The Best American Mystery Stories 1998
Page 2
From the lowliest of criminals to the loftiest of public figures, retribution seems to catch up with every miscreant eventually. And nowhere is iniquity, wrongdoing, and reparation more satisfying to behold than in the well-crafted yarns spun by the writers represented here. While we’re plunged into the darkness by their skill and imagination, we’re simultaneously reassured that we are safe . . . from ourselves.
Sue Grafton
The Best American Mystery Stories 1998
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Child Snpport
from New Mystery
Dexter harrison cursed the biting wind as he pushed the blue baby carriage up the park path with one gloved hand and struggled to hold onto the tugging dog leash with the other.
It was even colder at the top of the hill, and Harrison growled a curse at Lex, his black Lab, for refusing to drop his chewed red Frisbee as Harrison tried to free the dog from his choker collar. As he locked the carriage brake and handed a baby bottle to his son, Adam, Harrison clenched his teeth and swore at his soon-to-be-ex-wife and her idiot attorney for withholding the promised cash settlement until Friday, when Harrison desperately needed $16,000 today.
After shaking the Frisbee overhead like a tambourine to get the dog revved up, Harrison shouted, “Here we go, boy! Come on! Bet you can’t catch this one!” Harrison whipped the Frisbee so hard into the wind it sailed toward an abandoned soccer goal at the north end of the park. Lex bolted after it. He caught it easily with an airborne lunge, ending with the enamel crunch of sharp teeth clamped into plastic. As Lex trotted back with the Frisbee, Adam waved a mittened hand from within the baby carriage and squealed, “Dog-geee!”
From behind, Harrison heard the muffled whump-whump of two car doors slamming far away. He turned and saw a black Mercedes with darkened windows parked at the curb. Two figures leaned into the wind as they walked up the hill toward him.
Pretending not to notice, Harrison glanced around the deserted park. The overhead lamps down by the tennis courts were not yet lit, despite the gloomy overcast sky. The gunmetal gray playground equipment — the slide, a row of swings, and a tilted merry-go-round — sat neglected off to the east. The closest house with a porch light burning was across the street at the other end of the park, at least five hundred yards away. In front of him, Lex danced in anticipation, alert for another throw.
Without hesitating, Harrison threw the Frisbee again, and Lex flew after it, following the crimson arc of the Frisbee’s flight as the wind angled it toward the merry-go-round. Like a pro, the dog timed the approach perfectly, caught the Frisbee inches from the ground without breaking stride, and rushed back for another throw.
Harrison glanced sideways at the two men slowly walking toward him. One was tall and skinny, while the other was broad and immense. They both wore long black coats tied at their waists, and their attention seemed focused on Harrison the whole time.
This must be it, then, thought Harrison. Time to pay the piper.
Harrison looked at his son in the baby carriage, bundled in his little blue parka. “You’re my little rabbit’s foot, Adam,” he whispered as he bent down to take the Frisbee from Lex. “My lucky horseshoe. Nothing bad will happen. They only want to talk to Daddy. I’ll just explain the delay. They’ll understand.”
Adam beamed up at his father and grinned. He was a magnificent eighteen-month-old little boy — bright and inquisitive, with round blue eyes and hair the texture of cornsilk. Harrison treasured his son more than any of his possessions, and so far Adam represented the only profit resulting from Dexter Harrison’s dull and dreary marriage to Dr. Lynn Harrison.
As an attorney himself, Harrison had deftly whisked away temporary custody of their son from his wife. While he had been pondering a divorce, Harrison had spent months preparing a detailed and somewhat exaggerated chronology of all the abilities that made him a wonderful parent, while at the same time embellishing accounts of all of Lynn’s shortcomings, lapses in judgment, and blunders. When Harrison filed for divorce, his attorney obtained an ex parte order from the judge granting Harrison temporary custody of Adam, all before any of the divorce papers were even served on Lynn. Harrison had capitalized on the fact that, while Adam spent weekdays in the most expensive day care in town, Lynn could arrange no baby-sitting for the evenings and weekends she was on call at the hospital, especially on such short notice.
Harrison had supported his wife financially while she was in medical school, and now she earned almost ten times what he did with his floundering personal injury practice. The property settlement had already been reached in principle, with Harrison to receive a large part of it in cash this morning. Lynn’s attorney, however, had deliberately withheld the paperwork until Friday, probably out of spite.
I’ll get even at the custody hearing tomorrow, thought Harrison. His own attorney had assured him that all of their witnesses were lined up and that preliminary signs were good that Harrison would win permanent custody of Adam. Harrison smiled at this thought as he regarded his son. The ultimate prize.
The wind carried the steady sound of boot heels slowly approaching. The two men were thirty feet away.
Still composed, Harrison took the Frisbee from his dog’s mouth and let loose with a mighty throw. Lex pounded the ground after it as if his life depended on it. The dog’s head bobbed like a greyhound’s as he raced to get under the Frisbee before it floated to the ground.
That dog sure loved to run. As a sporting dog, Lex understood and appreciated the thrill of the chase, the electrifying rush of pursuit. He savored the hunt and the kill, even though his target may be only a softball, or a piece of flying plastic.
Lynn, on the other hand, simply had no imagination, no sense of adventure. She preferred her heavy medical books and mildewed chess manuals to the frenzied excitement of a race or the wild exhilaration of a home game.
Chess was boring. It was static, monotonous and simply uninteresting. Harrison would rather invest his leisure time tackling a high stakes poker game or watching a small fortune build at the track. The promise of the big payoff surged through Harrison like adrenaline. Although it was sometimes painful to lose money — and yes, a lot of it on rare occasion, Harrison insured against loss by placing only intelligent and calculated bets.
How was he supposed to know that last year’s Super Bowl champion would lose on Sunday to an expansion team?
Lex returned with the Frisbee just as the two men stopped in front of the baby carriage.
The tall one had the sunken sockets and bulging eyes of a fish, as if he spent days in the dark staring into a television screen. As he peered into the baby carriage and smiled, decayed yellow teeth seemed to burst from his mouth. His lips were circled by an untrimmed goatee that made Harrison’s own face itch when he looked at it.
Harrison gripped the vinyl handle of the baby carriage, trying to appear casual. Just keep breathing, he thought to himself. This is just like being in court.
“Cute little boy you got there, Mr. Harrison. Never seen a finer lookin’ little kid. Wouldn’t you agree with me, Mr. Corillian?”
The shorter man said nothing. He was massive and squat, like a sumo wrestler sizing up an opponent. Thick arms, thick neck — even his eyelids were thick slabs of flesh almost squeezing shut his eyes in a menacing squint. Tight ridges of chocolate skin rippled down the back of his scalp and into a blue turtleneck as he looked first to his right, and then left in smooth, fluid movements, checking out the surroundings.
“Yes,” the taller man concluded, as he clapped moist hands together for emphasis. “This is one snapper of a lad.”
Watching out of the corners of both eyes, Harrison quietly said, ‘Yes, I know.”
“That is a boy in there, ain’t it?” the tall man continued. “Kinda hard to tell when they’re that little, you know? Boys, girls, they’re more or less the same at that age, don’tcha think?”
Harrison suddenly felt crowded as he gripped the carriage handle tighter. “Who the
hell are you guys? What do you want?”
“Ooooh, hey! Calm down, Sport. Don’t get all stimulated. By all means, introductions are most certainly in order. This, as you now know, is Mr. Corillian. He’s not very sociable, so I wouldn’t expect him to hold out his hand and shake.”
The taller man thrust out his own blistered hand to compensate, his naked wrist and forearm jutting out from inside the leather sleeve. “Call me ‘Fish-Hook.’ Pleased to meetcha, Mr. Harrison.”
As if to punctuate his introduction, he produced a long, rusty fish-hook from inside his sleeve after Harrison refused the handshake, and began teasing at lacerations in his palm with it.
Harrison swallowed. This definitely was not developing well. “What did I tell you, Mr. Corillian, we would find our Sport out here playing games. What sort of games do you like to play, Mr. Harrison? I’ll bet Hide-and-Seek is one of your favorite games.”
Harrison’s legs felt like bee hives. He looked over hopefully at Lex, still wagging his tail and waiting for someone to throw the Frisbee. No help there.
Harrison swallowed his initial panic and continued to pace his breathing, gaining control. He could take charge of this situation, with the right approach. He had done it a thousand times before, with a reluctant witness on the stand, or a suspicious client unsure of legal procedure. It was just a matter of setting the tone, controlling the conversation, directing the course of negotiations, and maintaining superiority over these opponents.
“I take it,” Harrison opened, “that you two are here representing the interests of Mr. Shaw.”
“You take it very well,” said Fish-Hook, who then savagely punched Harrison in the stomach.
Harrison’s grip on the carriage handle withered as he folded over and sucked wind. Lex whined in confusion and dropped the Frisbee, but he kept wagging his tail, ready to resume play.
“I don’t have the sixteen thousand,” Harrison managed after a moment with his hands on his knees. “Look, I expect to get at least ten times that much in my divorce settlement. It’s just that the papers haven’t come through yet.”
Fish-Hook arched one eyebrow and glanced down at Mr. Coril-lian, who shook his head.
“This is very bad, Mr. Harrison,” Fish-Hook said, “but such is not our concern. You will have to talk to our employer.”
“But I can’t —”
Harrison stopped as he noticed for the first time another figure walking up the park path. The man was huge.
Where Mr. Corillian was thick and massive, this man was all fat. His face was pink and completely hairless, with splashes of red stinging his cheeks. His gray eyes were intelligent and playful, and his blubbery smile was impish. A hearing aid was virtually lost in the expansive folds of one ear, and his face ended in an abundance of chins overlapping like snow drifts into his buttoned overcoat. He waddled as he walked, with his right hand poised out in front of him, as if he were carrying a phantom cane.
When the fat man spoke, his voice was gruff, but friendly. “Mr. Harrison. We had an agreement. I am somewhat disappointed.” “Look, I thought I would have the sixteen thousand this morning, but I know I will have it for sure by Friday. You just have to give me a little more time.”
“Ahhh, Mr. Harrison, it appears you fail to grasp an essential truth here. By Friday, the amount you owe will no longer be $16,000. It will be $128,000. Compound interest, my friend. Compound interest.” At this he began to chuckle, a throaty, rumbling laugh that rocked his whole body. “Someone once asked Albert Einstein what he believed to be the most powerful force in the universe, and do you know what he responded? ‘Compound interest.’ In your case, my friend, it may also prove to be the most destructive.”
The fat man then bent down toward Lex and picked up the Frisbee. Lex sprang up in anticipation.
“A beautiful animal you have here, Sir. I have always loved a good sporting dog. You love sports, do you not, Mr. Harrison?”
The fat man then swung his arm forward to throw, but the Frisbee merely fluttered to the ground as soon as it left his hand. Lex scooped it up anyway, and brought it back.
“I propose a solution to our dilemma,” the fat man said, with a twinkle in his eye. “I am prepared to forgive your debt and wager you $100,000.” From within his broad overcoat, the fat man withdrew five thick stacks of cash, tightly banded, with hundred dollar bills visible under the rubber bands. He tossed all five stacks into the baby carriage.
At the sight of the money, Harrison tasted warm silver in his mouth. “What’s the bet?”
The fat man chuckled, as he picked up the Frisbee again. “Oh, that is very good, Mr. Harrison. I see you are interested. Very good, indeed. I have been watching you throw this device to your beautiful animal. How graceful he is. He is in his element here, is he not? This is what they were bred to do, and I see you have treated him well.”
The fat man looked Harrison directly in the eyes, his pupils like pinpricks. “I am prepared to wager $100,000 on whether this beautiful dog can catch this saucer eight times in a row.”
Harrison flinched only slightly, assuring himself that he heard the fat man correctly. “He could catch that thing a hundred times in a row!” >
“Very well, then! Let’s make it a hundred —”
“No! . . . no,” interrupted Harrison. “Eight is good. I’m sure he can manage eight.”
“Very good, Sir. Eight times in a row, throwing from this walkway. Let’s say the throws have to go as far as that trash can. That’s approximately fifty yards. Does that seem fair to you?”
Harrison chewed on his thumbnail and considered it. The further the better, actually.
“All he has to do is catch it, right?”
“That is correct. Eight times in a row, without letting the saucer touch the ground. You win two thousand dollars per catch, and you can stop at any time.”
“And if he drops it?”
“Well, then,” the fat man began, and he reached into the baby carriage and softly stroked Adam’s tiny exposed hand. “How exactly did Rumpelstiltskin phrase it? ‘Living things are more important to me than all the treasures in the world.’”
Harrison’s stomach lurched — it felt worse than the punch FishHook had given him. He grabbed the carriage handle and wrenched it away from the fat man. “You’re crazy!”
“Perhaps, for as you say, your lovely animal could catch many more throws than that on which I am prepared to wager.”
“Pick something else! I’m not betting on my son’s life!”
“Now, Mr. Harrison, you are committed to nothing. If at any point during the wager you wish to quit, you simply pocket your cash and walk away. At which point my associates will take it from you and remove one of your eyes as collateral for the balance owed. I do not believe you will enjoy their method.”
Harrison’s mouth went dry.
“Hang on a second,” rasped Harrison. He looked again at the trash can. “Say I accepted your wager. What’s to keep me from just running away with Adam if I lose? There are houses all around here. If I scream loud enough that my son is being kidnapped, someone should come out.”
The fat man smiled, a cold eel grin that showed no teeth. “That is true, Mr. Harrison, you could. We do not have to claim such a fine prize tonight. We have many means at our disposal. For example, please gaze at what Mr. Corillian is holding.”
Harrison had not even seen the silent hulk move. In a hand as broad as a tablet, Mr. Corillian held a laminated security card from the Little Treasures Day Care Center, with Adam’s picture on it, the
I.D. needed to enter the Center’s front door.
My God, thought Harrison. They only give those cards to parents!
“How the hell did you get —”
Mr. Corillian snapped his hand shut and tucked the card into his coat pocket.
“So you see, Mr. Harrison,” chortled the fat man, “we have our means. This is only one potential avenue of collection. We are very resourceful, would you not agree?”
‘You will find that I am a fair man, Mr. Harrison. You win, you walk away a rich man. You lose, you will pay the price, believe me.”
Harrison looked at Adam bundled in his carriage, but Adam’s attention was focused on the money. The stacks of money looked like heavy green bricks. Harrison took the one Adam was playing with and riffled the corners of the bills — they were all hundreds. The numbers danced in awkward animation as he thumbed through the stack, and then thumbed through it again. He lifted the stack and smelled it. He pressed it against his cheek. It felt scratchy and cool.
“I think we have a player, boys,” whispered the fat man. “Please give him room.”
Eight times. Harrison picked up the Frisbee and hefted it. Eight times. The Frisbee weighed 140 grams. It felt like a 14-pound brick. Eight times. Only eight. Eight is nothing. He pantomimed some throws with it, practicing his wrist flick. Eight. He looked at Lex, and Lex was eager. He was very eager. He was ready.
Eight times.
The wind swirled around Harrison, and it felt vigorous.
Eight times.
Eight.
Eight-eight-eight-eight-eight.
“Are you ready, Mr. Harrison?”
“I don’t see that I have much choice, do I?”
‘You always have a choice, Mr. Harrison. That’s what makes life exciting, would you not agree?”
Harrison turned his back on the fat man and shook the Frisbee overhead again to re-ignite Lex, but it was hardly necessary. The dog had been standing at attention and staring at the Frisbee in Harrison’s hand with a single-minded focus, waiting for him to renew the game.
Harrison threw it, and the dog left tufts of grass flying behind him as he bounded after it. The Frisbee sailed well past the trash can, and for a second Harrison thought he may have thrown it too far. It seemed to hang in the air for a long time, until Lex arched up gracefully like a swordfish from the sea, bringing the Frisbee back down with a satisfying crunch.