls who went before, a Miss Coppard in a white dress and a Miss Stafford in a yellow dress, are each seven years old. Miss Stafford says that you really don't get a good look at persons in a booth, looking up at them at an angle like that. I never thought of it, but she may be right. They didn't think they knew her, wouldn't recognize her again, and are sure they didn't kill her. They are cousins and are down here with Miss Stafford's parents. Miss Stafford, who is precocious, says she will work on the case on her own, but will call us in to make the arrest after she has it solved, as she is adverse to rough stuff.”

  “I'm adverse to it myself. All right, bring in the workers.”

  Lieutenant Withers brought in a little creased man who looked like a jockey.

  “I'm Harroway, Sir. I'm at your service for anything within reason.”

  “You are the Wheel operator.”

  “I am. I have worked all the major wheels in the world, but now I'm come down to this. I worked Old Coney, Luna Park, Frisco, Atlantic City, Ocean Park, International Shows, and the old Ringling Midway.”

  “Your full name?”

  “Harold (Half Horse Power) Harroway. Hardly anybody calls me Harold. It's mostly Half-Horse they call me.”

  “Did you notice anything peculiar this afternoon?”

  “That beach cop, Johnny Olds, hustled over and said ‘Stop that wheel right there, Half Horse. Don't let it move another inch.’ I thought that was peculiar since I hadn't started it yet but I'd have done it in half a second.”

  “Was that the first you knew anything was wrong?”

  “That was the first, Captain.”

  “What were your relations with Peggy Smith?”

  “Non-existent. She was young enough to be my daughter. Besides, I'm a rummy. No time for women. Most of the troubles of the world come from trying to keep up with drink and the ladies both; but you can't do both of them justice. A man has to decide on one or the other. I decided a long time ago that it was more fun to be a rummy.”

  “Could you have shot Miss Smith from where you stood by the wheel?”

  “If I'd had a gun and a reason, and she'd stood still for it, I might have got her after six or seven shots. It's twenty or thirty feet, and it's been a quarter of a century since I've shot any sort of gun. Never was very good at it. However, at the time it supposedly happened, I was busy with the little girl in a yellow dress. She offered me an outright bribe of forty cents to let her run the wheel, which I refused. She also told me of an invention of her own that clamps right on the starting lever and makes the wheel turn at five hundred miles an hour. She got the idea from an egg-beater. She also asked where she could buy a secondhand Wheel cheap. I told her. There actually is a junk dealer who specializes in them.”

  “Interesting. Have you ever quarreled with Peggy Smith?”

  “Only met her four days ago when we began to get the rides organized. Had a coffee with her once. Didn't know her well, though she's a talkative kid. No, never quarreled with her.”

  “Have you any idea who could have killed her?”

  “Nobody could have. It was absolutely impossible.”

  Lieutenant Withers showed Half-Horse Harroway out, and Beth Jenson in. “You are Miss Jenson? And what is your employment?”

  “I run the Kiddie Kars. Gad, I could gag. It's the worst spot on the pier, and I hate kiddies.”

  “You sell the tickets, and who's the operator of the Kiddie Kars?”

  “There isn't any operator. The Kiddie Kars are just that, Kiddie Kars. Little kids get on them and ride them. My customers average two years old and are always accompanied by adults. At the time of the hassle I had no customers.”

  “Did you notice anything peculiar?”

  “I didn't notice anything at all till Johnny Olds told me that Peggy Smith was dead and for me not to go anywhere. I thought she must have had heart failure. I didn't learn till later that she'd been shot.”

  “How far is her booth from yours?”

  “Seven steps.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I count steps. I touch posts. I step on cracks in the sidewalk. I put on my left shoe first in the morning. I'm nutty about little things like that.”

  “Could you see Miss Smith when you were both in your booths?”

  “Not unless we put up our grills and stuck our heads out, or looked out the backs.”

  “Were you friends?”

  “She got me my job here. She liked everyone and did things for people, but I found her a little too sweet for my taste.”

  “Do you know how any one could have killed her?”

  “There wasn't any way. She was saying ‘Than-Q, Than-Q’, then Johnny Olds said she was dead.”

  “Did she live alone?”

  “You never can tell about those sweet ones. She was supposed to be living alone.”

  “And yourself, Miss Jenson, have you anybody close, a boyfriend?”

  “No. Nobody. Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Lieutenant Withers showed Beth Jenson out and Marion Mallow in. Marion entered with a coffee cup and saucer in hand.

  “I can really stay only a minute. Then I must run,” she said. “Jail House Coffee isn't very good, is it? That little sandy-haired trusty got it for me from the kitchen. He said I wasn't even supposed to be back there. This is the fussiest place I ever wandered around in. Well, make it real fast. I got to go.”

  “We will set the times here, Miss Mallow. You sell tickets at the concession next to Miss Smith's?”

  “Yes, at the Red Rocket. If I seem a little odd (and I do) put it down to that.

  “At the Red Rocket we get the teenagers. A lot of people don't know what teenagers are. I'm twenty myself, so I still remember. People go through different stages, like pollywogs or caterpillars or butterflies. First they are kids; that's a field by itself. Then they are monsters for a few years, real weird spooks, freaks, poltergeists, things that come up out of the ground. All the misunderstanding about teenagers comes from people considering them as people. They're not people. They're monsters. A
lot of them will never be people.”

  “I take it you don't like teenagers.”

  “Then you take it wrong. I love them. As monsters. The moment you look at them as humans they're repulsive. The point I'm making is that the Red Rocket is a busy place. If I was the one that got killed I don't believe I'd even notice it for a while, I'm always so busy there.”

  “Then you didn't see anything odd going on around Miss Smith's booth?”

  “No I didn't. And it was unusual for everything to be usual there. Am I clear?”

  “Like a bell. Did you like Miss Smith?”

  “No. There's not a person or a thing in the world that I like.”

  “That seems extreme.”

  “I love lots of things. And the rest I hold in contempt.”

  “That may be only a manner of speaking. You are still essentially a teenager and you may have miscounted your birthdays. Well, did you love Peggy Smith?”

  “Sometimes I did, and sometimes I was jealous of her. I'm jealous of girls who are prettier than I am.”

  “Are you jealous of Beth Jenson?”

  “Of course not. I'm prettier than she is.”

  “I'd have called it about a toss-up.”

  “You can't be serious, captain. Or you may be reaching the age where you really should be wearing glasses. I wouldn't put it off if I were you. Well, I have to go. So much to do, you know.”

  “Sit down and don't get cute Miss Mallow. Have you many boyfriends?”

  “All I can get. But no, not many. They're hellish hard to get, what with most of the tourist kids being female and all of them so pretty.”

  “Had Miss Smith many boyfriends?”

  “Peggy Smith's boyfriends may have been the main commodity of this port. In tonnage they would exceed cotton and sulphur and cattle and may have been close to oil. I haven't seen the latest port authority figures. Yes, she had lots of them.”

  “Has Miss Jenson many boyfriends?”

  “She never had any I know of except Ori. And Ori, well I won't call him a simpleton since I live in a glass house myself, but you'd have to call him undistinguished. Beth always seemed attached to him though.”

  “Now, Marion, what does ‘Two Kings Twelve Three’ mean to you?”

  “It sounds like one of those games where they use cards and dice both.”

  “And what else might it mean?”

  “Well for one thing, with you long-nosed cops jumping every time that mainland sheriff pops his mouth, since you've been getting rough on the numbers game the last couple of days, some people have been using the Bible verse-and-chapter for pots.”

  “Do you sell tabs, Marion? Or dabble in the punch, or pull numbers in any way?”

  “A little bit. I'll place your bet for Two Kings Twelve Three if you want me to. It may be a hot tip. I'd like to go back to the serial numbers though. They're easier.”

  “Did Peggy Smith sell tab books or any such stuff?”

  “A little bit. All the girls do. You have to have a couple of jobs to make a living.”

  “We are sorry to have kept you so long, Miss Mallow. We'll likely need you again later. And next time we'll try to have better coffee.”

  “You do that, dear.”

  “Now what do we do?” Lieutenant Withers asked. “We look at all we have, and then we start around again. What of ‘Two Kings Twelve Three’ the note that Peggy Smith had in her hand when she was dead?”

  “It may be only a betting text as Miss Mallow suggests. The Bible reading of the passage is ‘But the high places are not taken away; the people still sacrificed and burnt incense in the high places.’ ”

  “I can't work anything out from that. I can't even work the cryptograms they have underneath the crossword puzzles in the daily paper. Get Patrolman Johnny Olds in here.”

  He came in after a little while.

  “Olds, how well did you know the murdered girl?” the Captain asked.

  “She worked on the pier last summer too. I knew her. She was friendly. If I weren't a married man I would surely have gone for her.”

  “How well did you know Miss Jenson and Miss Mallow who worked the two concessions on either side of her?”

  “They aren't quite as pretty, and I was never quite as interested: Beth is salt. Marlon is pepper. Peggy Smith was pure sugar.”

  “Had Pepper any boyfriends?”

  “A few, some of them younger than herself, moon calves and pasture colts, duck-tails and sideburns. But she had also started to go out with men.”

  “And Salt, had she any boyfriends?”

  “Only one, Ori Land, or that is all I ever knew her to have.”

  “What's he like? She says she has no boyfriends, nothing at all.”

  “That's what he's like. Nothing at all. I believe he could be found easily.”

  Ori Land had a room in one of those old buildings about three blocks back from the beach, an apartment building where units had been chopped up into still smaller units. And Ori was in his room which had the aroma of a barber shop, or those mens' scents called Heather or Pine Needles or such, or a little like the smell of just a warm evening and no air conditioning. And Ori was terrified of the police. It seemed as though he was easily terrified. He looked like a patsy out of a high school play from some forgotten springtime. He wore a bow tie and his hair was parted in the middle. He was short, stubby, and he was pretty. There was no other word for it. Ori was a pretty young man.

  “We did not mean to frighten you, Ori,” Captain Johns said. “We are only looking for background material on several young persons, one of whom died this afternoon.”

  “Yes,” he bobbled his Adam's apple, “I know who you mean. Peggy Smith was wonderful. She may have been the finest lady in the world. She was nice to me. Hardly anybody pays any attention to me at all.”

  “Did you ever have a date with her?”

  “No, but we were going to have a date, tonight. After she got back from her dancing date she said she would come down from her room by the other way, and I could buy her a coffee at Speedways Café. I imagine that is off now though.”

  “Yes, it's off now, Ori. What were your relations with Miss Jenson?”

  “I knew her for a long time. She helped me out sometimes. I guess I must owe her ten or twelve dollars by now. But I'd never beat anybody out of anything.”

  “What is your employment, Ori?”

  “I've been waiting for a call to a position of some stature.”

  “And what are you doing while waiting for that call?”

  “Well, I have always believed that I would be a crackerjack as a salesman or contact man, but I have been hampered by lack of education. And I'm interested in the acting profession and have considered enrolling in an acting school.”

  “I'm interested in a variety of things myself, Ori, but mainly I'm interested in one. What is your employment?”

  “Ah, I shine shoes at the White Fleet Barber Shop. But if I ever get a break I'll be a barber myself or something big.”

  “Do you know anyone around the Pleasure Pier who owns a small caliber pistol?”

  “Peggy Smith had one. She used to shoot at those wading birds on the beach in the afternoons. Then Mr. Olds the beach cop made her stop.”

  “Yes, I made her stop,” said Olds. “It's illegal to shoot a pistol on that part of the beach within the city limits, even if it is only a small pistol, even if it is just shooting at wading birds or sand runners. I told Lieutenant Withers about Peggy Smith's pistol this afternoon. He has the serial and model and description, and it is registered in her name.”

  “But we haven't found it, Captain,” said the lieutenant. “Possibly it could have fired the shot. We won't know till we find it.”

  “All right, Ori. Were the three girls, Beth Jenson, Peggy Smith, and Marion Mallow close?”

  “Just about twenty feet apart. Their rides were all next to each other.”

  “That isn't exactly what I meant.”

  Lieutenant Withers a
nd Captain Johns had supper at the Big Oyster with its fine sea view in the later afternoon. From their table they could see the Pleasure Pier with the lights now going on and everything in full swing, except the Big Wheel that did not turn and the Red Rocket that did not soar. And perhaps the Kiddie Kars didn't creep. They could not be seen. They had no high tower. But everything else was running like a perpetual midway. It was Splash Day, little brother of Carnival, nephew of Mardi Gras. A patrolman brought them a message. A lady's purse pistol, very small, had been found at Salt Water Sam's in the dish water. It might have been tossed in with the coffee cups, and Salt Water Sam's was not a hundred feet from any of those girls' booths. It was a coffee and soft drink and corndog and hamburger place, a barbecue and hot-dog and coney island stand. The little pistol was found in the sink where the coffee cups are doused.

  “Well, since we can't place any person there, let us place a coffee cup there at least,” Captain Johns said. “It may have been a self-propelled cup, but I believe that it made the trip to Peggy's booth and then back to Salt Water Sam's. But a cup seldom moves long distances by itself.”

  They finished their supper and they went across to the pier to have their coffee at Salt Water Sam's, and they asked Sam about it.

  “I couldn't even tell those little girls apart,” Sam said. “There are eight or ten of them selling tickets at the different booths. The season is just getting under way. Last season I had a lunch place on West Beach, not here. I don't really know them, but they're a very friendly bunch of girls. Yes, they drink a lot of coffee. One girl, when she gets a slow moment, comes and gets coffee for four or five of them. I believe those three did have their own coffee circle. One or the other of them was always coming for it. And here comes one of them now.”

  “Ah, Miss Pepper, which is to say Miss Mallow,” said Captain Johns, “you were to remain where we could find you at any time.”

  “Well, you can find me easily enough now,” said Marion Mallow. “I was watching you when you went to visit Ori, and when you went to the Big Oyster to eat, and when you came here. I was trying to see how you operate, but you don't operate at all, do you?”