Макс Коллинз - Shoot the Moon (and more)

“Ain’t their affair. ’Sides, Ralph, they wouldn’t do much better than old Ollie.”

“Sure they would. The bastard’d get his if there was some kind of responsible-type investigation made. But there’s not much chance of that in this town.”

I shook my head in concern. “It’s an outright shame a nut like that runs loose. A damn shame. Too bad the feds ain’t in on it.”

Ralph smiled around the cigar. “Damn right. They’d crack this thing in a hurry, wouldn’t they? But how the hell would the FBI get in on a local deal like this? Rape’s no federal offense.”

I shrugged, said, “No chance of the feds coming in, I guess. But this lad’d get caught real soon if somebody who knew what they was doing was after him, ’stead of us.”

Ralph shook his head. “Sometimes I wish I would have stayed over at the cigar store, but I thought this job’d prove easier.”

With a grin, I lit up a cigarette and said, “It would have if this sex nut hadn’t’ve turned up.”

“He’s not so nuts, Harry.”

“Oh, no, he’s not nuts, he just rapes and kills.”

“Kills?”

“Well, damn near kills. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Well, I don’t think he’s a nut all the way, you know. After all, he picked a town where he’ll like as not get away with all of it.”

“Maybe, Ralph. How about pouring me some of that coffee?”

There was a pitcher of hot coffee on his desk, from which he kindly poured me a cup.

“You know, Ralph,” I said, taking the cup from him, “there’s a joke been going around town lately.”

“That a fact?”

“Uh-huh. It’s about this girl who was married three times and was still a virgin. Know how she managed that? First she married a midget, see, and he was too small. Next she married a preacher, and he was too religious. Then she married a small-town cop, and he couldn’t find it.”

Ralph laughed and said, “There’s more truth than poetry in that one, Harry.”

“Got sugar?” I asked. “And cream? I always take sugar’n cream. Coffee’s way too bitter without ’em.”

It was a pity what happened with Molly.

It was a couple weeks later, I was back on the night shift and the night before I’d pulled off number nine, a plump blonde bitch whose hubby was off at reserve camp. It had been awful quiet on the day shift, no one had found the salesman’s body. They were all too busy worrying about rape number eight. Now that rape number nine’d come along, I figured that would give everybody something else to worry about for a while.

But I was wrong.

Because that night when we were sitting together down on the beach, Molly dropped a bombshell and told me she figured me for the raper.

“You’re wrong, Molly, dead wrong. I didn’t ever lay a hand on any woman but you.”

“You’re lying to me, Harry, I know you are.” Her eyes looked green in the light of the quarter moon. I smoothed a hand over her arm as gentle as I could, but she jerked away and looked out toward the water. The lake was smooth, with only a few easy waves.

“Nice night, ain’t it?” I said. “Be a nice night for a row.”

“I don’t... I don’t feel like a row tonight, Harry. I don’t... don’t know anymore.”

I grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back — real gentle-like, of course — and said, “Molly, honey, would I ever think of touching another woman? You think I’d need to force a woman to get love off her?”

She pulled away again and started drawing in the sand with her finger.

“You ain’t listening to me, Molly.”

She kept on drawing in the sand. She seemed like maybe she was crying, but her voice was steady. “You’re a funny man, Harry. You like your love to hurt. You’re all take and not a damn bit of give.”

I gripped her arm, hard, and she yelped a little. “You’re dead wrong, Molly,” I said again. “Let me prove it to you. Go out for a row with me. Come on. I love you, Molly, you’ll see. Come on out for a row.”

She stood up, circling her bare feet in the sand. Her face looked almost beautiful streaked with tears the way it was. “You’re all I’ve got, Harry... I guess, if I’m right in what I say about you, then I don’t want to live anymore. And if I’m wrong about you, well, then things’d be okay again. But even then, even if you didn’t rape those women, it’ll be bad, though, won’t it? You and me just aren’t right, Harry, so I guess things couldn’t ever be fine, or good. Cause just like you like to hurt me, I like getting hurt by you, Harry... and that’s not right. But if you... if you haven’t been the one doing all those bad things around town, then a little boat ride wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

“Why, course not.”

“But if you were the one raping and all, then I probably wouldn’t be coming back from that little boat ride, would I?”

“That’s right, Molly. If I was.”

“But if not...”

“Then it wouldn’t hurt nothing at all, Molly, nothing at all. Come on, it’s a nice night. Come on.”

She turned and headed for the dock down the beach where the rowboat was tied. Her hair looked nice in the moonlight. She had nice legs when she walked, too.

We untied the boat, then I kicked off my shoes and together we waded into the water and pushed the boat out a ways. We climbed in and I started rowing. She didn’t look at me, just stared out at the reflection of the quarter moon on the glassy surface of the lake.

About halfway out I threw her over, held her head down till she drowned. She didn’t fight it at all. The place where she went under rippled out for a while, like a target, then got smooth again.

Later on I stopped at the diner on Fourth Street. I ordered a breakfast from the counterman, Lou, and started reading the evening paper.

Lou brought me my coffee and said, “Those guys ever find you, Harry?”

“What guys?”

A voice from behind me said, “Hiya, Harry.”

“Well, Frank, how the hell’re you? Going on duty soon?”

“Yeah, in a few minutes. You just finishing up your shift, huh?”

“That’s right. How’ve ya been?” I hadn’t seen much of Frank lately, since that night a while back when I had to stick around and play cop after that one deal. Should have hit that bitch harder.

“Been rough, Harry, what with my regular tours of duty and trying to look into this rapist thing in my spare time.”

“Any luck?”

“Not a bit.”

Frank was a small guy, but even a heel like me couldn’t help but take a shine to the son of a bitch. He was everything a cop ought to be, honest and family-loving and all like that. Only his clean living was taking wear, putting deep lines in his face, around his clear blue eyes, and it seemed like his sandy crewcut was starting back farther on his head every time I saw him.

“Say, Harry,” Frank said, “did you hear about the guy on the highway?”

I put down the paper. “What guy?”

“State cops found a dead guy out here along the highway a couple weeks ago, hushed it all up, not even the chief knew about it.”

“Oh, really? Ain’t that something.” Lou was there with my breakfast, but all of a sudden I wasn’t hungry

“That’s what I was trying to tell you about, Harry,” Lou said, putting the food down in front of me.

“What?”

“Those two FBI men was in asking about that little guy you was talking to in here a couple weeks ago. That little guy, remember? He was the one got killed, I guess.”

“FBI?” I said.

“Yeah,” Frank chimed in, “seems this guy was important or something. Joker was a government courier of some kind.”

“Govern... government courier?” I took a sip of my coffee as casually as I could.