Эд Горман - Fools Rush In

“His mistake. Jane’s in Chicago right now at a legal convention. She’s back this afternoon. And I’ll bet the biker is turned loose by sundown. And I also bet that Cliffie catches hell from Jane.”

“You sound like you have a lot of faith in this cousin of his, Sam.”

“You will, too, when you see her.”

“That means she must be pretty.”

“I’ve only seen her from afar, as they say. Haven’t spoken with her yet.”

Without warning, she covered her face with her hands. “I’m sitting here on this beautiful day,” she said, the words muffled by her fingers, “and David is dead. I feel guilty about it — every time I see a butterfly or a speedboat or one of those sweet little kids down there, I think it should be me who’s dead — but now I’m tired, Sam. Will you just leave me alone now? Please?”

I walked downslope to my car. As I passed the pavilion, a woman came out and handed me a s’more. I spent the drive back trying to get the marshmallow goo off my fingers. But at least the good taste stayed in my mouth.

“Have you heard the radio in Cedar Rapids?” Judge Esme Anne Whitney snapped at me on the other end of the phone.

“Guess I haven’t.”

“Well, so much for this story not touching the senator.”

“They named him?”

“They didn’t have to. They named Lucy as a ‘very good friend’ of David Leeds. Said that they were coeditors of an off-campus literary magazine.”

“No other implication?”

“No other implication, McCain? Do you have gravel for brains? If this is the first story, imagine what it’ll be tomorrow or two days from now. They’ll find people in Iowa City who’ll say they were dating. They’ll probably even find a few of them here.”

“How long will you be in your office?”

“Aaron will be here with the car in five minutes. Then I’m going home. I need to make a very important phone call tonight on California time.” I heard her lighter come ablaze. One of her numerous Gauloises. “There’s not much we can do about the press now. But we can wrap this thing up as fast as possible.”

“Cliffie’s already arrested somebody.”

“(A) You know all about Cliffie’s track record. We’ve proved him wrong on ninety percent of his arrests. And (B) the thug has already been released. Jane Sykes is back in town, and one of the first things she did was look at the so-called evidence that Cliffie had on the man and she immediately told Cliffie to let him go.”

Then I told her everything Lucy and I had discussed. “Lucy can’t believe there’s a Sykes who could get a degree at Brown.”

“I’m told she’s even an opera fan.”

“She must be a Republican.”

“You and your stupid Republican jokes. If you ever grow up, you’ll be one of us, McCain. I promise you that.”

She rarely said good-bye and this late afternoon was no exception. She simply slammed the receiver down.

“Far as I’m concerned, my brother died because of that colored boy. No other reason at all.”

Will Neville was watching a Maverick rerun when I knocked on the screen door of his apartment on the upper floor of an old house whose stucco had mostly fallen away.

Now I sat in a living room filled with furniture that looked as old as the house. I sat on a horsehair sofa. He had a big Cubs pennant on one wall and a Hawkeye pennant on another. There were cardboard boxes everywhere, overflowing with things as various as kitchen utensils and dusty, brittle-looking shoes. It was one of those suffocating little prisons, his apartment, with faded rose wallpaper and tiny mouse droppings littered across the scraped hardwood floor.

“Just moved in, huh?”

“No. Why?”

I glanced around the room again. “I was just wondering, all the boxes.”

He shrugged sturdy shoulders. “Just haven’t had time to unpack them yet. Sometimes I live here and sometimes I live with my older brothers in Chicago. Not that it’s any of your business.”

He wore a Stanley Kowalski T-shirt and a pair of work pants. He had a belly that could have accommodated a set of twins. He was hairy in a dirty way. I wondered if he’d ever considered shaving his arms.

“Like I said, far as I’m concerned, my brother died because of that colored boy. No other reason at all.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why do I say that? My brother didn’t have no enemies. Everybody liked him. Some bastard followed Leeds out to my brother’s place and decided to kill both of them. To confuse people.” He made a face and then noisily gulped half a can of the A&P beer he’d been swigging all along. He made everything official by belching. “You knew my brother.”

“Sort of.” I’d actually represented him in a Peeping Tom incident a few years earlier. I felt he was falsely accused in that one. But by the time the trial was over, I’d come to feel he was a pretty dark guy.

“Well, then you’d know, nobody would want to kill him.”

“He ever talk about knowing David Leeds?”

“Said Leeds stopped out there a couple of times.”

“He say why?”

“Said he wanted to learn about photography. I suppose they have colored photographers in Chicago, you know, for the colored trade and all. I didn’t think nothing of it, but I wasn’t real happy with him spending much time with Leeds.”

“Had you ever met Leeds?”

“No, but you know how people are. They see you spending a lot of time with a colored boy, they start to wonder about you.”

“I guess I don’t understand.”

“You know, they start thinking maybe something’s wrong with you. Think maybe you can’t get white friends or something.” He smirked. “Especially hangin’ around a colored boy that gives dance lessons.”

“He did anything he could for college money.”

“Still and all, a boy who teaches dance lessons? Ain’t real manly.”

The smirk again. “You wouldn’t see me givin’ no dance lessons.”

It was too tempting. Instead I said, “I see. Did your brother seem happy lately?”

“Happy? No shit, he seemed happy. He come into this job over in Des Moines. Some studio named Brilliance I think it was. Brilliant or Brilliance, one of those. Said that their best photographer got sick and they had this real important job they had to do fast. And they needed somebody as good as the sick guy. So they called my brother. He made so much money on it he slipped me a hundred bucks so I could get caught up with my light bill and shit like that. But that’s what I mean, the kinda guy who would slip you a hundred, who’d want to kill him? I’m just glad my folks aren’t alive to have to see this. And like I said, it’s all this Leeds’s fault. You get a colored boy pokin’ around a white gal, you got trouble. And that’s just what he got, ain’t it? Trouble.”

After driving two blocks, I realized I was probably being followed. I say probably because there were an awful lot of white 1961 Plymouth Valiants on the road. I was pretty sure that this was the Valiant that had been at Neville’s cabin the night before. But I needed a closer look at the license plate. Once I got one and confirmed it was the Valiant I wanted, I let him follow me for another three blocks.

When we got to a red light, I yanked on the emergency brake and jumped out of my ragtop. I brought one of the two guns in my glove compartment with me.

He was slow to realize what I was going to do. The corner we were at was empty except for us. The small shops on both sides of the street were closed. The only activity was half a block away at the Dairy Queen. It was dusk.

He started putting his Valiant in reverse, but before he got anywhere, I shoved my .45 through his open window and put it right to his head.