John MacDonald - The Good Old Stuff

“Will you be good?” Park asked.

Stacey Brian nodded. Park released him.

Stacey said in a level monotone, “Any guy who can think up that kind of an angle probably did it himself. He was on the make for Lisa ever since the first time Bill brought her around. We all knew that. We didn’t tell the cops because we didn’t think he was a guy to kill anybody. Sure I make imitations. But if any of you think I did a thing like that, you can all go to hell in a basket.”

Norris drawled, “You guys can slap each other around until you’re tired. It doesn’t make no nevermind to me. I got my case solved, and I like the solution. Hewett smeared his gal and covered it nice. I got the dope today they found the body just like he said in the tape.”

“But, damn it, man,” Prine said, “can’t you see that Brian could put that on the tape and make it sound just like Hewett?”

Stacey said, “Smith, I don’t want to ever see you or talk to you or hear your name again as long as I live. I’m going back to New York just as fast as I can get there, and I’m packing my stuff and moving out of that apartment we got two months ago.”

“Good!” Smith said.

“You sound like a couple of babies,” Guy Darana said.

“He’s a slick one, he is,” Prine said. “He even did his imitations here for us, because he knew that if he didn’t do them somebody would wonder why he’d given up his pet party trick.”

Norris sighed. “I’m tired. You people are trying to foul up my case. Sleep on it, will you? Nobody leaves the island. I’ll be back in the morning. They’ve taken the body to town.” He looked around with a sudden, surprising, wry amusement. “Have fun,” he said. He turned and left the room.

Guy whispered to Georgie and then said to the room at large, “We’re taking a walk. The air is fresh out there.”

“Be back in half an hour,” Park said. “We’ll all meet at the enclosed patio at the rear of the house. I think that by then we’ll be able to talk calmly and iron out this trouble.”

“Never!” Stacey Brian said calmly.

“But you’ll give it a try.”

“If it’ll amuse you. It’s your party.”

Park walked off the terrace out into the night and sat in the sand, his back against the concrete seawall. He heard a sound and looked up over his right shoulder. Taffy stood with her elbows on the wall, her head bent, her thick white hair falling toward him, a sheen in the pale moonlight behind her.

“He’s right, you know: Smith,” she said. There was utter sadness in her voice.

“Don’t fret, Taff.”

“The poor lost man. Poor Bill. This is a night for losing things. We’re lost too, you know.”

“How do you mean that?”

“I could go along with your plans before this happened, Park. I told myself you were doing good. But I really didn’t believe it. Now a boy is dead. And boys stay dead a long time. It’s been nice.”

He found her hand. “Trust me.”

“I want to. But I can’t. Not any more. Because this thing that happened is wrong. Norris is a fool. You’re being a fool too.”

“I don’t want to lose you, Taff.”

“But you did. When Bill died you lost me.”

“Old Taff. The world mother, the open warm heart for lost dogs and children.”

“Don’t make bright talk. Just kiss me and say goodbye like a little man.”

“You can’t go now.”

“I’ll stay until morning, but this is a good time for goodbye.”

When he came in with Taff they were all in the enclosed patio. The wall lights were on, the bulbs of that odd orange that repels insects.

“Post mortem,” June Luce said. “A post mortem by my generous uncle who pays me two hundred a day to grace his lovely home.” She laughed. There was liquor in her laugh.

“Please shut up, dear,” Georgie said.

“Well,” Park said, “it all seems to be over. And I, for one, am satisfied with Norris’s conclusion.”

“I’m happy for you,” Prine Smith said. “You’re easily satisfied.”

Guy Darana stood with his big arm around Georgie’s slim waist. He rubbed his chin against her sleek golden head.

Taffy wore the look of a lost child. Mick, by the corner bar, was glum.

“He didn’t die easy,” Park said. “It was quick, but from the look of his face there wasn’t anything easy about it.”

“Is this discussion necessary?” June asked. “Even at my wage scale there’s a limit.”

“I’m switching to bourbon, Mick,” Stacey said.

June glanced beyond Falkner to the stone arch that led out into the side garden. She made a sound. It was not a scream. It was harsh and long and came from the deepest part of her lungs.

Park moved to one side.

Guy Darana had his arm around Georgie Wane’s waist. With one heave of his shoulder he flung her to the side. She spun, tripped, and fell hard.

Bill Hewett, ghastly pale in the archway, his mouth twisting so that lips were pale worms entwining, said, “I left some unfinished business behind, I think.”

Prine Smith stood without a movement, with no expression at all on his face. Stacey Brian stood with the glass in his hand. His hand shut and the glass made a brittle sound. A clot of blood dropped and spattered on the stone.

Guy Darana stood with his hands flattened against the wall behind him.

“No,” he whispered. “No!”

His big pale hand flickered in the light, disappeared, reappeared with the glint of metal. Bill Hewett took a slow step toward Guy. The gun spoke, a slapping, stick-breaking sound, metallic in the enclosed patio. He fired point-blank at Bill Hewett. He fired six times. The hammer clicked three more times. The gun dropped onto the stone. Hewett took another slow step toward Darana, grinning now, grinning in a ghastly fashion.

Darana’s big, handsome face lost its human look. The features seemed to grow loose and fluid. Knee bones thudded against the stone. It was as though he were at prayer, worshiping some new and inhuman god. His lips moved and he made sounds, muted little growlings and gobblings that were zoo sounds.

Norris came in from the garden as though walking into a drugstore for a pack of cigarettes. “Okay,” he said, “print that. It ought to do it. On your feet, Darana.”

Guy looked up at him and said, the words pasted stickily together, “There’s nothing you can do to me because it is part of me to avenge and destroy. There is sin and weakness in the world. Weakness and sin. They have to be punished. I’m an instrument of death. The garden and the word. The time is now. All the rich orchard time of turning, and no man is known who can unbend the others.” He glared around at them, then slipped down onto his haunches and began idly patting the stone with the palm of his hand, cooing softly, crooning to himself.

“Ain’t it the way,” Norris said with disgust. “You go to all this trouble and what do you get? He flips just as you grab him. Well, maybe we piled it on a little strong. Help me, you guys. If he’s violent he’ll be tough to handle.”

But Guy Darana let himself be led out placidly. He looked vacantly at Georgie on the way out. She put the back of her hand to her lips, and her eyes were wide and terrified.

They gathered in Falkner’s room. It was two in the morning. The fireplace fire drove back the night chill.

Georgie’s burned knee and elbow had been bandaged. She had lost almost all her casual flippancy.

“What can you believe about people?” Prine Smith asked. “I had Darana pretty well evaluated in my own mind. A big handsome hunk with more of a spark of acting talent than he was willing to admit. I had him pegged to go a long way. Hollywood had nibbled once, but he didn’t like the offer. How do you figure it, Park?”