Эд Макбейн - ’Til Death

This is no one to tangle with in my present condition, Hawes thought. This may be no one to tangle with in any condition. He looks like a man who tears telephone books in sixteenths. He looks like a man who allows automobiles to drive over his inflated chest. He looks like the meanest son of a bitch I have ever seen in my life, and I am not anxious to tangle with him. Now, or maybe never.

But that’s a rifle he’s holding, and it has a telescopic sight, and he sure as hell doesn’t plan to pick his teeth with it.

Do I still have my gun? Or has he disarmed me?

Hawes looked down the length of his nose. He could see the white throat of his shirt stained with blood. He could see his shoulder holster strapped to his chest beneath his open coat.

The holster was empty.

There’s nothing I can do but lie here, he thought, and wait for my strength to come back.

And pray, meanwhile, that he doesn’t take a pot shot at anybody across the yard at the reception.

The black MG convertible had been a gift from Ben Darcy’s parents. Unaware of his private intention to enter dental school, they had offered the sleek, low-slung car to him as a sort of bribe. Ben had accepted the bribe and then entered dental school, anyway, just as he’d planned to. Everybody was happy.

The car was capable of hitting rather high speeds on a straight run, and Ben was doing his best at the moment to prove that the manufacturer’s claims were valid. The top down, his foot jammed on the accelerator, he cruised along Semplar Parkway at the lowflying speed of eighty-five miles an hour.

Beside him, her long brown hair blowing back over her shoulders, Angela Giordano, nee Angela Carella, watched the road ahead with wide eyes, certain she would be killed on her wedding day.

“Ben, can’t you slow down?” she pleaded.

“I like to drive fast,” he answered. “Angela, you’ve got to listen to me.”

“I’m listening, Ben, but I’m scared. If another car should—”

“Don’t worry about me!” he snapped. “I’m the best damn driver in Riverhead. You couldn’t be in better hands.”

“All right, Ben,” she said, and she clutched her hands in her lap and swallowed hard and continued to watch the road.

“So you married him,” Ben said.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Oh, Ben, really, we went through all this on the dance floor. I wouldn’t have come with you if I’d known—”

“Why did you come with me?” he asked quickly.

“Because you said you wanted to take me for a spin for the last time. A ride around the block, you said. All right, I believed you. But we’re not going around the block, we’re on the parkway heading toward the next state, and you’re driving much too fast. Ben, would you please slow down?”

“No,” he said. “Why’d you marry him?”

“Because I love him. Does that answer you?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe me. Please believe me.”

“I don’t. How can you be in love with him? A bank clerk! For the love of God, Angela, he’s a bank clerk!”

“I love him.”

“What can he offer you? What’s he ever going to give you?”

“He doesn’t have to give me anything,” Angela said. “I love him.”

“I’m better looking than he is,” Ben said.

“Maybe you are.”

“I’m going to be a dentist.”

“Yes.”

“Why’d you marry him?”

“Ben, please, please slow down. I’m—” Her eyes widened. “Ben! Look out!”

The Buick came hurtling onto Ben’s side of the parkway suddenly, passing a slower car ahead of it. It came like a steam locomotive, unable to cut back because of the car ahead, committed to the pass, determined to reach the safety of its own lane by a new burst of speed. Ben recognized the impossibility of the situation. He swung the wheel sharply to the right, heading for the grass at the side of the parkway. The Buick whooshed past with the roar of a diving jet as the small MG cleared the vented fender of the bigger car by no more than a foot, climbing onto the steeply sloping bank of grass, and then executing a small sharp turn to the left as Ben yanked the wheel over again. For a moment, Angela thought the car would roll over. Tires squealed as it hit the concrete again, going into a skid, and then straightening to face the dead center arrow of the parkway. Ben slammed his foot onto the accelerator. The speed indicator rose to ninety.

Angela could not speak. She sat beside him gasping for breath. And finally she closed her eyes. She would not watch. She could not watch.

“It’s still not too late,” Ben said.

His voice droned in her ears over the rush of air in the open cockpit of the sports car. Her eyes were closed, and his voice sounded strange, low and meaningful, droning on monotonously.

“It’s still not too late. You can still get out of it. You can have it annulled. He’s wrong for you, Angela. You’d find that out, anyway. Get rid of him, Angela. Angela, I love you. You can have it annulled.”

She shook her head, her eyes closed tightly.

“Don’t go on the honeymoon, Angela. Don’t go with him. Tell him you’ve made a mistake. It’s not too late. You’d be doing the right thing. Otherwise...”

She shook her head again. Weakly, she murmured, “Ben, take me back.”

“I’ll be waiting for you, Angela. Get rid of him. He’s no good for you. Do it yourself, Angela. Tell him, tell him.”

“Ben, take me back,” she mumbled. “Please take me back. Please. Please. Please please please please please—”

“Will you tell him? Will you tell him you want it annulled?”

“Ben, please please—”

“Will you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll tell him.” She did not care that she was lying. She only wanted the nightmare of this ride to end, wanted to get away from the man beside her. “Yes,” she lied again, and then she gave the lie strength and conviction. “Yes, take me back and I’ll tell him. Take me back, Ben.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re not really going to tell him.”

“I am!”

“Do you love me?”

She could not answer.

“Do you love me?”

“No,” she said, and she began weeping bitterly. “I love Tommy, I love Tommy! Why are you doing this to me, Ben? Why are you torturing me like this? If you ever cared anything for me, take me back! Please take me back!”

“All right,” he snapped suddenly. He slowed the car, and then executed a screeching U-turn. His foot pressed against the accelerator once more. Angela did not look at the speedometer.

Tommy was waiting at the curb when the MG pulled up before the Carella house. Angela leaped from the car and rushed into his arms, and he held her for a moment and then said, “What the hell’s the idea, Ben?”

“It was just a wedding gag,” Ben said, grinning feebly. “Kidnapping the bride, you know? Just a gag.”

“You’ve got one hell of a sense of humor. You’re lucky I don’t knock you flat on your ass. You had us all going nuts here until we noticed your car was gone. Goddamnit, Ben, I don’t think this is the least bit funny. I don’t think it’s funny at all. Goddamnit, I think I will knock you on your ass!”

“Come on, where’s your sense of humor?” Ben said, and again he grinned feebly.

“Oh, go to hell, you bastard,” Tommy answered. He put his arm around Angela. “Come on, honey, let’s go inside.”

“You want me to go home?” Ben asked sheepishly.

“Go, stay, do what you want. Just keep away from Angela.”

“I was only kidding,” Ben said.

The men surrounding the body of Birnbaum the neighbor were not kidding at all. There was something very unfunny about murder. No matter when it happened, or where, it was still uncomical. There were some who maintained that the worst murders were those that dragged a man out in the wee hours of the morning. There were others who despised early evening murders. But each murder seemed the worst when it was happening, and each of the men who stood looking down at Birnbaum’s lifeless shape agreed — though they did not voice it — that the worst time to be killed was in the late afternoon.