The Scarred Man (16 page)

    

    

    Red was already in the cabin with us before I knew that he was aboard. The rubber boat he had launched from the Piper Cub had made only the faintest whisper against the ketch's wooden hull. I think I may have stirred in my sleep at the sound but then told myself it was nothing. But I did hear the companionway creak under his weight and opened my eyes to find him feet away with the .45 in his fist. The lamp still burned as before, and Mary sat frozen. I sat up abruptly and Red grinned at me and said, "Now just take it easy, pal."

    The .45 was more convincing than his grin. I took it easy.

    "A cozy little scene," Red said, "and a snug little harbor. Wish I could spend more time with you, but I've got a plane to catch. Just tell me where it is, and I'll be on my way.

    "Where what is?" I said in a thick voice.

    "Don't be stupid, Shaw. I've got nothin' against you, and I don't want to hurt you anymore than I have to. Just hand over the bread and we'll split."

    "What bread?"

    He sighed. "Look, man, don't put on no act for me. Where are the twenty big ones?"

    "Is this your idea of a joke?"

    Almost before I had finished the sentence, he had raised the pistol slightly and fired a slug through the overhead. The .45 made a sound like a cannon in that small space. The air was filled with smoke and the stench of gunpowder. The slug had smashed through the cabin top leaving a hole the size of my fist.

    "That's for openers," Red said. "I don't like to tear up your pretty boat, but that won't be nothin' to you once I start workin' on you."

    "So you really think I'm carrying twenty thousand in cash on this boat?"

    "I
know
you are."

    Even then there was something raffish and likable about him. Very likely Morgan and Blackbeard had been likable too as they tossed their prisoners to the sharks.

    "You're no kid, Shaw. You know that in everything a guy does there's an easy way and a hard way. The easy way for you is to hand it over and kiss me goodbye. The hard way means I tie you up and use the bottoms of your feet for ashtrays until you decide it ain't hardly worth it for a lousy twenty G's. If your feet are tough, we can try it on your balls, and if that don't work, it will be your face. Hell, it will cost you damn near that much for a good plastic surgeon. Just tell me now where it is, and you'll be get-tin' a bargain. But don't fuck around with me, man. I had to rent that crate by the hour, and it's costin' me dough. So now which way do you want it?"

    "You're crazy. What makes you think you can get away with this?"

    "It's like easy, man. Who are you gonna complain to out here, the sea gulls? And if you squawk in Palm Beach, you haven't got a prayer. The plane is registered to a pal of mine who can show he was sick in bed with the flu the whole time. As for me, hell, I was right there watchin' teevee the whole time, and I got fifteen witnesses to prove it. Anyway, you might have a tough time explainin' what the hell you was doin' sailin' around with twenty thou in the middle of the ocean in the first place."

    I didn't want to point out the obvious-that there was a witness to the whole thing sitting right there. Quite possibly he would then decide to kill us both.

    I said, "I'm telling you once more there is no twenty thousand, Red. It was all a joke."

    Almost at once the .45 went off again. This time he had fired straight down through the bottom of the boat. I waited for the spurt of water, but there was none. Either the water was pouring in now under the floor boards-in which case
Corazon
would go down in half an hour or so-or the force of the bullet had spent itself against the lead ballast.

    He said, "The next one could be through your foot, Shaw."

    "All right," I said, standing up. "I'll show you."

    "Don't show me nothin', baby. Don't move a muscle without my okay. For now, just tell me."

    "It's in the cockpit under the helmsman's seat." Conceivably if I got him out in the open, there might be some way to deal with him. I let my eyes leave his for a moment to glance across at Mary. She had not moved, and her face was as closed and remote as if she had not heard a word of our exchange. Yet in that brief moment while my eyes were on her, she managed to convey some sort of message. It was done with only the flicker of an eye and the slightest nod of the head, as if she were urging me to lead him out into the cockpit.

    "Okay," Red said. "I just hope you're not stupid enough to try any tricks. No lousy twenty thousand bucks is worth your ass."

    "You're right," I said.

    Red stepped aside and waved at me with the pistol. "You first, Shaw. Real easy and slow now."

    I crossed in front of him and went up the companion-way steps. I did not look back at him, but I knew that he was close behind, not close enough however so that I had any hope of reaching him before he put a bullet through me. There was of course no twenty thousand under the helmsman's seat. What there was, however, was a solid bronze winch handle weighing a good ten pounds. Would I be able to get my hands on it and turn fast enough to avoid the slug?

    As if reading my mind Red said, "Put your hands in your pockets, Shaw."

    I did as I was told.

    "Now which locker is it?"

    Before I could answer I heard Mary's voice behind us. "Red!"

    "Yeah, honey, what is it?"

    I had begun to turn in their direction when the shot came. Thinking he had fired at her, I was already in a crouch, preparing to dive at him. To my astonishment I saw that Red was on the floor of the cockpit and that Mary stood on the companionway steps framed in the light from the cabin. She was holding a pistol in both hands, and the hands appeared rock steady.

    "What?" said Red in a puzzled voice, "What the fuck did you do that for? I thought…"

    The second shot put an end to whatever his last thought might have been. She fired directly through the top of his head. The slug made the kind of thumping melonlike sound that was unmistakable. In the semidark of the cockpit with that cold finger of light sweeping the sky behind her, I recognized the revolver she was holding. It was the snub-nosed .32 I had bought at the pawnshop in West Palm after my first conversation with Red. I had kept it beneath the mattress of my bunk.

    The beam from the lighthouse lit up Red's face. It no longer bore much resemblance to anything human. The lips were drawn back in a savage grin, but the forehead and cheeks had expanded under the muzzle velocity until the eyes appeared to have popped from their sockets. Blood and brains spattered the cockpit seats.

    Mary was still holding the gun in both hands, but now she appeared to be pointing at me. Had she been frozen into some sort of catatonic state of hysteria? I reached for the gun but was stopped by the icy command, "Stay where you are, you motherfucker!"

    "Mary. For God's sake…"

    "God has nothing to do with it. Not your God, nor mine, nor anyone else's. Not even poor old Red's, that is if he ever had one."

    "Why did you kill him?"

    "I should think the answer to that would be fairly obvious."

    She sounded as casual as if she had just come off a tennis court and was discussing her opponent's shortcomings. Ground strokes a bit lacking in snap. When she put up that final lob, I knew I had her. Managed to put the smash away. Bit of luck all around…

    I could not make sense out of any of it. Was I still asleep on the settee dreaming? The dead man was real enough and so was my gun in her hands.

    "Give me the gun, Mary."

    Her laughter was a frothy bubble. I could not see her eyes, but I felt sure that if I could, they would be mad. She made a shuffling gesture with the revolver. "Sit down. Right over there next to our friend. Don't make any sudden moves, or you'll find yourself lying beside him."

    I had not the slightest doubt that she meant it. I sat down.

    " 'Oh Captain, my Captain, our fearful trip is done…' Still racking your poor little one lung brain? Do I have to spell it all out for you? How did you ever get to be such a hotshot counselor? You're not really any smarter than our dead friend here."

    I said nothing.

    "Poor Shaw. Can't you see even now that you were set up for this whole thing?"

    "Yes," I said in as steady a voice as I could manage. "But I don't know why."

    "Why? Why? Why, daddy, why? Good God, the incredible vanity of the male. You think because of that lousy thing between your legs, you've got something special going for you. Maybe your dainty little wife thought that way too. Or at least maybe she did until Stud rammed it into her. Then for the first time she knew, baby…"

    I was trying to hang on to sanity in a world that was revolving around me like the lighthouse beam. The venom in Mary Caldwell's voice surpassed anything I had ever known or imagined.

    "What do you know about my wife?" I said.

    "You really want me to tell you? I know she had a little wart on her left tit. Right below the nipple. And an appendix scar on her belly. And I know the way she screamed the first time Soldier fucked her. The second time she didn't scream so much. The second time maybe she was beginning to like it, counselor. Are you beginning to get the picture?"

    "You were there?"

    "Comes the dawn. Congratulations."

    "But how could you have been there? There were only three."

    "Right on, baby."

    "Skid told you."

    "You poor fool, there was no Skid.
I'm
Skid."

    "What are you talking about?"

    "I am Skid. I have no baby brother. Never have had and never will. Skid is just somebody I invented for when I want to flip out, to enjoy a real hairy slice of life. In jeans and a helmet and a loose fitting jacket, how the hell can you tell the boys from the girls these days? Did you really think I spent all my time sitting around in Manalpan being bored to death? That was
my
bike you saw in the carport there when you came pussyfooting around. I rode with the Beaks for kicks. Stud knew who I was, but nobody else. I held her down, baby. I sat on her arms while they screwed her. It was raining and just getting dark. We were west of the Forty Mile Bend. I sat on her and held her while they put it to her and while you were lying there with your head split open. Frankly I thought you were dead, and I didn't really give a damn. But I had a good look at you that night, and I knew who you were the first time you showed up here. I knew about that scar on your head, and I knew what you were after. So I set you up with Red. Told him I had seen the twenty thousand on board the boat here. Then when I found your revolver under the mattress, it all became very easy, very simple. You can tell me now about Stud and Soldier. They're dead, aren't they?"

    "Yes."

    "I figured as much. I knew it would take you a lot longer to get to me. The minute I saw you, I knew Stud and Soldier must be dead. I was just as glad. This way we can tie up all the loose ends."

    "Is that why you killed Red?"

    "Of course." She glanced down briefly at the dead man and that was the moment when I almost went for her, but her eyes were back up again and her hand as steady as ever while I was still getting ready to spring. Her voice dropped and seemed almost normal, as if she were trying to reason with a not too bright child.

    "So now you've got a nice neat package," I said. "Everybody who knew the truth about Mary Caldwell, or could possibly ever know, is dead."

    "Almost everybody."

    "Yes," I said. "But you can take care of that little contingency too. What's holding you back?"

    "Well, you see how it is, don't you? I mean why I have to do it."

    "Of course. Nothing personal. No hard feelings."

    Her voice was angry again, "Now you're putting me on. I don't like that."

    "And you think you can sail this boat back alone?"

    "Of course I can. It's just what I would have to do, isn't it? I mean, after you and Red killed each other, I
would
have to sail the boat back alone, wouldn't I?"

    "Of course."

    "You went to an awful lot of trouble for nothing, Shaw."

    "I did what I had to."

    "Was it worth it?"

    "The way it looks now, we'll never know."

    "Why was she so important to you, Shaw?"

    "I loved her. I loved her, and you killed her. That was important to me."

    "So you killed Stud and Soldier. Just because they fucked her?"

    Trickles of sweat were running down my back. How long could she continue to hold the gun in that raised position? I was looking for the first tremor. Or would she squeeze the trigger first? She was unpredictable, mad, schizophrenic. One moment her tone of voice was sweetly reasonable, and the next it was like broken glass.

    "Because they killed her," I said.

    "She killed herself."

    "She was dead when you finished with her."

    "There's a typical male pig attitude if ever I heard one. You need it for your own nasty little ego trip, don't you? You can't face up to the fact that it's what every woman really wants. To be held down by a couple of big hairy apes and fucked every which way there is. She
liked
it, Shaw. It was
you
who couldn't take it. It was
you
who killed her! Can't you get that through your mother-fucking head?"

    She was screaming. I came off the seat fast, but not fast enough. The slug caught me through the left shoulder and spun me around. It was only the momentum of my two hundred pounds that carried me forward. I landed on top of her, and we went down together through the companionway and backward down the steps onto the cabin floor.