The Wounded and the Slain Read online

  I guess that’s all it takes, he thought. It’s so easy to be accepted if you can accept yourself. Now if you can only keep it going like this, keep it steady on a road aiming up instead of down, there’s maybe a chance you’ll make the grade. Or at least be able to look in a mirror and see a teammate rather than an opponent. He was dwelling on that idea when a hand fell lightly on his shoulder.

  He turned his head and looked up. The man stood there smiling down at him. It was a soft smile. It was very soft, almost gentle. But instantly the meaning of it was clear and hard and terribly cold, like the all too real transparency of a cake of ice.

  The man was a Jamaican. His skin was the color of tobacco. He was on the slim side, of medium height, and it was evident that he had some Caucasian blood in him, for his hair was straight and his nose was thin, rather narrow at the base. His lips were very thin and altogether he gave the impression that his diet was mostly green vegetables. Even his eyes were the blunt and dry green of raw spinach.

  He was attired inexpensively yet neatly. His cotton shirt was spotless, the gray tie knotted accurately. The suit was a cotton-and-rayon mixture, plain dark gray. It looked as though it had been pressed quite recently, and probably with a flatiron; the sleeves and trousers were creased blade-sharp. In sum, the man’s appearance showed he was dressed for what he deemed to be a very special occasion.

  He went on giving Bevan the soft smile, saying very softly, “Pardon me, sir. You are Mr.—?”

  Bevan didn’t say anything.

  “My name is Nathan Joyner.”

  “What is it? What can I do for you?”

  The Jamaican circled to the other side of the table. “May I sit down?”

  “Sure.”

  Joyner seated himself. He said, “You remember me?” “No,” Bevan said. “I’ve never seen you before.” “You saw me last night,” Joyner said. Bevan told himself the only thing to do was keep quiet.

  “On Barry Street,” the Jamaican said. “At Winnie’s Place.”

  All right, he thought. Make it fast. Get it over with.

  “Or perhaps I should put it this way,” Joyner said. “You do not remember seeing me. You were somewhat intoxicated.”

  The man’s accent was British, and Bevan said to himself, This one’s a businessman. Maybe he took a business course at Cambridge or some good school in London. Whatever school he went to, he must have majored in merchandising.

  He heard himself saying, “I’m not intoxicated now. I’m thinking quite clearly now.”

  “Splendid,” Joyner said. “This matter calls for a maximum of clear thinking.” He leaned forward slightly. “You’re probably aware of my reason for coming here?”

  Bevan shrugged. “It isn’t too difficult to guess.”

  “There’s no need to guess,” Joyner said. “You know I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t seen what happened in the alley.”

  It was quiet for some moments.

  And then Joyner said, “I saw it from the doorway.”

  “What were you doing in the doorway?”

  “Just standing there watching.”

  “You knew he was trying to rob me?”

  Joyner nodded.

  “Why didn’t you try to stop it?” Bevan asked.

  “It was none of my affair,” Joyner said. “I make it a practice not to interfere in these things.”

  “You do? How come you’re interfering now?”

  “This isn’t interference. This is merely a discussion of the issue.”

  “All right, I’m willing to discuss it. No reason why I shouldn’t discuss it. You want some coffee?”

  “No, thank you,” Joyner said. He noticed Cora’s empty cup on the table. He gave Bevan an inquiring look.

  “My wife,” Bevan said. “She went up to our room to change her clothes. She’s getting into slacks. We’re going sailing.”

  “Its a fine day for sailing.”

  “It certainly is,” Bevan said. “It’s a perfect day for sailing. By the way, my name is Bevan—James Bevan.”

  “I’m pleased to know you, Mr. Bevan.”

  They were smiling pleasantly at each other. Then Bevan widened his smile just a little and said, “How’d you know where to find me?”

  “I assumed you’d be here at the Laurel Rock. Most tourists are registered at the Laurel Rock.”

  Bevan glanced around at the other tables. Now all the tables were taken and the waiters were very busy. He said, “They’re having a big season.”

  “Yes, the rooms are always filled this time of the year,” Joyner said. “It’s the climate, I guess. You like the climate here, Mr. Bevan?”

  “Very much. It’s really a wonderful climate.”

  “How long are you staying?”

  “A few weeks.”

  “I hope you have a pleasant stay.” “Thank you, Mr. Joyner.”

  Again, they were smiling at each other. Joyner said, “I’m sure you’ll have a pleasant stay. It’s so easy to enjoy yourself in Jamaica. That is, when you’re staying at a fine hotel like the Laurel Rock.”

  Bevan didn’t say anything.

  And Joyner went on, “It’s really an excellent hotel. Of course, it’s only for those who can afford it.”

  Here we go, Bevan thought. Now we get some Dun and Bradstreet. Or maybe he’s trying to get me upset, get me immobilized so that when he throws it at me, it’ll knock me flat. Well, whatever it is, I wish he’d quit fooling around and come out with it. This waiting on edge is like watching the dentist preparing to drill. Let’s see if we can pull him in a little.

  He went on smiling at the Jamaican. He said, “It’s all a matter of luck, I guess. Some have it and some don’t.”

  “You have it,” Joyner said.

  He shrugged. “To some extent.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “You mean you want a financial statement?”

  “It would help,” Joyner said. And then his smile became thinner. “How much can you afford to pay?”

  “For what? What are you selling?”

  “A lapse of memory,” Joyner said. “I’m willing to forget what I saw last night.”

  Bevan laughed lightly, soundlessly. “All right, Nathan. You want to play checkers, we’ll play checkers.” He placed his hands flat on the table and leaned forward and said, “Can you prove you saw anything?”

  Joyner nodded. Now his face was expressionless. He said, “I’m in possession of a broken bottle. There’s blood on it. And of course it will show your fingerprints.”

  “Very good, Nathan. You have something there. Only thing is, it adds up to nothing. If you open your mouth and they pick me up, I’ll just tell them the truth. I’ll claim the man was trying to rob me.”

  “You think they’ll accept that?”

  “Of course they’ll accept it. Why shouldn’t they?”

  “Several reasons,” Joyner said. And then he smiled again. His spinach-green eyes were narrowing very slowly, as though wanting to put it all in shadow, his eyelids coming down like a curtain on the living object he was looking at.

  Bevan could feel it coming down on him. It was really like a curtain coming down and all at once it had nothing to do with Nathan Joyner; it was caused by something inside him. There were words printed on the curtain, the same words he’d seen on the billboards displayed against the blackness of fitful slumber. Again he read the announcement: “This man destroyed a human being and it wasn’t an accident, and don’t believe him when he claims self-defense.

  He heard Joyner saying, “If this ever gets to a courtroom, you won’t have a chance. They’ll send you to the gallows.”

  Chapter Six

  Bevan was leaning back in his chair. He had his head turned sideways and he was gazing vacantly at nothing in particular.

  The quiet went on for some moments and then Joyner said, “What it amounts to, I’m giving you a chance to remain alive.”

  Bevan grinned.

  “Did I say something funny?” Joyne
r murmured.

  “Hilarious,” Bevan said. He put the grin on the Jamaican. Without sound he said, Yes, it’s really hilarious, Nathan. A couple of nights ago I was playing with the idea of doing away with myself. Now you come along and maybe you’ll save me the trouble.

  Joyner bit very lightly at the side of his mouth. He said, “Perhaps you don’t understand. Or maybe you don’t care.”

  “I guess that’s it,” Bevan said aloud to himself. “I just don’t care.”

  The Jamaican frowned. It was a clinical frown. He said, “I must admit, Mr. Bevan, you confuse me.”

  “Don’t knock yourself out.”

  Joyner studied him. The clinical frown deepened in Joyner’s brow. For the better part of a minute there was no sound at the table. Then footsteps moved in and they both looked up and saw Cora standing there. She sent an inquiring smile to the Jamaican and back to Bevan. The Jamaican had risen from his chair and was nodding politely, waiting to be introduced. Bevan said, “Cora, this is Mr. Joyner. Mrs. Bevan.”

  They murmured salutations and sat down. Bevan said, “Mr. Joyner is a friend of mine. He’s a very dear friend of mine. He’s trying awfully hard to help me.”

  Cora didn’t say anything. She only winced slightly.

  Bevan said, “Go on and tell her, Mr. Joyner. Tell her all about it.”

  “It’s rather difficult—”

  “Oh, go ahead,” Bevan said. “She can take it.”

  “Yes, I can take it,” Cora said.

  Joyner gave a little sigh. He looked at Cora and said, “Has your husband told you what happened while he was out last night?”

  She nodded.

  “I told her it was self-defense,” Bevan said. And then, smiling at Cora, “Our friend Mr. Joyner has doubts about that.”

  “No, that wasn’t what I said,” the Jamaican murmured. “I said that all the doubt would come from the authorities. I told you there’s very little chance they’d accept your explanation.”

  Bevan was grinning again. “You see the way it is? He has it figured. He has it all figured out very nicely.”

  Cora sat there stiffly. “Who is this man? What does he want?”

  “He’s a businessman,” Bevan said. “He wants money.” She looked at the Jamaican. “All right,” she said. “I’m listening.”

  Joyner leaned his elbows on the table, his hands clasped together under his chin. His eyes were focused on Bevan’s necktie. But he spoke as though Bevan weren’t there. He said, “If they get him, they’ll hang him, I’ve already told him that, but it didn’t seem to make an impression. Perhaps it impresses you, Mrs. Bevan. You appear to be a sensible woman.”

  “You bet she is,” Bevan said. “She’s very sensible. I ought to know, I—”

  “Be quiet, James. Please be quiet.”

  “O.K. But where’s the waiter? I want a drink.”

  “Not now.”

  “Just one. Tell you what, we’ll all have one. Come on, let’s all have a drink.”

  “Please,” she said. “Oh, James. Please.”

  “Then later.” He shrugged. “I’ll have one later.”

  She turned to the Jamaican. “You were saying?”

  “I was anticipating the reaction of the authorities,” Joyner said. “That is, if your husband is apprehended. Of course, I’m hoping he won’t be apprehended. They’d have such a strong case against him.”

  “They’d have no case at all,” Cora said. “He was only trying to protect himself.”

  Joyner shook his head. “It doesn’t jell, Mrs. Bevan. For one thing he failed to report the matter. He actually fled from the scene.”

  “Who wouldn’t? It was a dreadful ordeal. It threw him into a state of shock.”

  “Granted.” Joyner nodded slowly. “But the fact remains, he can’t prove self-defense. The other man didn’t have a weapon.”

  “The hell he didn’t,” Bevan mumbled.

  Cora looked at him. Her eyes urged him to go on with it, to lift himself up from nothingness and come back to solid ground.

  “He had a blackjack,” Bevan said.

  “The authorities don’t know that.” And then a slow thin smile drifted across Joyner’s mouth.

  “He had a blackjack and they’ll find it,” Cora said.

  “They’ll never find it,” Joyner murmured.

  Her eyes began to widen.

  “You get the picture?” Bevan said to her. “You see what’s happening here?”

  She was staring at the Jamaican, seeing the spinach-green eyes smiling back at her.

  Then Bevan was saying, “Our friend here is a real engineer, all right. He’s certainly a cute one.” He grinned at the Jamaican. “Oh, you cute bastard, you.”

  Joyner looked at Cora. “What’s the matter with your husband? Is he sick?”

  “Sure I’m sick.” Bevan widened the grin and it became a grimace. “I’m sick and it feels great.”

  “You’re not sick.” Cora told him. She spoke slowly and precisely. “I won’t have you saying you’re sick.”

  “All right, then, it’s the world that’s sick. The whole world is sick and I’m in fine shape. How’s that?”

  And again Joyner was frowning clinically, saying to Cora, “He seems to be out of contact.”

  “Out of contact, my foot.” Bevan grinned at him. “I’m skipping along right beside you, Nathan. I have all your moves down pat. Number one, you have the broken bottle to prove I did it. And two, you picked up the blackjack so I’d have no evidence to show he was armed. From there on in it’s a breeze for you. There are witnesses who’ll testify they saw me in that house, saw me drinking rum and getting a load on. And then of course there’s your testimony. It’ll probably be something freakish—I invited the man to come out with me and he came out but then he changed his mind about it and I became irritated and grabbed the first thing I could put my hands on.”

  Joyner was nodding very slowly. “That’s it.”

  “But it’s a lie.” Cora was breathing hard. “It’s such a filthy lie.”

  “What does he care?” Bevan gave a little laugh. “Look at him.”

  She looked at the face of the Jamaican. The green eyes flickered and it was a mixture of ice and flame. Then it was all ice.

  And Joyner said, “We can settle this matter for five thousand dollars.”

  Cora took a very deep breath and held it.

  Bevan said, “Make it five cents and I’ll talk business.”

  Then it was quiet. Joyner was sitting relaxed, his arms loose at his sides. Bevan leaned very low over the table, aiming a vacant and somewhat idiotic grin at the silver coffeepot. Cora had her head lowered, her face cupped in her hands.

  Finally Joyner said, “I’m waiting. I think you ought to make up your mind here and now. You won’t have another chance.”

  “You’re terrific,” Bevan said, still grinning at the coffeepot. “You ought to be selling insurance.”

  “This is insurance.” Joyner smiled at him. “This is the finest insurance you’ll ever buy.” “Who says I’m buying it?”

  “Oh, you’ll buy it, all right. I’m quite sure you’ll buy it.”

  Cora took her hands from her face. Her eyes were shut tightly and then she opened them and said, “We can’t afford five thousand dollars. We can’t come anywhere near that.”

  Joyner smiled pleasantly. “What’s the best you can do?”

  She looked at Bevan. She waited for him to say something. But it wasn’t any use. He was concentrating on the coffeepot, its silver roundness giving him a distorted reflection of his grinning face. Then he changed it to a sullen frown, and then back to a grin. He was making faces at himself in the spherical shiny silver of the coffeepot.

  Joyner said, “It’s up to you, Mrs. Bevan. I can’t do anything with him.”

  “Neither can I,” she said before she could hold it back. She pressed her fingers hard against her forehead. She said, “We’ll give you a thousand dollars.”

  Joyner shook hi
s head.

  “We can’t give you more than a thousand,” she said. “You must understand, we’re not very wealthy people.”

  “Make it two thousand,” Joyner said.

  “We can’t.” Her voice strained with pleading. “We really can’t.”

  “Let’s investigate that,” the Jamaican murmured. “What kind of work does your husband do?”

  “I’m an exterminator,” Bevan said. “I go around exterminating. It’s a lot of fun.”

  “He sells investment securities,” Cora said.

  “That’s only a part-time job,” Bevan mumbled, still gazing at his reflection in the coffeepot. “Actually, I’m a circus performer. On the tightrope. It’s a special kind of tightrope. It goes around in circles.”

  “Does he always talk like that?” Joyner asked.

  “Only on off days,” Bevan whispered confidentially, cupping his hand at the side of his mouth. “I have these off days seven days a week.”

  Joyner sighed. He glanced pityingly at Cora. It was genuine pity. He said to her, “It’s too bad. I know you don’t have an easy life.”

  “Oh, dry up,” Bevan told him. “Go take a walk somewhere and dry up.”

  “I can see what a problem you have,” Joyner said to Cora. “Can’t you do something for him?”

  Bevan let out a hooting laugh. It was very loud. People at other tables turned their heads and looked. Then they saw who it was and they shrugged. Someone said, “He’s at it again.”

  Cora had her head lowered. Her eyes were shut tightly.

  Joyner was saying, “You carry a heavy burden, Mrs. Bevan. I don’t want to make it more difficult for you. But there’s nothing else I can do. It’s a matter of drastic necessity. I’m a poor man. I’m really very poor.”

  She looked at him. “Are you trying to justify your position?”

  “In a way.” The Jamaican returned her level gaze. “It’s a matter of economics. It’s the old law of supply and demand. You want your husband to stay alive and I’m supplying the guarantee. You can’t buy it from anyone else.”

  “That simplifies the issue,” Bevan remarked to no one in particular. “That simplifies it very nicely.”

  Joyner went on looking at Cora. He said, “Can you make it fifteen hundred?”