John MacDonald - The Good Old Stuff

“He still here?” Mick asked.

“Jittery but still around.”

“How did Carlos do?”

“Too nervous. They threw cushions at him during the first bull. The second bull gave him a slit in the thigh. He’s okay. Now let’s see what you’ve got.”

Park studied the pictures one by one. He laid three aside. “It’s between these three. Nice job, Mick. The beach matches up pretty good. The girl seems a little small, but that man, from the back, is a dead ringer for Branneck. We can’t use the ones with the blanket showing, because we can’t be sure whether or not Branneck shook the sand off it before or after he took her into the water. And we don’t know how he took her out. He could have dragged her by the wrists, hair, or ankles, or even carried her. But I’d bet on wrists or hair. Now let’s see. These two here. The surf blanks it out so he could be holding her either way. We’ll have to take a chance on her being on her back. Did you have enough money with you?”

“Plenty. Twenty apiece to the man and the girl and a ten-buck fee to get ’em developed fast. Am I going to be in on this?”

“It looks that way. Taffy drove Loomis over to Tampa this noon. She ought to be back within the hour. Townsend and O’Day are taking a swim. Branneck is tanking up at the terrace bar, and your good wife is fixing some food. Lew radioed that he’ll be back by seven. You could bring him on up now... no. This’ll be better. I’ve shot my bolt. I’ll be in my room. Send Taffy up as soon as she gets back.”

Taffy sat hunched on the hassock, the picture in her hand. Park finished the story. She said, “Once three of us had an apartment in New York. That was a long, long time ago. We had mice. One of the girls, Mary Alice, bought a mousetrap, a wire thing like a cage. Trouble was, it didn’t kill the mouse. The idea was to catch one and drown him. I remember that first mouse. We got him, and he sat up on his hind legs and begged. He was a nasty little item and I drew the short straw and took him into the bathroom, but I couldn’t do it. We finally got the janitor to do it for us. Then we bought another kind of trap.”

“Laura was taking a nice peaceful sunbath.”

“I know, Park. I know. Don’t worry, I’ll do it.”

“We’ll have the tape recorder on, and for good measure I’ll be in your closet holding a gun on him.”

Branneck came into Taffy’s room and shut the door gently. His smile was very close to a leer. He said, “I’ve been watching you, Miss Angus. You don’t belong here with this crowd of sharpies.”

“I thought that we should get a little better acquainted, Mr. Branneck.”

“Nothing would suit me better, believe me.”

“I suppose, as an important businessman, Mr. Branneck, you have a hobby?”

“Eh? No, I don’t have time for anything like that. Got to keep moving to stay ahead, you know. Say, I’m going to open my new motel in three weeks. Why don’t you take a run over to Biloxi and be my guest? Be the first customer in one of the best suites. What do you say?”

“What would your wife say?”

“Hell, we can use you to take some publicity shots.”

“I’m not as photogenic as I used to be, Mr. Branneck.”

“Call me Carl. Anyway, I can tell the wife you’re there for some photographs.”

“That’s my hobby, Carl. Photographs. I suppose it came from standing in front of so many cameras.”

“Yeah? How about giving me a picture of you? Got any... good ones? You know what I mean.”

“I’ve got one of you, Mr. Branneck. Nobody has seen it but me. I developed it myself. Of course, it isn’t too good of you.”

Branneck beamed. “Say, isn’t that something! A picture of me!”

She walked slowly over and took it from the dresser drawer and walked back to him, holding it so that he couldn’t see it. Her lips felt stiff as she smiled.

“I’ll give you a quick look at it. Here!” She thrust it out. His eyes bulged. As he reached for it, she snatched it back. “This is only a print, Carl.”

“You... you ”

“I used a fine grain. You’d be amazed at how dead she looks when you use a glass on the print.”

Branneck clenched his fists and studied his pink knuckles. He spoke without looking up. “You’re smart, Taffy. I knew that right away. A smart girl. Smart girls don’t get too greedy. They stay reasonable. They don’t ask for too much.”

“Isn’t murder worth quite a lot?”

“Damn it, don’t raise your voice like that!”

“Don’t tell me I used the wrong word.” Her tone was mocking.

“Okay. The word was right. I killed her because she wasn’t smart, because she wasn’t going to take a cut and shut up. She wanted the whole works. You can call that a warning.”

“Don’t scare me to death, Carl. Did she die easily?”

“You saw her. It didn’t take long. It was too easy. What do you want for the negative?”

“Oh, I’m keeping the negative. I put it in a safety-deposit box in a Tampa bank today, along with a little note explaining what it is. I opened an account there, too. I think you ought to fatten it up for me. Say fifty thousand?”

“Say twenty.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Thirty-two thousand five hundred. And not another damn dime.”

“A deal, Carl.”

He stood up slowly and wearily, but the moment he was balanced on the balls of his feet he moved with the deceptive speed of most fat men. His hard-swinging hand hit her over the ear and she slammed back against the closet door, shutting it. He stood with the recaptured photograph in his hand. He gave her an evil smile.

“For this, honey, you don’t even get thirty-two cents. I thought something was wrong with it. If it was me and Laura, there’d be a towel tied around my neck. Very clever stuff, but no damn good.”

Taffy, realizing that the closet couldn’t be opened from the inside, reached casually for the knob. Branneck, alert as any animal, tensed.

“Get away from that door!”

She twisted the knob. Park started to force his way out as Branneck hit the outside of the door, slamming it shut again. He caught Taffy when she was still four steps from the room door. He held her with her back to him. A small keen point dug into her flesh, and she gasped with the unexpected pain.

“Now walk out. Keep smiling and keep talking. This is only a pocketknife, but I keep it like a razor and I can do a job on that body beautiful before you can take two steps.”

Park put his back against the back wall of the closet and braced both feet against the door. His muscles popped and cracked. There was a thin splintering sound, and then the door tore open so quickly that he fell heavily to the closet floor. There was an alarm bell in Taffy’s room. He pushed it, raced to the side terrace in time to see Mick run out from the kitchens, a carbine in his hand, looking back over his shoulder. The causeway was blocked. Taffy appeared on the sand strip, Branneck a pace behind her, the sunset glinting on the small blade in his hand. Taffy stopped. He kept her in front of him and backed slowly out of sight.

Park cursed softly and raced from the terrace across the house. With a rifle he might have managed it. But the .38 didn’t have a high enough degree of accuracy. Branneck pushed Taffy roughly down onto the cabin floor of the small twenty-one-foot cabin cruiser. As he ran to the bow to free the rope, Park risked a shot. Branneck flinched and scrambled aboard. The marine engine roared into life and Branneck swung it around in the small basin, crouching behind the wheel as he piloted it down the narrow mouth, dangerously close to the causeway where Mick stood. Mick leveled the carbine but did not dare risk a shot. The cruiser sped out in a wide curve in the quiet water between the island and the mainland.