Ross Thomas: Ah, Treachery!

“Is there a Mrs. General Hudson?” she asked.

“There were three of them but they all left,” Partain said as he reached the oak door and pressed an inset ivory-colored button. Chimes rang inside. Partain counted to five and the door was opened on six by Colonel Ralph Millwed, wearing a false smile, a dress uniform and all of his ribbons.

“Ms. Shawnee Viar!” the Colonel said, raising his voice and making a mock announcement of the guests’ names. “And Mr. Twodees Partain!”

He opened the door wide and Shawnee Viar brushed past him. Partain followed her into the room and stopped, waiting for Millwed to close the door. It was a large oblong room with too much expensive furniture. At its far end, General Walker Hudson, also in dress uniform, was rising from a burgundy leather couch, wearing a wide smile.

Partain heard the front door close, took two fast steps backward, used his right elbow as a piston and twice drove it deeply into Colonel Millwed’s solar plexus, torturing its ganglia of sympathetic nerves.

Partain spun around and waited, seemingly forever, until Millwed doubled over, clutching his midsection. It was then that Partain brought up his right knee and broke Millwed’s nose.

After the Colonel collapsed on the polished random-width pine floor, Partain knelt, searched him quickly and removed a small Beretta semiautomatic from the right hip pocket. It was just after he had the Beretta in his hand that Partain heard Shawnee Viar snarl her command. “Back down, asshole.”

He turned to look. General Hudson was slowly lowering himself into the burgundy leather couch. Shawnee stood no more than four feet from him, both hands aiming a .38 Colt revolver at the General’s chest. The barrel of the pistol wavered scarcely at all.

Partain turned back to Colonel Millwed, who still lay curled up on the pine floor and was now making mewling noises interrupted by an occasional series of harsh grunts. Partain took out a handkerchief,thoroughly wiped the Colonel’s Beretta, wrapped the handkerchief around the barrel and placed the weapon in the Colonel’s right hand.

“I’ll break all the fingers of your right hand if you don’t do exactly what I say,” Partain murmured. “I’m now going to aim the Beretta and you’re going to pull the trigger. When I say fire, you fire.”

Partain aimed the weapon in Millwed’s hand at a nearby overstuffed armchair and said, “Fire.” The gun went off and a round hole appeared in the chair’s back.

“Let go the gun,” Partain said.

The weapon fell a few inches to the floor. Partain rose, kicked it six feet away, then turned and walked past it until he was a yard away from the General.

“You two are in deep, deep shit,” General Hudson said in a pleased and confident voice, then leaned back on the couch and crossed his legs.

“Both hands on that top knee after you put out your cigar,” Partain said.

The General did as told and said, “Now what?”

“You okay, Shawnee?” Partain asked.

“Never better.”

“We want two things,” Partain said to the General. “We want Hank Viar’s thirty-two notebooks. That’s first.”

The General’s eyes danced from Partain to Shawnee Viar and back. “What if I don’t have them?”

“I get to shoot you,” Shawnee said.

“And if I do have them?”

“Then you live,” Partain said.

“And the catch?”

“We’ll get to that.”

The General nodded at a cherrywood cabinet to Partain’s left. “See that cabinet over there?”

Partain looked, nodded and turned back.

“Well, it’s not exactly a cabinet, although it’s got that nice Tiffany lamp on it. It’s a safe. Viar’s stuff’s inside it.”

“Is there an alarm?”

“No alarm.”

“If it’s a silent one, you won’t finish the night.”

“No alarm.”

“What’s the combination?”

The General rattled it off. Partain went over to the cabinet, knelt, cautiously opened the wood door, revealing a sturdy gray steel safe. Partain worked the combination, waited, pulled down the safe’s handle, tugged at it and opened the safe.

There were two steel shelves. The bottom one held the thirty-two red spiral notebooks of Henry Viar. The top shelf was packed almost solid with currency, mostly banded $50 and $100 bills. Partain guessed there was nearly $400,000.

Partain removed the spiral notebooks, closed the safe’s door and rose.

“Let’s make him read us the part where they tried to make Hank disappear your wife,” Shawnee said.

“We might,” Partain said and put the spiral notebooks on a table.

“Not taking the cash?” the General said.

“It’s not mine,” Partain said, then turned to look at Colonel Mill-wed, who now lay on his left side and was inching his way toward the Beretta that still lay five feet away.

“No closer, Ralph,” Partain said, “or I’ll have to bust something else.”

The Colonel whimpered and lay still.

“Now comes the catch,” the General said.

Partain agreed with a nod and took a small .22-caliber revolver from his jacket pocket. “This is the same weapon that General Winfield used to kill Emory Kite this morning. You heard about Kite, of course.”

“I heard.”

“Well, you get to use it on Colonel Millwed.”

“Kill him?” Partain nodded.

“No,” the General said, snapping the word out. “Never.”

“Think about it,” Partain said. “He’s already shot at you and missed with his Beretta. This was after your argument that ended in a brief brutal fight that’ll explain Ralphie’s bumps and bruises.”

“You broke his fucking nose, mister.”

“And you put up a great fight. But to save your own life, you eventually had to shoot him and you regret it very, very much.”

“Let’s hear the rest of it,” General Hudson said.

“If you don’t shoot him, Shawnee here shoots you.”

“Then she dies in jail.”

“I’ve already spent a year in a locked ward, dickhead,” Shawnee said. “The most I’ll get is six months and I’ll be out in two. I’m Hank Viar’s loony grief-crazed daughter, remember? You murdered my daddy and I went bonkers.”

The General cleared his throat and said, “And if I shoot him?”

“You fuck!” the Colonel screamed.

“It’ll probably end your Army career but you’ll be alive.”

“Let’s get it over with, then,” the General said.

“GODDAMN YOU, WALKER!” the Colonel yelled.

The three of them ignored him as Partain took the .38-caliber revolver from Shawnee Viar, aimed it at the General and said, “Let’s go see Millwed. That’s when I hand you the twenty-two and you shoot him. I’d suggest the temple but you might have your own preference.”

“Partain, you fuck,” Millwed said, not bothering to scream or yell.

As the General and Partain went slowly over to the prostrate Colonel, Shawnee Viar gathered up the thirty-two red spiral notebooks,pressed them to her chest and followed the two men. Her eyes were wide and bright and amused.

When the two men reached him, the Colonel looked up and begged. “Please, Walker. Don’t kill me. For God’s sake, don’t.”

“Let’s do it,” the General said to Partain.

Partain used his right hand to stick the barrel of the .38-caliber revolver into the General’s right ear. “Insurance,” Partain said, then handed over the .22.

“I’M GODDAMN BEGGING YOU, YOU FUCK!” the Colonel roared and then squeezed his eyes shut.

“Sorry, pal,” the General said, squatted, held the small revolver two inches away from Millwed’s temple and pulled the trigger. There was a loud snap and a click.

The General turned pale. The Colonel began to weep. Partain bent over, removed the .22 from the General’s hand, straightened, put the small gun away and said, “Let’s go, Shawnee.”