Джон Макдональд - The Last One Left

“What are you talking about, anyway?”

He went out and came back very soon, carrying curious hardware, and slapping at the mosquitoes on his throat and arms.

“What have you got there?”

“Now just hold your arms out of the way, and I’ll see how it works out.” He put the band of metal around her waist. He had wrapped it in cloth to pad it. At the back he had made several slots, large enough to accept the U bolt he had fastened to the other end. With the U bolt through the proper slot, he put the open link of a length of heavy chain through the U bolt, and with a grunt of effort, closed the link with a pair of heavy pliers. He ran the other end of the chain down through a hole in the flooring, went out and under the shack and made that end fast. He came back looking shamefaced.

“Like an animal, Sergeant!”

“It hurt you any? Too tight or anything?”

“It hurts like hell!”

“You shouldn’t cuss like that, Missy. Where does it hurt you?”

“It hurts my feelings, dammit!”

“Missy, it’s the only way I’d feel right going to town and leaving you here. I have feelings about people, about the things they don’t say. You could promise me word of honor you’d rest quiet and wait for me to come back. But you’d be thinking it was fit to lie because you’d be doing the best thing for me and for you and your people. Later on you’ll know my way is best and when you decide that, I’ll know about it and I won’t have to fool with fastening you up while I’m gone. The state you’re in now, you might do any fool thing, like setting fire to the place so somebody’d come to see what’s going on, or trying to wade the flats and signal somebody in a boat, or even try to float yourself on something and get over to the mainland shore. Miss Leila, I had to find out if this would work good first before I could say for sure I’d go over to the city tomorrow. It looks about right. You got ten feet of slack in that old anchor chain, and I’ll leave you in reach of everything you need, but nothing you could use to work yourself loose. And I’ll be back just as soon as I can and turn you loose. Sorry that chain is so heavy, but it’s the only thing I could figure out except tying you hand and foot.”

“Get this thing off me! I feel like some kind of a dancing bear.”

As he opened the link and released her, he said, “It won’t be so bad, and it won’t last too long, and I swear it’s for your good just as much as mine. I had a replacement one time, a city boy they sent up to Able Company and put in my platoon, felt he knowed everything there was to know, fixing to get himself killed and maybe some of my other people at the same time. Soon as things quieted down I made that boy dig himself a fox hole six feet deep. Gave him a little aspirin box to bury in the bottom of it and fill it up again. Let him rest and then made him dig up that box. Guardhouse lawyer type boy, talking about cruel and unusual punishment and Inspector General and all that. Had him open the box and read the note I put in it. All it said was: Bury this here box again, Soldier. My, how that boy carried on. He like to kill me if I give him half a chance. But from then on he jumped when I said jump, ran when I yelled run, dug when I said dig. Found out finally it was keeping him alive. And he stopped minding everybody calling him Aspirin. Got proud of the name. Missy, I swear those little arms don’t look as much like match sticks as they did. You ate real good this evening.”

“Mother hen,” Leila said hopelessly. “You darn old mother hen.”

Crissy Harkinson, basted in fragrant oils, lay sprawled and drugged by the sun heat, plastic cups like a pair of glasses protecting her eyes from the midday glare, wearing only the red and white polka-dot bikini bottoms, tucked and rolled to the narrowness of a G string. A wind screen, backed with reflecting foil, shielded her from any boat traffic up or down the private channel near the shoreline.

When she heard the rapid slap-flop of Francisca’s sandals approach across the patio stone, she reached with slow hand, pawed and found the towel, pulled it across her breasts.

“Iss ice tea, Mees Harkysohn, lady.”

“On the little table, dear.”

She heard the tick of the glass against the glass top of the table, and a twinkling of ice. She expected to hear the sandals patter off, but they didn’t.

“Mees Harkysohn?”

“What now, girl?”

“I queet. Eh? No working here, eh?”

Crissy slowly took the cups from her eyes, worked herself over onto her stomach on the sun chaise. The towel slipped away. Propped on her elbows she frowned and said, “Get over here where I can see you, Francisca. That’s better. Sit on that stool.”

Francisca sat, facing her. She wore her broad smile of stupid delight. “Queeting, eh? Okay?”

“Not for the day, you mean. For good?”

“Oh yes!”

“Now God damn it, stop grinning at me. What’s the matter? We’re used to each other, girl. And I don’t exactly work you to death. You’ve got a nice place to live. Television. You’re paid right up to date. And paid well. Now what’s this all about?”

“I go to California now.”

“You go to California now. Isn’t that just nifty! Where did you get a stupid idea like that? From a boyfriend. Right?”

She shrugged. “He goes too. Yes.”

“Which one? Your little fry cook? What’s his problem, baby? A wife and kids he wants to run out on?”

“He has no married, no!”

“But you think it’s okay to run out on me, huh? Just up and leave? I’ve been real good to you, Francisca. Are you being fair?”

The girl scowled. She spread her arms wide. “I have no word. To stay one week, two week, what you like.”

“Notice. You’re giving me notice.”

“Ah, yes!”

“Well, doesn’t it depend on how long it takes me to find somebody else?”

“Oh, I find!”

“Don’t go away,” Crissy said, resting her forehead on her fists, trying to urge her sun-dazed brain into motion. Despite the extraordinary delicacy and sensitivity of her face, the poor girl was quite obviously a merry cretin. Garry Staniker had pointed out the ways she might cause them trouble. Crissy had explained that it was a problem they would have to take in order, consider later, if all the rest of it worked out. Now, of course, Francisca had to be on stage for the rest of it. She was a necessary part of the last act, and as the timing was not yet solidly established, it would be foolish to tell her exactly when she could leave.

Crissy raised her head again. “Let’s do it this way, Francisca. Suppose you try to find me another nice Cuban girl. Bring me a little letter from her and a picture. If I like the sound of her and the way she looks, then I’ll ask you to have her come here to talk to me. If I hire her, then you can leave after you show her around. All right?”

“Oh yes!” She stood up and cocked her head. “Here come sailboat boy. Sotch a big noise car!”

“Have him wait for me in the living room, please. Then you can take the rest of the day off, dear.”

The maid trotted away. Crissy stood up, hung the big towel around her shoulders and quickly finished the glass of tea. Holding the towel around her, she went to her bedroom by way of the terrace doors. She spent a long time in her hot, sudsy shower, knowing that the longer he waited and wondered, the easier this next step would be. At last she went to him in the living room. She wore little makeup. She wore a simple, navy blue cotton dress, and she did not smile at him. He came quickly to his feet and started toward her. She held her hand up and said, “No! Sit down over there, Oliver. Please. This won’t take long.”

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?”