Frederick Zackel - Dead Wrong About the Guy

"Go set it up," I said to Flea.

Flea left us, walked to his car and drove off. Corky and I walked off together.

"Now we can get down to business," Corky said.

"Why should we even talk with you?" I wondered.

Corky didn't know what to say to this.

"We don't need you. We have our own ways to make money, and we make a good living at it. What you would pay is ... that's nothing."

"I guess that's right," Corky said.

"Another point, too," I said. "An ex-alkie contacts us. He's got a business deal for us. Murder For Hire. Now, don't you think that's a little strange?"

"How would I know?"

"This is a very strange deal. Somebody like Flea Nichols ballsy enough to contact us. Also, knowing how to contact us. And behind him, living out here somebody like you. We don't know you from Adam, and maybe we should. So what do you want with us, pal? Are you a cop?"

"No!"

"Maybe you're a plant trying to infiltrate us. Maybe this is entrapment. Maybe you're trying to bust me."

"I'm not," Corky said.

"Maybe you're for real, and playing straight with us. Maybe you're not and you're just conning us."

"Oh, no!"

I looked around the harbor, but I indicated all of Maui. "Not too many unsolved murders here, are there? Which means, if we whack your old lady, the only way we do it is so you got an air-tight, iron-clad alibi."

"I have to have that!"

"And maybe our guy don't make a clean getaway, gets killed or caught during the commission of a crime, or killed while trying to escape."

Corky was adamant: "You people make your own escape."

"Oh, we know that, Corky. That's normal. The cost of doing business. But this is a delicate situation. It can ricochet in many different directions. D'you see how fast this could become a frame-up or a set-up or a fuck-up?"

"It's none of those," Corky said.

"See, you're the one coming out of this with the alibi. I mean, that's the whole idea. That's why we gotta know all the answers."

"Go ahead. Ask your questions."

"How do you get along with your wife? D'you two still sleep together?"

"Of course we do."

"Ever fight?"

"We haven't had a fight in years," Corky said.

"Ever fought in public?"

"Never. We get along fine."

"When was the last time you fucked her?"

"Last night," Corky said.

"Were you any good?"

"Last night I was very good," Corky said.

"Good for you!" I marveled at the man. "You are a cold-hearted man."

Corky was angered. "Get on with it!"

"Does she fear for her life?"

Corky was grim. "She should. No. She has no idea I want her dead."

"Does she want a divorce?"

Corky shook his head. "She thinks we're happily married."

"Any other women in your life?"

Corky started swaggering. "Once this is all over--"

I gave him no time out. "Does your wife know you're horny for other women?"

"I'm forty-six years old," Corky said. "If I stop looking at other women, I might as well be dead." He felt vehemently about this. "She thinks it's just male ego, male pride. After all, I am almost fifty years old! She thinks it's a good thing. She thinks it's cute."

"How do you feel?"

"My wife's gotten old. Sure, she's a year younger than me, but I feel twenty-five inside, and she looks forty-five." Corky was aware what he was saying was bullshit. He lowered his voice. "It's immoral. It's degrading. Here I am feeling twenty-five, and yet I'm sleeping with a forty-five year old woman."

"Have you ever been arrested?"

"Never." Then Corky hesitated, remembering. "I was arrested for drunk driving seven years ago."

"And that's all?" I asked.

Corky nodded. "Why?"

"When your wife turns up murdered, if the cops got their suspicions about you already, that's the end of both of us.

Corky was suddenly very tired. "Why can't you just blow her away? When are you going to decide?"

I was smiling, still amused by the man. "Nothing's going to happen for a while."

"Why not!"

"Killing people is easy," I said. "People do it all the time. Amateurs kill on the spur of the moment, and then they get popped by the cops just like that. Professionals take their time and don't get caught."

Corky was thoughtful. I made sense to him.

Afterwards I parked in a scenic area overlooking the Pacific. There were no other cars around. I waited until Flea Nichols drove up and parked nearby. Flea left his car and walked to my car, then climbed in on the passenger side.

"Corky went to a phone booth," Flea said, "but I didn't hear what he said or who he was talking to."

"So he's not doing this alone," I muttered.

Flea missed my words. "What?"

I ignored him. "They put a parking lot on a cliff and call it a state park? What's so special about this cliff?"

Flea gestured at the ocean. "The waves out there. I don't remember what they call them, but I know they're special."

I did not understand. "Why would anybody give a shit about ocean waves? Hell, they kept coming in forever, don't they?" I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. "Waves." I gave it up as lost. "What's Corky's old lady look like?"

"She's a nice-looking woman," Flea said.

"How's he get along with her?"

"He can't be getting on too good with her, if he wants her wasted."

"Is it visible? I mean, can Joe Blow catch on?"

"I never thought so. This thing's taken me by surprise."

I gave up. "Good-bye, Flea."

Flea Nichols slunk out of my car like a wet cat. He didn't slam the door behind him well enough and had to reopen and close it again before it was shut tightly.

I shook my head with disgust. "If I didn’t need the money--!" I rammed it into gear, popped the clutch, and the Mustang flew down the highway, until I disappeared around the next curve.

An elementary school was below the opened window in Ivy's bedroom. I listened to the rhythm of bedsprings already at a fevered pitch creaking like a ship in rough seas, as her small urgent female moans grew louder and louder, and I wondered if we were going to drown out the noise of the kids playing in the schoolyard.

When Ivy Lawson reached orgasm, she called upon the Creator, and then she and the creaking bed both stopped. The school bell rang and the little kids went inside. Then the distant sounds of surf and the rustle of palm trees and banana leaves in the wind again had the afternoon to themselves.

We were sated and naked in her bed by the open window, Ivy prostrate on top of me. After a moment she slowly struggled to lift herself off me. She wiped the sweat from her breasts with a bed sheet, then wiped the sweat off my chest before laying her head on me. She snuggled closer to me, gratefully.

I kissed her. "Tell me about Corky Collins."

"Why?"

"He's one of the people I have to talk with about this National Park."

I waited for her to catch her breath.

"Corky and my dad were fishing buddies," Ivy said. "He's a nice guy. A little blustery, but he's got a warm heart."

"Does he flirt with the ladies?"

"That old guy! Besides, he's married. He's nuts about his wife. They're both nuts about each other. They're going to celebrate their twenty-fifth anniversary next month. The whole town'll help them celebrate. There's going to be a luau, a band, cake and champagne ... "

"I heard he's getting a divorce."

Ivy stopped. "No shit!" She thought it over. "A divorce would cost him plenty."

"How much does he have?"

"Plenty," Ivy said.

I felt great, so I kissed her again and kept caressing her curves of flesh. I like the feel of female skin.

Ivy was relishing this much attention. "We have to do this more often!"

I had a lazy smile. "Your turn, Ivy. Do me again."

Ivy smiled a dirty smile, then slowly slid down the length of my naked body. I felt like a million dollars.