The Last Good Kiss (45 page)

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anger changing to sadness in the middle of the question.

"Nothing."

"Then don't try to tell me how to do it," he said as he

tried to pour vodka into his glass. It was too much

trouble, though. He lifted the half-gallon and drank

from the bottle, using the tonic water as a chaser.

"I don't think that's how you make a vodka tonic," I

said.

"Fuck you." He belched painfully and had another

drink.

"Let's start this conversation over," I said.

"Whatever you say," he mumbled. He stood up and

staggered over to the edge of the cabin. He fell to his

knees as if he were about to pray, gagged once or twice,

then projectile-vomited a huge gout of blood off the

side.

"Jesus Christ," I said. He did it again , and collapsed

over the side, three feet down to the ground on his face.

I went over and helped him to his feet and wiped his

face, then hooked an arm over my shoulder and walked

him toward his car.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Taking you to the hospital," I said.

"Lemme die," he muttered, "Iemme die."

"You'd draw flies," I said as I stuffed him into the

Caddy. As I went back to get Fireball, Trahearne

laughed and gagged again. It took me a few minutes to

throw some clothes into a knapsack, and when I

stepped out of the tent, Trahearne had gotten out of the

car and was stumbling toward the river. "Hey!" I

shouted as I ran after him.

"Get away," he said as I caught him by the arm.

When I didn't, he jerked his arm so hard that he threw

me into a tree. Then he set off.for the river again.

My first impulse was to leap up and knock the hell

out of him, but I didn't want to break my hand on his

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giant jaw. This time when I caught him, I wrapped a

forearm around his neck to choke him down. He

thrashed and raged and bucked like a wounded bull,

but I stayed on his back until he fell to his knees, then I

turned him loose. He shook his great head, struggling

for breath and oxygen for his brain, then rose without a

word and took off for the river again. This time it was

easier. The third time easier still.

"I can keep this up all day," I told him as he stood up

the last time.

"You're going to have to," he whispered, still

strangling on his words.

"To hell with it," I said as I turned away from him,

then I swung around and hit him on the point of the

jaw. It was like hitting a tree, and it felt as if I had

broken all the bones in my right hand and wrist. "God

damn," I said as I held it gently with my left hand.

Trahearne stood upright for a moment, then took a step

toward me and fell into my chest. We both went down,

the big man on top, and I felt a couple of ribs tear

loose. At least he was finally out, though. I crawled

from under him and grabbed his collar to drag him to

the car before the pain got too bad. But I couldn't

budge him. I had to drive down to the Polebridge store

to get help loading him into the back seat of the Caddy.

By the time I drove to the hospital in Kalispell,

Trahearne was snoring peacefully, and my right hand

looked like a rubber glove full of water.

Two days later I went back down to visit him. When I

walked into his hospital room, he smiled painfully.

"You're going to be the death of me," he said.

"I broke six bones in my hand, old man, and

dislocated three ribs-trying to keep you alive."

I held up my cast.

"I guess I owe you again, huh?"

"Damned right," I said.

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"Well, thanks. "

"What the hell did you have in mind?" I asked as I

sat down in the nearest chair.

"Who knows," he murmured. "Who the hell

knows?" Then he paused for a long moment. "Melinda

told me about the forty thousand," he said, "and I

made the mistake of going to my mother to borrow the

money."

"Mistake?"

"The crazy old bitch laughed at me," he said,

blushing with shame. "I knew better than to ask," he

added, "knew I had to work it out on my own."

"What did you do? Mortgage your house?"

"I would if I could," he said, "but the bank already

has two overdue notes on it now. The only reason they

don't kick me out is because my mother went down and

guaranteed the notes. Goddamned crazy old woman.

I've never understood anything about her, you know,

nothing. Maybe she wants me around, but only on her

terms. I don't know . . .

"

"So she laughed and you hit the bottle, huh?"

"Not then," he said, "not just yet. I called my

publisher and got him to give me a forty thousand

advance against this new book-"

"What new book?" I interrupted.

"Whatever new book I write," he answered. "But I

have to finish at least a hundred pages of it before he'll

give me the money. That's why I came to see you."

"You want me to write it?" I asked. "Or just hold

your hand while you do it?"

He nodded slowly. "If you could come up and keep

me dry for a month, I could do it. "

"You're kidding."

"Not at all," he said. "I know how much I owe you,

C.W. , but if you could just do this last thing,

I'd . . . I'd do anything for you, pay you anything. I've

just got to get back to work, you see, just have to . . . "

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"For the forty thousand?" I asked. "For Melinda?"

"Yeah, right," he muttered.

"You son of a bitch," I said. "I'll do it, but not for

you or your damned stupid book . . . "

"For her," he said quietly. "I'll take that. I guess

�hat's more than I deserve."

"What's she think about it?" I asked.

"She doesn't know yet," he said. "She rented a truck

and loaded up her pieces and took them down to San

Francisco. "

"Great," I said. "Why didn't you give her a hand?"

"She wouldn't let me," he confessed. "She said it

was her trouble and that she'd handle it. But when I get

the money, you can give it to them, and she'll be off the

hook."

"Me too," I said, but he wasn't listening.

"It must be tough," he said softly.

"What's that?"

"To finish the grand quest and find the fair maiden

sullied," he said, almost whispering.

"Only by you," I said, "only by you."

"That's what I meant, of course," he said, "to find

the fair lady in love with the dragon, married to the

shaggy, foulbreathed beast . . . " He stopped and

stared at me. "You should have let me make it to the

river."

"I thought about it. "

"Why didn't you d o it?"

"Because she loves you, I guess," I said, "though I

don't understand why."

"Neither do I."

"What about you?" I asked. "Do you love her?"

He paused for a long time before he answered, then

he said, "I'm not sure what that means anymore, but I

know I can't live without her."

"You don't seem to live with her too well. "

H e paused again, even longer this time, then he said,

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"You know, I used to look forward to the day when I

got too old to give a damn about women. I used to

think that when that day came, all that wasted energy I

spent chasing them would go into my work. I thought

I'd grow old and wise, sexless as an oracle, but it didn't

work that way, son, not at all. It came on me sooner

than I expected, it drove me crazy-or crazier. And

when Melinda rekindled the fires, I was so grateful that

I married her. Now I'm afraid to lose her."

"You don't need a detective, old man, you need a

shrink. "

"Maybe so, son," he said, "but you're all I've got. I'd

rather give you the thirty dollars an hour anyway. At

least you buy me a drink every now and again."

"But no more," I said. "The first drink you take is

the last one I buy."

"I'll be as meek as a lamb," he said, and grinned.

"You'll see."

As soon as the doctors could run a series of tests,

they found out that Traheame didn't have a perforated

ulcer at all. Just an attack of acute alcoholic gastritis.

They let him check out of the hospital the next

morning.

"Put the top up," he said peevishly as he settled into

the passenger seat of his Caddy. His face was so white

that it seemed to have been painted with clown

make-up.

"Shut up and enjoy the sunshine," I said as I wheeled

away.

"Where are you going?" He sighed. "You're going

the wrong way."

"I've got to get my pickup." I popped the top on a

beer.

"I can't drive," Traheame said, staring at the beer.

"I know," I said, "I've got a tow bar in the trunk.

You just bought me one. I got tired of renting the damn

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things. Almost as tired as I am of towing your damned

cars back and forth. "

"You're going to make me ride up that forty miles of

gravel road?" he said. "All the way up and back?"

"And you get to watch me drink beer all the way,

too," I said. "What the hell, if Fireball can make it, you

can," I added, nodding toward the back seat where the

bulldog slept.

"Sughrue, you're a mean son of a bitch," Trahearne

said as he swiped at his sweaty face.

"You want two-bit sympathy, old man, or hundreddollar-a-day efficaciousness?"

"How about six-bit words?" he asked, almost smiling.

"Uncle Sam bought me a pocketful," I said, "but I

never have any place to use them."

Trahearne grinned until I made him open me another