The Comedy is Finished

“Before then, before Ginger gets back, we have to take care of Davis.”

Now she did look at him, saying, “Shouldn’t we wait till tonight? How do we get him away from here?”

“We don’t. This is where they’ll find him.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “What does that do for your friend Ginger?”

“Ginger no longer wants to be a part of us,” Peter explained. “He’s made that very clear. So it’s no longer necessary for us to protect Ginger.”

“He’ll give your name to the police.”

“Good. I’ll want the authorities to know this was my operation, so they’ll be more circumspect with me next time.”

“Next time.” She said it without inflection.

“We have to act now, Liz,” Peter said, emphasizing his words in an attempt to capture her attention. “And it’s only the two of us. Larry is useless, and Mark has gone completely over the edge.”

“There’s something between him and Davis,” Liz said.

“I know that. I can’t figure out what it is.” Peter’s irritation was surfacing more and more. “When I wanted Davis alive, Mark was determined to kill him. Now when I want Davis dead, Mark stands over him like a faithful collie. We have to take him out, Liz, just you and I.”

“Take Mark out?”

“We can do it. There are two of us and he won’t expect—”

“No no,” she said, slapping the air to make him stop talking. “I know we can do it. I’m surprised you want to do it. There aren’t many of us left.”

“Mark has already chosen to be in opposition to us.”

Liz shrugged; nothing ever surprised or baffled her for long, a trait Peter was frequently grateful for. “Then we’ll have to kill him,” she said. “If we just draw him away, he’ll make trouble later.”

“That’s right. What we’ll do, you’ll knock on the door, talk to him, get him to come out of the room. I’ll be partway down the stairs, where he won’t be able to see me until he’s completely out in the hall. When he comes out I’ll shoot him. Then it’ll be your job to keep the door open. I don’t want Davis locking it from the inside, forcing us to batter the damn thing down before we can get at him.”

“What if Mark won’t come out?”

“We need an inducement.” Peter frowned at her. “What about sex? Could you get him out that way?”

Laughing, she said, “Not a chance.” Her face and the sound of her laughter were both harsh. “Not with Mark,” she said. “He’s even worse than you.”

What did she mean by that? Choosing not to pursue it, Peter said, “Something else, then. Tell him something, I don’t care what. Get him to just step across the threshold, that’s all.”

“Let me think.” She half-turned to gaze out toward the glass doors and the deck. Peter looked in the same direction, seeing Larry slumped in an orange butterfly chair out there, like a TB victim getting a final infusion of sun. Beyond the deck, the beach and ocean were lightly peopled by swimmers, surfers, hikers, sunbathers. The amazing thing was that this place could at the same time be so public and yet so private. Hundreds of people moved up and down the beach out there, past the long row of dwellings, never guessing what this one beach house contained.

Liz said, “I’ll tell him you caught Larry trying to call the police.”

“You mean—to turn himself in?”

“To turn us all in.”

Peter looked out again at the despondent figure on the deck. “God knows it’s believable.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” With a lithe movement, Liz uncoiled herself out of the chair. “If we’re going to do it, let’s do it.”

“Wait. I have to get the gun.”

Peter’s luggage was in the room where he’d made the two tapes; the one they’d sent last night to the authorities, and the one he’d made this morning, to be left next to Davis’ body. Now, while Liz waited at the foot of the stairs, he went into that room and took from the bottom of his suitcase a small revolver; a .32 caliber Colt Cobra, with a two-inch barrel. Also in the suitcase were a Browning .380 automatic, a Ruger .357 Blackhawk revolver, and a .38 Colt Police Positive Special revolver; all larger, heavier guns than the Cobra. Peter had collected these guns over the last few years, buying them all legally, but he had no real interest in or liking for guns and had never become comfortable with any of them. He did not practice shooting, didn’t entirely trust guns, and whenever he felt the need for one he invariably chose the Cobra, being the smallest and lightest and therefore the least intimidating.

Liz had already started up the stairs, and was waiting now three steps from the top. Peter followed, stopped two steps below her, and whispered, “Go ahead.”

“Are you close enough?”

“Yes yes! Go on!”

It was necessary for Peter to clench his jaw to stop the teeth from grinding; he couldn’t afford that distraction now. Pressing his left side against the stairwell wall, he held the Cobra in both hands, out at arm’s length, his left arm braced against the wall, the revolver barrel pointed at a head-high spot directly in front of that bedroom door. Although Peter disliked guns, he knew himself capable of using them effectively at short range; twice before he had shot people, once fatally and once wounding a policeman in the side. There would be no difficulty now with Mark and with Davis.

At the bedroom door, Liz paused and looked down at Peter, who nodded to her that he was ready. Without hesitation, she knocked sharply at the door, and a few seconds later Peter heard the rumbling voice of Mark; though he wasn’t near enough to make out the exact words.

“It’s Liz.”

Mark rumbled again.

“I have to talk to you. Come on, Mark, don’t make me yell through the door.”

Peter’s perceptions were so acute now that he could see the doorknob turn. He watched it disappear as the door opened inward, but Mark did not immediately appear.

Now, however, Peter could hear what Mark was saying: “What’s the problem?”

“It’s Larry.” Liz’s manner seemed to Peter offhand and mechanical; shouldn’t she sound more troubled? Or was this more appropriate to her style?

“What’s the matter with Larry?” Not a bit of Mark showed beyond the doorway, not even a shadow.

“Peter caught him calling the police. He wanted to turn us all in.”

The familiar snarl of Mark’s laughter made Peter hunch more closely against the protecting wall. When would the damn man come out of there? The waiting was difficult; it was getting harder and harder not to grind his teeth.

Mark said, “That’s Larry, all right, always the wrong move at the wrong time for the wrong reasons. Did Peter stop him in time?”

“Yes, we think so. But Peter needs help, he wants you to come down and help him.”

“Help? With Larry?”

“Peter’s holding him,” Liz explained, “but we can’t trust Larry anymore, we don’t know what he’ll do next. Peter can’t deal with him alone.”

“You mean he wants Larry put out of the way, and he’s too much of a coward to do it himself.”

Oh, am I? You’ll soon learn about that.

“That isn’t it.” Liz sounded as impatient as Peter felt. “He can’t control Larry all himself, that’s all. Come down and help him.”

“This is all too stupid,” Mark said, but grudgingly, meaning he was about to give up. Peter could tell by the way Liz stepped back from the doorway that Mark was coming out now. Here he—

“Peter, there’s trouble out—”

Larry’s voice! Peter swung around, stunned, and Larry was at the foot of the stairs, gaping upward, bewildered: “What are you—?” Then, understanding: “Mark, look out!”

Swinging back, Peter saw Mark just stepping into the hallway, looking in this direction—beardless! That surprising naked face was also seeing this tableau, understanding it, and even as Peter was bringing the gun up