Lawrence Block - Masters of Noir - Volume 1

“Yes, honey. You told him. You told him because you were hot for each other, and he could move in with a new kind of blackmail, and there would be nothing I could do about it because he knew I was a murderer. You talked about the big dream. The dream was there, all right, but I was never in it. When the time came, you’d have gone away, all right, but never with me. He was the one, honey. He was the one from the beginning, but first you had to have Grandfather dead. You had to have him dead for his money, because you wanted his money in addition to Evan’s. He didn’t have the guts to do his own killing. He didn’t have the guts, and you didn’t have the strength. So you drafted me. Well, the old man’s dead now, as you wanted him, and Evan Lane is dead, too. He’s lying on the slope in front of his lodge, and he’s dead forever.”

She tried again to speak, but nothing came from her throat except a dry sob.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “You’ll never know how sorry.”

I took out the gun, and the glass fell from her hand, and her voice came at last with a hot rush.

“I don’t care if he’s dead, Tony. Honest to God, I don’t. We can still go away together. We can still have the dream.”

“Yes,” I said. “We’ll go away together, honey. I’ve got our tickets right here in the gun. One way and a long way.”

“No, Tony. For God’s sake, no.” I pulled the trigger then, and there was only a little bang that wasn’t very loud at all, and a black spot appeared as if by magic in the golden area of skin just below the place where her heart lay hidden. Her legs folded slowly, lowering her to her knees, and she pressed one hand, with the fingers spread, over the black spot. A thin trickle of blood seeped out brightly between two of the fingers. The gold-flecked eyes were wide with shock and terrible supplication.

“Please, Tony. Please, please...”

Then she lay quietly on the floor, and I turned and walked out onto the veranda. I leaned against the railing, looking off into the timber where night had come, and from one of the trees came the crying of a crazy-voiced loon. I put the barrel of the gun into my mouth until the sharp sight was digging into the roof, and even then, when there was no reasonable alternative, I was a little surprised to realize I was actually going to do it.

First published in Manhunt , August 1954

First published in Manhunt , October 1953.

First published in Manhunt , February 1953.

First published in Manhunt , June 1954.

First published in Saturn Web Detective Story Magazine , April 1959.

First published in Manhunt , January 1957.

First published in Manhunt , December 1954.

First published in Manhunt , June 1954.

First published in Manhunt , February 1953.