Lawrence Block: A Long Line of Dead Men

"Why not kill me?"

"Your fellow club members don't want your blood on their hands. But they don't want any more of their blood on your hands, either. There's no appeal from this sentence, Jim. No time off for good behavior. You stay here until you die. Then you'll wind up in an unmarked grave, and they'll start reading your name again at the annual dinners."

"You son of a bitch," he said.

I didn't say anything.

"You can't keep me caged like an animal," he said. "I'll get out."

"Maybe you will."

"Or I'll kill myself. It shouldn't be too hard to figure out a way."

"It won't be hard at all," I said. I took a matchbox from my pocket, tossed it to him. He picked it up from the bed and looked at it, puzzled. I told him to open it. He picked up the contents, held it between his thumb and forefinger.

"What's this?"

"A capsule," I said. "Courtesy of Dr. Kendall McGarry. He had it made up for you. It's cyanide."

"What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Just bite down on it and your troubles are over. Or if that doesn't appeal to you-"

I pointed to a corner of the room. He didn't see it at first. "Higher," I said, and he raised his eyes and saw the noose dangling from the ceiling.

"If you drag a chair over there and stand on it," I said, "it ought to be just the right height. Then kick the chair out of the way. It should do for you as well as the belt in the closet door did for Hal Gabriel."

"You bastard," he said.

I stood up. "There's no way out," I said. "That's the bottom line, and it's the only thing you really have to know. Sooner or later you'll probably try to trick the Cree guard, figuring you can knock him out or overpower him. But that won't do you any good. You can't force him to release you because he couldn't manage it if his life depended on it. He doesn't have a key. There is no key. The cuff's not locked around your ankle, it's welded. You'd need a torch or a laser to get through it, and there's no such thing on the island."

"There has to be a way."

"Well, you could chew your foot off," I said. "That's what a fox or a wolverine would do, but I don't know how well it works for them, or how far they get before they bleed to death. I don't think you've got the teeth for it. Failing that, you can try the rope or the capsule."

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction."

"I wonder. Personally, I think you'll kill yourself. I don't think you'll be able to stay like this for too long, not with a quick exit that close to hand. But maybe I'm wrong. Hell, maybe you'll get what you've wanted all along. Maybe you'll outlive everybody. Maybe you'll be the last one left alive."

When I got back to the main house, Davis and Gruliow were having a drink. I looked at the bottle and the two glasses of amber whiskey and it seemed like a perfectly wonderful idea. It was a thought I chose not to entertain. The pilot was drinking coffee, and I poured myself a cup.

Well before sunset we were on the plane and in the air. I closed my eyes for a minute, and the next thing I knew Ray Gruliow was shaking me awake and we were on the ground again in Westchester.

When the dust had settled I took Elaine to a high-style vegetarian restaurant on Ninth Avenue in Chelsea. The room was comfortable and the service thoughtful, and, remarkably enough, it was possible to spend a hundred dollars on dinner for two without having anything that ever crept or swam or flew.

Afterward we walked down to the Village and had espresso at a sidewalk café. I said, "I figured a few things out. I'm fifty-five years old. I don't have to knock myself out trying to be the next Allan Pinkerton. I'll go ahead and get my PI license, but I'm not going to rent an office and hire people to work for me. I've been getting by for the past twenty years doing it my way. I don't want to change it."

"If it ain't broke-"

"Well, I've been broke," I said, "from time to time. But something always turns up."

"And always will."

"Let's hope so. Here's something else I decided. I don't want to put off the things I really want to do. You've been to Europe what, three times?"

"Four."

"Well, I've never been, and I'd like to get over there before I have to use a walker. I want to go to London and Paris."

"I think that's a great idea."

"They gave me a nice bonus," I said. "So as soon as the check cleared I went to a travel agent and booked a trip. I figured I'd better spend the money right away."

"Otherwise you might piss it away on necessities."

"That was my thinking. Our flight leaves JFK a week from Monday. We'll be gone for fifteen days. That gives us a week in each city. It'll mean closing the shop, but-"

"Oh, screw the shop. It's my shop. I ought to be able to decide when to close up. God, this is exciting! I promise I won't pack too much. We'll travel light."

"Yeah, sure."

"You've heard that song before, huh? I'll try to travel light. How's that?"

"Pack all you want," I said. "It's your honeymoon, so why shouldn't you have whatever you want with you?"

She looked at me.

"We keep saying we're going to get married," I said, "and we keep not quite getting around to it. Trying to figure out where to have the wedding and who to invite and every other damn thing. Here's what I want to do, if it's okay with you. I want to go down to City Hall Monday morning and have the standard three-minute ceremony. Twenty-four hours later we'll be landing at Heathrow."

"You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

"What do you say?"

She put her hand on mine. "In the words of Gary Gilmore," she said, " 'Let's do it.' "

In Paris, drinking the same kind of coffee at the same sort of café on the Rive Gauche, I found myself talking about James Severance. "I keep seeing him sitting there," I said. "Sitting on the edge of his bed with a chain on his leg, and over his shoulder I could see the noose dangling from a hook in the ceiling beam."

"Rumpelstiltskin," she said. "The evil dwarf. What did that mean, anyway? Did he tell you?"

"He probably would have, if I'd thought to ask him. I forgot. But I think I know what he meant. In the story, the dwarf told the girl he'd let her off the hook if she guessed his name. In other words, if you know my name then you have the power. If I looked at all the names he used over the years I'd see the pattern of the initials, and then I'd know who he was."

"But you got there backwards, didn't you? First you learned who he was, and then you figured out what the clue meant. Some clue."

"I don't think it was supposed to lead me anywhere."

"Why do you think he gave it to you?"

"To feel powerful. The man in control, handing out clues like alms, and feeling superior to the beggars standing around with their hands out."

"I suppose," she said. "What do you think he'll do?"

"I don't know. Kill himself, I guess. How long can you stay there before you stick your neck in the noose and step off into the air?"

"It seems so cruel," she said.

"I know, and if there'd been a more humane alternative I would have argued for it. The noose was my idea, that and the cyanide capsule. If you're going to lock a man up for life, it seems to me he should have the option of shortening that life. I've never been able to understand why they have suicide watches on death row. Why stop a condemned man from killing himself? Hasn't he got the right?"

"I guess so."

"Gruliow's completely opposed to capital punishment. I can't say I agree with him. That doesn't mean I want to lead parades in favor of it."

"It's like my position on abortion," she said. "Strictly middle-of-the-road. I don't believe it should be illegal, but I don't believe it should be compulsory, either."

"You're a moderate."

"You bet." She gave me what I believe they call a sidelong glance. I don't know what the French call it, but I'm sure they've got a word for it. "All this talk about death," she said. "You wouldn't want to go back to the hotel for an affirmation of life, would you?"