Robert Alter - Carny kill

He was as effusive as a kid about it. He practically skipped while we walked and he talked. I was beginning to wonder if he might be a trifle gay.

He trotted up the Hispaniola's gangplank like an overgrown Peter Pan, calling, "C'mon, Thax. I want you to see my cabin."

"I bet you do," I thought.

But he was all right. He didn't try any hankypanky. He pulled off his wig and beard and I could see that under the grease paint he was only about twentyfive.

He lived in the schooner's aft cabin. It was always kept locked off from the deck. That way the godawful scramble of marks couldn't pry into his home. I looked around and wondered what he used for a head. Probably the lake. There were three handy stern windows.

He had a table set into the butt of the mizzenmast and benches and a bunk bed over some lockers and the windows gave a nice light. He had bookshelves in the starboard wall. I skimmed over some of the titles. He really was a nut on Stevenson…

_The Wrecker_, _The Dynamiter_, _Prince Otto_, _Merry Men_, _Kidnapped_, _David Balfour_, _Master of Ballantrae_, six editions of _Treasure Island_, each illustrated by a different artist, and even a copy of _A Child's Garden of Verses_.

Mike Ransome was watching me, beaming like a kid.

"Know what I like about Stevenson?" he asked. "The deserving always find what they were searching for and live happily ever after. That's the way I like a story to end."

"Too bad life isn't like that," I said. "Stevenson was a romantic daydreamer. He believed in finding treasure. But who the hell says it follows you'll be happy for the rest of your life just because you stumbled on a treasure?"

"Well, Jim Hawkins lived happily ever after, didn't he?"

"I always like to think he did," I said. "But I've got my doubts. Anyhow, look at the protagonist in Ebb Tide. He didn't find his treasure."

"Not in pearls or pounds," Mike said. "But he found something better-at least better for him. Treasure, after all, is only a relative term. A loaf of bread can be a treasure to one man, and an idea can be a treasure to another. It's all in what you need."

He had me there and I admitted it.

"How about some music?" he said.

He had a hi-fi in there and he put on a record. It was a heavy-bodied instrumental and it throbbed mood through the cabin. I haven't much ear for music. I couldn't get too excited over it.

Mike heated a pot of coffee on a hotplate and we sat down at the table to talk and smoke. He drank his java black, cup after cup. He seemed to grow more effusive all the time. He damn near bubbled he was so effervescent. After a while he got on my nerves, a little.

"Well," I said, "this has been nice, but the marks are about due to arrive. I've got to get to my stand. Thanks for the jo." It was damn near floating my hind teeth.

Mike saw me to the door. He was back in character again, beard or not.

"When Ben Gunn is wanted, you know where to find him. Just where you found him today. And him that comes is to have a white thing in his hand and he's to come alone."

He even nipped me on the elbow, Gunn-style.

"Watch out for Darby M'Graw," I said. "I understand his ghost is somewhere on this island."

Mike laughed delightedly.

Halfway across the lake I looked up from my rowing and saw Mike Ransome. He had climbed the schooner's main shrouds and he was waving his wig and beard at me.

All it did for me was make me feel older than I was.

The storm trooper who had tipped me the dirty look in the arcade the day before was standing like a sentry in front of the Admiral Benbow door. He warned me away from the area with another dirty look.

I didn't give a damn. I didn't want any tea.

The luckboy Jerry fell in with me when I reached Pioneer Town. He looked very reserved and lawyerish, until he winked and showed me a pair of handcuffs.

"Off that john?" I asked. "Why, for godsake?"

"I don't like cops that are all fatassed with selfimportance," Jerry said. "I was merely strolling by the tearoom and he says to me 'Keep moving, pimp." He shook his head emphatically.

"That's just begging for it, you know? I'll wait a bit, then I'll put Eddy on to his badge. Later on I'll put another boy on his Roscoe."

"Well, it doesn't matter to me," I said. "You can clean him down to his tobacco-stained shorts for all I care. But what's the big deal in the Admiral Benbow?"

"The law, my son," Jerry said in his judicial voice, "has blundered upon what is known in the jargon as a clue." He dropped the W C. Fields manner and became himself.

"That's it, baby. They figure they've found X marks the spot where Cochrane got it."

"In the Admiral Benbow?"

"Yeah. They found a splotch of blood on the floor and it matches Cochrane's type. Nobody noticed it till last night because a teatable had been set over it. One of the rummies swamping out the joint found bingo after the lot closed at midnight."

"Huh," I said. "Just like Billy Bones."

Jerry looked at me. "How'sit?"

"Nothing," I said. "Just an association of ideas."

I had no sooner got my stand set up and had started my spiel when a handsome young plainclothes dick came at me like Mercury the god and said, "Mr. Thaxton?"

"Yeah?"

"Please come with me. Lieutenant Ferris wants to see you."

"What's the bitch now?"

The naughty word did not make a hit with him. He looked annoyed.

"Lieutenant Ferris will inform you in due time."

Talk about an officious little snot-even if he was six-one. I made a pass with the walnut shells.

"Care to try your luck, son? Win a nice orchid for your little old mother?"

He drew himself up to a shade over six-one and said, "Mr. Thaxton, I'll have to ask you to accompany me without any nonsense."

I swept up my shells and pea and pocketed them.

"Shall I take your arm or will you take mine?" I asked. Then, with a polite little bow, I offered him back his wallet.

"You dropped this, I think. Mustn't lose it. It contains your little tin badge."

"I don't want to have to resort to force, sir," he said, stiff as starch. "It would be very embarrassing to both of us."

"You're right. I haven't been spanked in twenty years."

Bill Duff was all eyes over on his bally. He was probably hoping the law would let me have the book. I gave him the well-known finger salute and fell in with the New Breed type of dick.

Gabby edged down to one end of his counter and looked at me. Funny about carny people. If they're square they'll do anything for each other. All he was waiting for was a highsign from me. Then he would create some kind of phony commotion, to give me a running chance. I shook my head at him.

This new breeder didn't take me to the Admiral Benbow. He marched me to hell and gone beyond the Watusi Village to the bunkhouse. It wasn't much-a long, low, tarpaper shack with a row of surplus army cots and a table and and couple of benches. It had that sour rummy smell of stale booze and sweat and vomit.

Ferris was sitting on one side of the table. He looked at me and his eyes were as opaque as two paving stones.

"You goddam liar, Thaxton," he said.

I stared back at him for a count of three. Then I nodded at young Adonis.

"Will I have the boy from Yale on me too, if I go for you?"

"Just save the goddam tough talk for the tourists," Ferris snapped. "You ain't about to fight me or anybody. Sit down."

I sat down at the table. The young dick stood over me like an MP. Ferris didn't seem to like him much better than I did. It was hard to be yourself around a big self-righteous kid like that.

"All right, Larry," Ferris said to the stern youngster. "Wait outside, huh?"

The kid tramped away like a good soldier and I looked at Ferris.