Magic

  “… why …”

  Duke shrugged. “Might be interesting, that’s all. Might clear up the car thing and who knows, if you wanted to fuck him, maybe you will when my back’s turned—who knows, it would sure save a lot of time if you had everything nice and ready, a nighty hanging in the closet, your diaphragm handy by the bed. That way you could just zip on down there and rip off a little something whenever your nice pure little heart desired.”

  Peggy dried her eyes and stood. “I’m going out.”

  “Down to the cabin, pay a little visit to the star?”

  “No,” Peggy said, and her voice was dry and brittle. “I’m going to town, I’ll shop and then I’m going to drive for a long long time. Hours. I’ve got some decisions to make.” She looked at her husband for a while. “Except maybe you’ve made them for me …”

  “C’mon,” Duke said; “it’ll be fun.” He stood outside the open door to Corky’s cabin and gestured to the rowboat he’d brought to the edge of the lake and the fishing poles and tackle resting inside.

  “I’m not crazy about fishing,” Corky said from the doorway.

  “You can row then, it’ll be nice and quiet and we can talk. I just had a good talk with Peg and now I’d like one with you. I told you how fishing just cleans out my mind—who knows maybe it’ll do the same for you.”

  “Where is she?”

  “In town. Making a ‘decision,’ she said.”

  “You seem upset, Ronnie.”

  “Why should I be. Surrounded by a good wife, old friends. Peg and I did some talking about you. Might be interesting if we did some talking about her.”

  “I’ll just get a jacket,” Corky said, and he quickly went inside. Duke moved into the doorway, started looking around but Corky was back right away. “Let’s go.”

  They went outside. Corky stopped. Duke watched him. “What are you locking the door for? Ain’t nobody here but us chickens.”

  “Habit,” Corky said.

  “I could take that as an indication that you don’t trust me. I don’t, of course. We trust each other, don’t we?”

  “Sure,” Corky said.

  “Make certain it’s really locked up tight and everything,” Duke said. “Give it a good shake to be positive.”

  “I don’t have to do that.”

  “Let me then.” He rattled the door hard. “Safe as a baby,” he said and they started for the boat. Duke held it for Corky, then got in himself, gave it a shove and they started drifting out toward where Corky had gone swimming.

  “Let’s row over that way,” Corky said. “Give me the oars, I’ll do it.”

  “I know the best fishing spots,” Duke explained. “When I get us to the vicinity, you can take over.”

  “Fine,” Corky said. He looked into the water. It was not clear more than a foot or so down.

  “What are you looking for?” Duke wondered.

  Corky jerked his head up. “Nothing.”

  “You were sure examining the water awful close.”

  “Habit. I like staring down, see what I can see.”

  “You’re full of habits, aren’t you?” He brought out the bottle of Scotch. It was almost empty now. He offered it to Corky who shook his head. “It was bought for you special. I don’t get Scotch.”

  “I’m not much of a drinker, I told you that.” He was staring down at the water again. They were getting very close now.

  Duke put the oars up, picked up a rod, opened the tackle box for a plug. “Peggy told me you fucked her last night.”

  Corky smiled. “Bullshit.”

  “She went into detail.”

  “Did she tell you how we smashed the champagne glasses into the fireplace? We thought that was pretty romantic at the time.”

  Duke weighted his plug, cast it out, let it sink, started reeling in slowly.

  “Is that—”

  “—shit,” Duke cut in. “Snagged on something.”

  “Is that why you brought me out here? To try and trick me into admitting something that never happened? ’Cause if it is, I’d like to go back in now.”

  “Heavy,” Duke said, pulling with his rod.

  “I’d like to go back in now, Duke.”

  “That’s got it,” Duke said, and he reeled in his line. He looked at Corky then, cast again, reeled. “What she said was she wanted to go to bed with you. I made her say that. I acted like a fucking animal and she—” He stopped, trying for words. “I’m afraid I’m gonna lose her and I don’t want that to happen.”

  “Comeon,” Corky said. “Get hold of yourself. You’ve got to stop going around accusing people, Duke. My God, you gave me just about the happiest times I had in this town. You don’t even remember but I was this nothing and you were everything and a couple of times you took me along for fries at The Hut and I sat there with you and Peggy and I thought, I’ll never forget this, and I haven’t.”

  Duke shook his head, kept on fishing. “I don’t remember any of that, you’re right.”

  “Sure I had a crush on Peggy, my God, everybody had a crush on Peggy. I wasn’t even jealous when she started dating you, it was fitting. Shit, I remember carrying notes between you two during study hall and I felt so goddam proud. That someone like you would see fit to even use me as a go-between. That was a moment for me.”

  “It hasn’t gone so good for me since then,” Duke muttered.

  Oh Jesus, Corky thought, I’m trying to steal your wife, don’t go getting human on me please …

  “I fuck around a lot. I’m not proud of it. I just hate it; when I touch Peggy all I feel is I don’t deserve her so I take anything I can get from anybody I can get it from.”

  “Tomorrow you’re not gonna be happy you got into this so let’s bag it, don’t you think?”

  “It’s important you know. See, that period when you tagged along, that was kind of the high point for me. I never finished college, I wasn’t the greatest thing to hit the real estate business, I hate the goddam selling door-to-door. But Peggy, she came in at the top and she’s stuck with me all the way, and I’m afraid that if I lose her now … well what is there?” He said “Shit,” then and tried to get his plug loose but it was stuck again.

  “It’s cold,” Corky said. “Let’s go in and build a fire or something.”

  “I can’t get it loose,” Duke said. He pulled and pulled. “Christ it’s like a whale.”

  Corky picked up the oars, put them in the water.

  “Don’t do that, you’ll break my pole.”

  “Just trying to help.”

  “Well don’t help, it’s coming, I’m getting the whole thing up now.” He put his pole down and took hold of the strong line, pulling it hand over hand.

  Corky stared down through the water because something was beginning to become visible.

  Hand over hand Duke kept at it.

  Corky leaned far over, continued staring down.

  “Fuckin’ logs,” Duke said, grabbing his plug, pulling the hook from the log, letting the log sink back down into the dark water.

  Corky cleared his throat and asked, “Anything left in that Scotch bottle?”

  Duke handed it over. “You look like you could use it.”

  “Freezing my nuts off,” Corky said, and he drank, waited, drank again. “Okay if we go in now?”

  Duke nodded. “I’ve said my piece,” and he took the oars, and they were well on their way back to shore when Duke spotted what looked like a body, half in water, half on land, not all that far away.

  13

  Corky looked down at the tiny bald man. “I wonder who it can be?”

  Duke knelt by the body, turned him over. “I was thinking it might be your Rolls guy.”

  “You kidding?” Corky said. “The Postman’s only about six-foot-three. See what his wallet says.”

  Duke went into various pockets. “Nothing. Stripped clean.

  “Doesn’t make sense, there must be something, be sure before—”

  “—Christomighty,”
Duke cut in, “I think he’s still alive—”

  “—fantastic—”

  “—it’s just a wild chance but it’s worth a whack—can you do artificial respiration?—”

  “—don’t think so—”

  “—all right, goddammit, I’ll do it, get up to the house, call Normandy Hospital, tell them to haul ass over—”

  “—right—”

  “—and stay at the house till they get there so you can bring them straight here—”

  “—gotcha,” Corky said, and he got in the boat, got right out again, said “Faster if I run” and took off around the lake going like crazy.

  Duke straightened out the body, tilted the head back, opened the mouth. He checked to see that the tongue was all right and it was, not swallowed. Then he glanced at the teeth to see they weren’t dentures. Finally he put his fingers together, pinched the old man’s nose shut, tilted back his head and blew hard down his throat. He blew a second time. Then a third.

  The heart cavity was swelling.

  Duke bent down, pressed his head against the aged chest, tried to catch a beat. Nothing. He knelt over the old man then, started pressing very hard on his heart, every second a press, not enough to crack the rib cage, but damn near.

  He bent down after a minute of that and listened again.

  Nothing.

  He started regular mouth-to-mouth resuscitation after that, trying to do it twelve times a minute. Breathe, two, three, four, five, six; breathe, two, three, four, five, six. He kept that up for several minutes.

  Still nothing.

  He’d been wrong; the old man was dead. Still, as he stood and loaded the corpse into the boat, he felt better for the try. He lowered the body gently down, began rowing across the lake.

  Toward Corky’s cabin.

  Because there was just no doubt in his mind, this one he was ferrying now had to be the owner of the Rolls. It didn’t make sense any other way and there had been a tone in Corky’s six-foot-three line that rang false. Or maybe it had come too quick. Or maybe any number of things.

  Whatever the case, Duke wasn’t buying.

  He was careful when he drew close to shore to keep Corky’s cabin as much as possible between himself and the main house, trying to keep the chances of Corky spotting him as low as possible. He glided the last yards, pulled the rowboat up less than twenty feet from the cabin.

  Then he got out, reached into his pocket for his master key, and moved quietly to the locked front door. He had trouble getting it to fit, his hands were trembling, which was the first time he realized he was afraid. He didn’t really know what of, didn’t know, for that matter, what the Christ he could find in the cabin that would prove much of anything.

  But it was worth the whack.

  Corky was lying, about something or everything or inbetween, and wouldn’t it be nice to let old Peg know that kind of info. Peg hated liars, always had, and Duke wanted to be first to spread the news.

  He got the door open, stepped fast inside, shut it just as quickly, and the place was darker than he figured, blinds drawn and all, and he waited a moment by the door, relocking it, getting accustomed to the dimness.

  He was several steps into the cabin before he cried half aloud, because the goddam dummy was sitting there, watching the door, sitting in a chair by the little kitchenette area and it seemed, for the moment, human, with its staring eyes.

  Duke took a breath, got down to business. There were four places he had to look. The bedroom closet, the living room closet, the desk out here and the dresser in there. The living room closet was closest, so that’s where he began. Not much really. Corky’s clothes on hangers and not many of them. Two suitcases. He opened the first. Empty. Put it back. He opened the second. It was full of dummy crap. A lot of long canvas tapes and changes of clothes.

  It scared him again.

  There was something fucking loony tunes about walking around carrying kid-sized coveralls for a piece of wood. Probably Edgar Bergen felt like an asshole whenever he went traveling, because he didn’t just have Charley, there was the hick, Mortimer Snerd.

  Duke closed the closet door, started on the desk. Nothing, nothing nothing. Not a goddam shred.

  Shit.

  The kitchenette was between the bedroom and living room and he moved past Fats quicker than he had to, because the dummy was voodooing him, no question about it.

  The bedroom wasn’t quite as dark. He went to the closet but it didn’t have anything at all so that left the dresser and if that had nothing, he could always give a glance at the bathroom and the kitchenette maybe—

  —but the dresser had everything.

  In the top drawer, under some shirts. Duke flicked them over to one side and the first thing he saw was the watch. He brought it close. “Patek Philippe” it read, and he didn’t know if it kept decent time or not but it sure as hell looked expensive.

  Next to the shirt was a bill clip. Duke sat on the bed staring at it. He pulled the money loose and started counting the hundred-dollar bills.

  Three thousand dollars!

  Duke just sat there. It was incredible, there were actually people in this world who walked around with that kind of bread in their pockets.

  Could it be Corky’s? What kind of money did you make when you did guest shots on the tube? Plenty, probably, but this much?

  Maybe. Duke wasn’t sure.

  The wallet was what made up his mind. It was in the next drawer down, deep in the corner. Fat. Duke opened it and looked at the credit cards. American Express. Diner’s Club. A dozen more. All made out to Mr. Ben Greene.

  Duke closed his eyes. What the fuck was this Postman’s name. Was it Ben Greene? He couldn’t remember.

  “Gangrene,” Duke said out loud. It was the Postman. Corky had told that out by the Rolls, how the dummy called the Postman that, gangrene.

  Now he started studying the photographs.

  A dozen of them, snapshots all of two people, one of them always famous, the second one always the same. The same little bald guy with Bing Crosby. With Berle. With Sinatra and Hope and it was the same little bald guy who was dead out there now in the rowboat.

  It was the Postman. And he wasn’t six-foot-three. But Corky lied. Wait, just wait till little old Peg got the news. Maybe at dinner. They’d all be sitting around and he’d bring out the evidence one by one, the watch—and then the bill clip and then—

  —wait a minute, why bother with the bill clip, that would be great, he’d keep that out, and if Corky asked for it, he’d be proving himself guilty and if he didn’t ask for it, well the Postman didn’t need the three thousand anymore now, did he.

  Duke stood up, stuck the watch and wallet in one trouser pocket, the bill clip and the money safely in his shirt pocket, one that buttoned, and started out of the bedroom in a hurry now—

  —and then Fats raised his hand—

  —Duke screamed, frozen by the kitchenette curtain because it was moving now and the hand had a knife in it and Fats struck straight ahead, stomach level, and the knife slid in easily above Duke’s belt and now the curtain was moving again and here came Fats’ other hand and it had its own knife and it curved into Duke’s side and Duke bent double and Fats’ first knife jammed into the shoulder and the second hand, the left, caught the neck and now Duke was screaming but Fats kept on, right left right left, like a kid’s toy beating a brass drum, only those weren’t drumsticks, they were knives, and they kept slashing and hitting and Duke thought I’m going blind, I’m going blind but he was wrong, it wasn’t that, there was just too much blood in his eyes for him to see …

  Corky stepped out from behind the curtain, stared numbly down at the corpse.

  “Take these goddam things,” Fats said and Corky took the knives carefully, laid them in the sink. “The guy was right, he sold top quality merchandise,” Fats said.

  Corky blinked.

  “Those were his knives, schmucko, get with it.”

  Corky ran to the door, unlocked it, lo
oked out. “What am I gonna do,” he said, “Christ, I got the Postman out there and now the other guy and what if Peggy comes home?”

  “I’ll tell you just what you’re gonna do you—”

  “—maybe I should get the Rolls—I could fit them in the trunk and—”

  “—goddammit listen to me—you go right into my suitcase and you take some pieces of that canvas tape and you take these two and you stick ’em in the boat and you put a rock from outside on their legs and tape ’em there and row right out and over the side they go and if you’re not back in fifteen minutes you’re a bigger nincomfuckingpoop than even I give you credit for—”

  Corky was back in twelve.

  He leaned against the inside of the door, closed his eyes. “They dropped like they were being pulled.”

  “Did you tie a rock to each of them?”

  Corky managed a nod.

  “Nuts,” Fats said; “now I can’t say ‘two birds with one stone.’ ”

  “Stop with your goddam jokes for once!”

  “I’ll be glad to if you’ll quit standing around with that faraway sensitive look plastered on your face, I got to shock you to get any activity—you’re not doing what’s got to be done, get to work on this place, clean the knives, get some towels and wash away this blood, you want Peggy to walk in and find out what a sloppy housekeeper you are, move.”

  She didn’t walk in. She called rather, standing on the path halfway down. It was over an hour later and Corky had finished showering. He hurried up to her. It was cold and getting dark and she looked tired.

  “You’ve been through a lot,” he said.

  She shrugged. “Whatever. Where’s Duke?”

  “We had kind of a scene. I guess you told him you were interested in me. He wants me outta here. He went hunting. He said he was going to take his time but I got the impression he didn’t much want me here when he got back.”

  Peg nodded.

  “Are you going to be here when he gets back?” Corky asked. “Or are you coming with me?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk about,” she said, and turned, led him up into the house where they sat across from each other by the fireplace.