A Long Line of Dead Men

by Lawrence Block

Page 45

 

  He hated them from the start.

  Bunch of self-satisfied bastards. Eating and drinking and running their mouths, and he sat there among them and wondered what he was doing there. Whose idea had it been to invite him? What made anybody think he fit in?

  Crazy, too. Bunch of grown men sitting around and waiting to die. The whole idea of dying made him sick to his stomach. He didnt like to think about it. Everybody died, death was out there waiting for everyone, but did that mean he had to think about it?

  He was shaking when he left Cunninghams that first night back in 1961. If there was one thing he was clear on, it was that he was done with this group of fruitcakes. They could meet next year without him. He was done. Let em read his name or burn his name, whatever the fuck they wanted, because he was through with the whole deal. Luckily they hadnt made him sign his name in blood, or swear an oath on the head of his mother, or any of the usual secret-society mumbo jumbo. They had let him in, God knows why, and he could let himself out. And dont bother to show me to the door, thank you very much, but I can find my own way out.

  But he went back the next year. He hadnt planned on it, but when the time came something made him go.

  It was just as bad. Most of the talk concerned the progress theyd made since the last dinner- the promotions, the raises, the goddamn successes all over the place. The following year was more of the same, and he decided that was it, he was finished.

  Then Phil Kalish died and excitement went through him like an electrical charge. I beat you, he thought. You were smarter and taller and better-looking, you were making good money, you had a wife and a family, and where did it get you? Because youre dead and Im alive, you son of a bitch.

  And wasnt that the point of it, staying alive? Wasnt that what they got together to celebrate? That they were alive and the ones who werent there were dead?

  So he went to the dinner in 1964 and heard Phil Kalishs name read. And he looked around the room and wondered who would be next.

  Thats when he started planning. He wasnt sure he was going to do anything, but in the meantime he could set the stage.

  The first thing to do was die. He thought of a lot of ways to do it, most of them involving killing somebody and planting his identification on the corpse. But Vietnam was starting to heat up, and that was easy. He called Homer Champney and explained that his reserve unit had been called up and he couldnt make it back to the city for the dinner. He wasnt in the reserves, hed never been in the army or the National Guard, a psychiatric evaluation had kept him out, which showed what they knew, the idiots, because he had turned out to be a far better killer than the people they took in. He phoned again, the week before the dinner, to report that he was being sent overseas.

  By the following year hed died in combat. The night of the dinner he went to a movie on Forty-second Street and thought how theyd be reading his name along with Kalishs, and theyd all say nice mournful things about him, and every one of the cocksuckersd be glad it was him and not them.

  A lot they knew.

  He took plenty of time setting up the first one. He took his time with each of them, wondering how many of them he could do before they started to get suspicious. Well, they were down to fourteen men before anybody suspected a thing. More than half of them gone, although not all of them were his doing, not by any means.

  But most of them were. And each time, all through the planning and the preliminary steps, he felt really alive, really in charge of his life. And then when he did it, well, actually doing it was pretty exciting, because it was dangerous and you had to be careful nothing went wrong.

  Once it was done, though, it was sort of sad.

  Not that he mourned for them. Fuck em, they deserved what they got. And it was wonderfully satisfying, because each time it was one more down and he was still standing, and hed beaten another of the bastards.

  No, what was sad was that it was over. A cat probably felt the same way when the mouse she was playing with finally gave up the ghost and died. You got to eat your dinner, but the game was over. Kind of bittersweet, you could call it.

  Thats why he was stretching it out. Thats why hed taken so many years instead of knocking them off at the rate of one a month. Hed kept them from finding out for a long time, and now they knew, and in a way that made it even better, because what could they do about it? Gerard Billings had known, and what good did it do him?

  They wore the best clothes, and they ate at the best restaurants, and they got their names in the paper. Expensive dentists kept their teeth white and expensive doctors kept them feeling fit, and they got their suntans on expensive beaches. And this was their game, not his, and he was beating them at it. Because someday theyd all be dead, and hed be alive.

  "Except I guess I lose," he said. "Youre gonna kill me. "

  "No. "

  "Then someone elsell do it for you. Whats the matter, you dont want to get your hands dirty? Thats why they hired you, cause I know those fucks wouldnt get their hands dirty, but whats your problem that you got to pass the buck? Im ashamed of you, Matt. I thought you had more to you than that. "

  "Nobodys going to kill you, Jim. "

  "You expect me to believe that?"

  "Believe what you want," I said. "In an hour or so Im getting back on the plane with the other fellows. "

  "And?"

  "And youre staying here. "

  "What are you trying to say?"

  "You havent been arrested," I said, "and you havent been charged, and there wont be a trial. But sentence has been passed, and its a life sentence with no possibility of parole. I hope you like this room, Jim. Youre going to spend the rest of your life in it. "

  "Youre just going to leave me here?"

  "Thats right. "

  "Shackled like this? Ill fucking starve. "

  I shook my head. "Youll have food and water. Red Hawk Island is the property of Avery Davis. He comes here once a year to fish for smallmouth bass. The rest of the time theres nobody here except for the family of Cree Indians who live here and maintain the place. One of them will bring your meals to you. "

  "What about keeping myself clean? What about using the toilet, for Christs sake?"

  "Behind you," I said. "A toilet and a washbasin. Im afraid youll be limited to sponge baths, and you wont be changing your clothes much. Theres another jumpsuit like the one youre wearing and thats the extent of your wardrobe. See the snaps along the inseam? Thats so you can get the suit on and off without unfastening the ankle cuff. "

  "Great. "

  I watched his eyes. I said, "I dont think itll work, Jim. "

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You think youll be able to get out. I dont think you will. "

  "Whatever you say, Matt. "

  "The Cree family has worked for Davis for twenty years. I dont think youre going to be able to bribe them or con them. You cant slip the shackle or open it, and you cant get the metal plate out of the concrete slab. "

  "Then I guess Im stuck here. "

  "I guess you are. You can vandalize your cell, but it wont do you any good. If you break the glass out of the window, it wont be replaced- and it can get pretty cold here. If you wreck the toilet youll get to smell your own waste. If you find a way to start a fire, well, Davis has instructed his employees to let the place burn down around you. No ones greatly concerned about saving your life. "

  "Why not kill me?"

  "Your fellow club members dont want your blood on their hands. But they dont want any more of their blood on your hands, either. Theres no appeal from this sentence, Jim. No time off for good behavior. You stay here until you die. Then youll wind up in an unmarked grave, and theyll start reading your name again at the annual dinners. "

  "You son of a bitch," he said.

  I didnt say anything.

  "You cant keep me caged like an animal," he said. "Ill get out. "

  "Maybe you will. "

  "Or Ill kill myself.
It shouldnt be too hard to figure out a way. "

  "It wont be hard at all," I said. I took a matchbox from my pocket, tossed it to him. He picked it up from the bed and looked at it, puzzled. I told him to open it. He picked up the contents, held it between his thumb and forefinger.

  "Whats this?"

  "A capsule," I said. "Courtesy of Dr. Kendall McGarry. He had it made up for you. Its cyanide. "

  "What am I supposed to do with it?"

  "Just bite down on it and your troubles are over. Or if that doesnt appeal to you-"

  I pointed to a corner of the room. He didnt see it at first. "Higher," I said, and he raised his eyes and saw the noose dangling from the ceiling.

  "If you drag a chair over there and stand on it," I said, "it ought to be just the right height. Then kick the chair out of the way. It should do for you as well as the belt in the closet door did for Hal Gabriel. "

  "You bastard," he said.

  I stood up. "Theres no way out," I said. "Thats the bottom line, and its the only thing you really have to know. Sooner or later youll probably try to trick the Cree guard, figuring you can knock him out or overpower him. But that wont do you any good. You cant force him to release you because he couldnt manage it if his life depended on it. He doesnt have a key. There is no key. The cuffs not locked around your ankle, its welded. Youd need a torch or a laser to get through it, and theres no such thing on the island. "

  "There has to be a way. "

  "Well, you could chew your foot off," I said. "Thats what a fox or a wolverine would do, but I dont know how well it works for them, or how far they get before they bleed to death. I dont think youve got the teeth for it. Failing that, you can try the rope or the capsule. "

  "I wouldnt give you the satisfaction. "

  "I wonder. Personally, I think youll kill yourself. I dont think youll be able to stay like this for too long, not with a quick exit that close to hand. But maybe Im wrong. Hell, maybe youll get what youve wanted all along. Maybe youll outlive everybody. Maybe youll be the last one left alive. "

  When I got back to the main house, Davis and Gruliow were having a drink. I looked at the bottle and the two glasses of amber whiskey and it seemed like a perfectly wonderful idea. It was a thought I chose not to entertain. The pilot was drinking coffee, and I poured myself a cup.

  Well before sunset we were on the plane and in the air. I closed my eyes for a minute, and the next thing I knew Ray Gruliow was shaking me awake and we were on the ground again in Westchester.

  33

  When the dust had settled I took Elaine to a high-style vegetarian restaurant on Ninth Avenue in Chelsea. The room was comfortable and the service thoughtful, and, remarkably enough, it was possible to spend a hundred dollars on dinner for two without having anything that ever crept or swam or flew.

  Afterward we walked down to the Village and had espresso at a sidewalk caf?. I said, "I figured a few things out. Im fifty-five years old. I dont have to knock myself out trying to be the next Allan Pinkerton. Ill go ahead and get my PI license, but Im not going to rent an office and hire people to work for me. Ive been getting by for the past twenty years doing it my way. I dont want to change it. "