Макс Коллинз - Shoot the Moon (and more)

“We’re doing our best, Frank, ain’t we?”

“Yeah. Our best. Dedicated public servants. Yeah.”

He arched the hardly smoked cigarette out into the street.

“He’ll probably be more careful next time, you know,” I said.

“No next time about it,” he said, “not if I can help it.”

“Know what you mean, Frank, I mean wouldn’t you just like to get this bastard down and kick the hell out of him?”

Seemed like Frank’s eyes were almost glowing. “That would be sweet. That sure as Christ would be sweet.”

I patted his shoulder. “Well, we’ll get him, Frank, don’t you worry. I mean, after all, you figure him a nut, how long can a nut last?”

“Oh, but a damn smart nut, remember. There’s never a fingerprint or clue of any kind around.”

I checked my watch. “I wonder what’s keeping Ollie with that damn Boy Scout crime lab of his? He ought to be here by now.”

Frank shrugged. “Probably so used to this he’s finishing the Late Show or something before he comes over. Besides, what’s the use? That nut’s a thinker, he never leaves anything to trace him. Anyway, nothing a small-scale set-up like we got could ever pick up on.”

I lit myself a smoke. “But like you said, he’s getting more careless. Had so much fun raping this one he didn’t slug her as hard as he should’ve. Maybe this time he slipped up.”

“Maybe you’re right, Harry. Maybe old Ollie’ll find something this time around.”

“Here, Frank, have another smoke.” I shook one out of the pack and fired him up off my lighter. “Stay out here and relax, I’ll go back in, and make sure none of the neighbors messed anything up before we got here.”

Frank nodded. I went back in and looked around. Wiped off the windowsill with my handkerchief, a few other things, too. Had to make sure I wasn’t getting too damn careless.

When I was on night duty I’d go to bed around nine o’clock in the morning and sleep till six or seven. Then I’d go over to the Seaside Motel to see Molly, and sometimes sponge a meal off her. Molly was sort of my girl. She thought she was, at least. She ran the Seaside, which is right by the lake. Her old man, who built the place (both him and the old lady kicked off in an auto wreck five, six years back), would’ve called it the Lakeside instead of the Seaside, only somebody else on the other side of town thought of it first. And the other motel wasn’t even on the damn lake, ain’t that the shits.

The “No Vacancy” sign wasn’t on because the Seaside’s whole neon system’d blown a few months before. But a wooden sign hung in the window of the office saying no dice to any travelers. Not that many stopped, only the regular round of salesmen who filled the Seaside’s seven dumpy little cabins during the week and the teenagers and college kids who used ’em on weekends.

The door was locked but I had a key. I went on in to Molly’s living quarters beyond the office. She wasn’t around. Probably down the hill by the lake.

The night air was chilly, though it was summer, high summer. Of course it’s always cool on the lake, nights. I don’t like the lake much. It’s pretty, like a picture in a travel book, with the neon reflected on the rippling water and all that sort of shit. I’m not much for pretty things, except for pretty things like Molly. Or most any woman.

Down the gravel hill path and onto the beach I went, keeping my hand over the holstered rod at all times. Never could tell when somebody would catch up with me and then all my fun and games’d be over. So I kept my hand over the rod constant, so I could take the pleasure of blowing out some guy’s guts before they took me. Sure they said I was a nut, a psycho (don’t you believe it!) but I was having a hell of a good time being one.

Molly was standing on the beach in a blouse and loose skirt that was blowing up over her thighs in the gentle lake breeze. She was looking out onto the picture-book lake, watching the easy movement of the waves.

She’d heard me coming, knew I was there without looking around.

“Hi, Harry. Nice night.”

“Hi.”

“How about some supper? I could go back up and fix us some.”

I didn’t answer her right away, so she turned and looked at me.

She was pretty, pretty near, her nice hazel-blue eyes the best part about her. Her hair was all right, too, for being all bleached out.

“Well, Harry, what do you say? Is it going to be supper? It’s a really nice night, maybe you just want to go for a row or something?”

I grabbed her at the waist, pulled her in close to me.

“A row, Harry? How’s that sound? The boat’s tied down at the dock. Come on, Harry, what do you want to do?”

I squeezed. Tight. “Trouble with you, Molly, is that you don’t know when to shut up. You shouldn’t talk so damn much.”

“Harry...” She laughed. I was squeezing her so hard it must have hurt like hell, but she only laughed. “Jesus, you’re mean, Harry, you’re one mean son of a bitch.”

I squeezed even harder. “And that’s what you like about me, ain’t it, baby?”

She threw back her head and laughed some more. “You’re goddamn right, Harry, you’re goddamn right.”

I latched onto her blouse and ripped it half off in one yank.

“Hey, you bastard! Take it easy on the clothes.”

“What’s wrong, honey? Thought you liked your Harry to be mean.”

She stood there and the cold got at her, turning her blue and goose-pimply. She clutched her arms over her breasts and her teeth chattered as she said, “Be... be-being mean’s one thing, Har... Harry... But wasting my damn m... money like that’s an... another.”

I wasn’t worried, even if I’d cost her some in torn clothes and the like. What the hell. I reached for her skirt to rip that off her, too, but she jumped out of reach.

“Damn you, Harry! Damn you!” But she wasn’t as mad as she was acting. “I’ll unhook it, damn it, don’t rip it off!”

She got out of the skirt before I could get my hands on it. She walked up to me and I slugged her right in the teeth and she went down like soft rope. I gripped her shoulders and pulled her up and bit into her mouth.

“Oh... Oh, Jesus, Harry, I love you...”

I laughed and bit into her bloody lips again. I liked the taste.

After I left Molly’s I stopped at the diner along Fourth Street for a bite to eat. Usually I ate at Molly’s, but she had this thing about if I came to supper, fine, I can have supper and what else I wanted after, but if I took what else first, I could go out and buy my own damn chow after.

The counterman’s name was Lou and he said, “Evening, Harry, what’s it to be?”

“Gimme number two on the breakfasts, Lou.”

I sat down on a stool at the counter and brushed the crumbs away from in front of me. A guy sat next to me sipping at his coffee. He turned and smiled and started in to talking like people do to cops sometimes, like they’re trying to get in good with them or something. He sounded like a salesman; they’re always getting friendly with cops. That’s how a lot of them find a woman for the night in towns. But you’d think a guy could tell just looking at me I’m no goddamn pimp. Anyway, he starts in to talking:

“You always have breakfast here, officer, at eight o’clock in the evening like this?”

“Sure I do, mister, if I don’t eat at my girl’s place.”

“Why breakfast? Any special reason, or you just like it?”

“I’m on night duty this week, pal, just got up. So I’m having breakfast.”

“Oh.” Back to his coffee for a minute, then: “Hear you’ve been having some trouble around here lately.”

“Yeah,” I said, trying not to get pissed at the guy; I hate pests, but I had to grin and bear it with guys like this so’s folks wouldn’t find out about the “beast” in me. “Yeah, trouble.”