Ed McBain - The Last Brief

‘Ahhhhhhhhh.’ She let out her breath and then walked across the room to her dressing table. She sat and crossed her legs. ‘Do you like working for me?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Mrs. Hicks,’ he said quickly.

‘You don’t really, though, do you?’

‘I like it, Mrs. Hicks,’ he said.

‘I like you to work for me, Jonas. I wouldn’t have you leave for anything in the world. You know that, don’t you, Jonas?’

‘Yes, Mrs. Hicks.’

There has to be a way out, he thought. There has to be some way. A way other than the one... the one...

‘Have you ever thought of quitting this job, Jonas?’

‘No, Mrs. Hicks,’ he lied.

‘That’s sensible, you know. Not quitting, I mean. It wouldn’t be wise for you to quit, would it, Jonas? Aside from the salary, I mean, which is rather handsome, wouldn’t you say, Jonas?’

‘It’s a handsome salary,’ he said.

‘Yes. But aside from that, aside from losing the salary if you quit. I wouldn’t like you to quit, Jonas. I would let Mr. Hicks know of my displeasure, and my husband is really quite a powerful man, you know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Mrs. Hicks.’

‘It might be difficult for you to get work afterwards, I mean if you ever decided to leave me. Heaven knows, there’s not much work for Bahamians as it is. And Mr. Hicks is quite powerful, knowing the Governor and all, isn’t that right, Jonas?’

When he did not answer, she giggled suddenly.

‘Oh, we’re being silly. You like the job, and I like you, so why should we talk of leaving?’ She paused. ‘Has my husband gone to the club?’

‘Yes, Mrs. Hicks.’

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Come do my hair, Jonas.’

‘I...’

‘Come do my hair,’ she said slowly and firmly.

‘Y... yes, Mrs. Hicks.’

She held out the brush to him, and he took it and then placed himself behind her chair. He could see her face in the mirror of the dressing table, could see the clean sweep of her throat, and beneath that the first rise of her breasts where the neck of the gown ended. She tilted her head back and her eyes met his in the mirror.

‘Stroke evenly now, Jonas. And gently. Remember. Gently.’

He began stroking her hair. He watched her face as he stroked, not wanting to watch it, but knowing that he was inside the trap now, and knowing that he had to watch her face, had to watch her lips part as he stroked, had to watch the narrowing of those green eyes. Every morning, every morning, the same thing, every morning driving him out of his mind with her body and her glances, always daring him, always challenging him, and always reminding him that it could not be. He stroked, and her breath came faster in her throat, and he watched the animal pleasure on her face as the brush bristles searched her scalp.

And as he stroked, he thought again of the only way out, and he wondered if he had the courage to do it, wondered if he could ever muster the courage to stop all this, stop it finally and irrevocably. She counted softly as he stroked, and her voice was a whisper, and he continued to think of what he must do to end it, and he felt the great fear within him, but he knew he could not take much more of this, not every morning, and he knew he could not leave the job because she would make sure there would never be work for him again.

But even knowing all this, the way out was a drastic one, and he wondered what it would be like without her hair to brush every morning, without the sight of her body, without the soft caress of her voice.

Death, he thought.

Death.

‘That’s enough, Jonas,’ she said.

He handed her the brush. ‘I’ll tell the cook to...’

‘No, stay.’

He looked at her curiously. She always dismissed him after the brushing. Her eyes always turned cold and forbidding then, as if she had had her day’s sport and was then ready to end the farce... until the next morning.

‘I think something bit me yesterday. An insect, I think,’ she said. ‘I wonder if you’d mind looking. You natives... what I mean, you’d probably be familiar with it.’

She stood up and walked toward him, and then she began unbuttoning the yoke neck of her gown. He watched her in panic, not knowing whether to flee or stand, knowing only that he would have to carry out his plan after this, knowing that she would go further and further unless it were ended, and knowing that only he could end it, in the only possible way open for him.

He watched her take the hem of her gown in her fingers and pull it up over her waist. He saw the clean whiteness of her skin, and then she pulled the gown up over her back, turning, her breasts still covered, bending.

‘In the centre of my back, Jonas, do you see it?’

She came closer to him, and he was wet with perspiration now. He stared at her back, the fullness of her buttocks, the impression of her spine against her flesh.

‘There’s... there’s nothing, Mrs. Hicks.’ he said. ‘Nothing.’

She dropped the gown abruptly, and then turned to face him, the smile on her mouth again, the yoke of the gown open so that he could see her breasts plainly.

‘Nothing?’ she asked, smiling. ‘You saw nothing, Jonas?’

‘Nothing, Mrs. Hicks,’ he said, and he turned and left her, still smiling, her hands on her hips.

He slit his wrists with a razor blade the next morning. He watched the blood stain the sand on the beach he’d always kept so clean, and he felt a strange inner peace possess him as the life drained out of him.

The native police did not ask many questions when they arrived, and Mrs. Hicks did not offer to show them her torn and shredded nightgown, or the purple bruises on her breasts and thighs.

She hired a new caretaker that afternoon.

She leaned back against the cushions of the bed, and there was that lazy, contented smile on her face as she took a drag on her cigarette. The smoke spiralled around her face, and she closed her eyes sleepily. I remembered how I had once liked that sleepy look of hers. I did not like it now.

‘It’s good when you’re home, Ben,’ she said.

‘Uh-huh,’ I murmured. I took a cigarette from the box on the night table, lighted it, and blew out a stream of smoke.

‘Yes, yes, it’s really good.’ She drew on her cigarette, and I watched the heave of her breasts, somehow no longer terribly interested.

‘I hate your job,’ she said suddenly.

‘Do you?’

‘Yes,’ she said, pouting. ‘It’s like a... a wall between us. When you’re gone, I sit here and just curse your job and pray that you’ll be home again soon. I hate it, Ben. I really do.’

‘Well,’ I said drily, ‘we have to eat, you know.’

‘Couldn’t you get another job?’ she asked. It was only about the hundredth time she’d asked that same question.

‘I suppose,’ I said wearily.

‘Then why don’t you?’ She sat up suddenly. ‘Why don’t you, Ben?’

‘I like travelling,’ I said. I was so tired of this, so damned tired of the same thing every time I was here. All I could think of now was what I had to do. I wanted to do it and get it over with.

She grinned coyly. ‘Do you miss me when you’re on the road?’

‘Sure,’ I said.

She cupped her hands behind my neck and trailed her lips across my jaw line. I felt nothing.

‘Very much?’

She kissed my ear, shivered a little, and came closer to me.

‘Yes, I miss you very much,’ I said.

She drew away from me suddenly. ‘Do you like the house, Ben? I did just what you said. I moved out of the apartment as soon as I got your letter. You should have told me sooner, Ben. I had no idea you didn’t like the city.’