The .45 was back on the bed, snug in its holster, a dirty, biting serpent but no good at all unless somebody was there to pinch its tail. I heard the rustle of the sand weeds and felt the slip of the sand and when I had my hands on his neck he was five seconds away from dying and all Marvin Gates was aggravated about was that I had made him spill his drink.
“You and Harvey,” I said.
“There’s no reason for knocking me down like that.”
“Don’t ever sneak up on me.”
“I thought I was whistling.”
“You were drinking.”
“Sorry, old man.”
“Speak,” I said.
“Can’t we go refill my glass?”
“All I got is beer in the house.”
“Plebeian, but it might do. I haven’t slummed for a long time.”
I had to grin at the idiot. He had missed his big pitch but was still swinging. “So slum,” I informed him.
The driftwood sputtered and burned with a dull glow and pop onto the bare floor, sipping a cold Blue Ribbon beer without bothering to talk. An hour squeezed by and the fire died to a ruby glow of ashes along the logs and I said, “How’d you find me, kiddo?”
He tore the top off a beer without looking at me and answered, “You had no place else to go.”
“I own the joint.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Somebody bought it,” he told me. “I didn’t buy the Canadian story after I saw you, so all I did was put the pieces together.”
“Maybe I’ll rap you right in the mouth.”
“What for? Who wants a born loser anyway?”
“Pam seems to have held onto you.”
“She’s a slob.” He took a real long pull of the Pabst, put the can down and flashed a smile at me. “I wish I could win,” he said. “It’s hell living in the garbage can.”
“What do you want, Marv?”
“Is it all that obvious?”
“Kill the shit, kid. What do you want?”
Something happened to his face. The mouth was tight and his eyes had a funny color to them. “Maybe I want my balls back.”
“You’re a fucking swindler, Marv,” I said.
“Not really.” He got up, walked to the ice chest and pulled out another can of beer. This time he popped the top and didn’t bother pouring it into a glass. “I’m a stupid, Mr. Kelly. Is that bad English?”
“Pretty bad.”
“I have the unfortunate attribute of loving my wife even after I was trapped in a terrible affair that totally deballed me.”
“You deballed yourself, buddy,” I told him.
“The story is rather old now, isn’t it?”
“Sure, for deballing.” I topped off my beer and got me another one. “Let’s speak, Marv.”
“What makes you think ...”
“Cut the shit and speak, Marv. You didn’t come here to slop up my brew.”
“Alfred and Dennison are both homosexual.”
“So what else is new,” I said.
“You know?”
I gave a little shrug.
“But how do you know about it?”
“I have, er ... some oddball associates who are rather astute at recognizing their own kind. They pointed the finger at both of them. Oh, nothing definite, nothing provable, but I respect their judgment. Since your first night here I have made a few inquiries, but if those two have been indulging, they’ve been quite shrewd about it. The ones they call friends are all very proper and very straight, but there have been many times when they’ve been gone a day here, a few days there, on somewhat mysterious so-called business trips that required rather tedious explanations in detail when they returned home. At least on Dennison’s part. Alfred isn’t given to loose talk unless he’s pressed for it.”
“Not many people would pick Alfie for a queer,” I said.
“He has the sadistic streak for it. He’d be one of the mean ones.”
“At least Dennie has an excuse.”
Marvin looked at me questioningly. “He picked up a dose of clap from a whore when he was a kid and it probably scared him away from all women after that,” I said.
“Understandable.” He had another swallow of his beer and nodded. “That could explain a lot of things. I’m surprised that you knew.”
“I didn’t. It’s just something that’s been on my mind like a dirty joke you can’t quite remember.”
“Well, this isn’t exactly a confirmation, simply an educated guess. I got to mulling it around in my mind and thought it might be an interesting point to pursue in your, er, morals clause combat.”
“You sure have a bad taste for those guys, Gates.”
He turned the can around in his fingers, studying the label. “The venture into the field of swindling wasn’t all my own idea. It’s taken a long time to resurrect the details, but they set me up for it.”
“You didn’t have to take the bait.”
“Ah, but I did. It isn’t very pleasant to live off the bounty of a demanding woman. One sometimes stretches too far for independence. I was outclassed, outmaneuvered and out on my ear before I realized what happened. Life has been pretty miserable ever since. I presume you know all the details?”
I nodded.
Gates put the can down and got up. “Well, good hunting. Didn’t mean to waste your time. Thanks for the drinks.”
“Any time,” I told him.
When he had gone I finished the last of the groceries I had in the house, cleaned up and dressed, then drove back toward Linton and took the road that led out to Stanley Cramer’s house.
All the lights were on downstairs and through the open curtained windows I could see three old men grouped around a table playing cards, each wearing a plastic eyeshade like an old-time faro dealer, hands held close to their vests.
From out of the night a little dog came up and yapped happily at me and before I reached the porch Cramer had the door open and was waiting for me. “Come on in, son. We’ll finish the hand, then we can talk.”
The bald-headed guy was Juke, the other one was Stoney and they had all worked together for my grandfather back in the old days until age had put them on the shelf. Their weekly card game was a ritual they never interrupted, but I was an oddity and part of the past they kept so close to them and an hour went by in small talk about Barrin Industries before Stanley Cramer finally got to the point.
“You know,” he told me, “ I got to thinking after you left. About that explosion and all.”
I lit a cigarette, sat back and waited.
“Went over to see one of the old chemical engineers who was there at the time and he said for the life of him, he couldn’t figure what made the place blow like that. When they were investigating he never spoke up because he kind of figured somebody might of messed around with those acids, left something open and it spilled ... and since nobody was bad hurt and the damage was minor, he just passed it off. But it just beats all how that safe got blown outa the wall the way it did.”
“You said there was nothing in it.”
“Only petty cash and old papers and plenty of the cash was still laying around, so it couldn’t have been
