Sims.

There was blood leaking from a dark crease on his neck, his hair was mussed, his expression was slow and dazed, like he had just come out of a midday porn film and was blinking at the afternoon light.

He stopped when he saw us and pointed his gun at me.

“What a surprise,” said Sims, putting down the bag and touching the neck wound with his hand. He moved with an exaggerated, even frightening, air of calm. He checked his hand, rubbed his thumb across the blood that was smeared thickly over his fingers. Still looking at the blood, his face betraying no evident concern, he said, “I thought you’d be rotting in jail by now.”

I wanted to say something smart and witty, but I was too busy clenching my bowels.

“Chasing her, I suppose,” he said, waving the gun now at Julia. She staggered just a bit to the left but otherwise didn’t seem affected by the sight of the barrel pointing at her heart. “Didn’t I warn you from the start? Didn’t I give you my best, heartfelt advice? But a foolish romantic, I suppose, will never learn. If I had time, I’d have some fun with both of you, but you’ll have to excuse me for a moment while I take care of a quick bit of business.”

Suddenly he pointed the gun down at the still-kneeling Clarence Swift, pointed the gun right at his head.

“All right, you sniveling little piece of crap,” shouted Sims with an uncharacteristic loss of control, spittle flying from his lips, his voice now a vitriolic shriek that sent birds into flight and insects burrowing. “Talk now or lose the top of your skull. Where the hell is it?”

47

Clarence acted as if he hadn’t heard the psychotic shriek of a money-mad cop. Instead of quivering for his life like a sane person, he started scurrying on his knees toward the heavy black briefcase on the ground by Sims’s feet.

The briefcase was one of those where the handle fits through a slot in the top. The bright brass lock of the case had been broken open, so only the handle was keeping the case closed. When Clarence reached the case he, wrapped his arms around it and grabbed it to his chest.

“Mine,” he said.

Sims stared down at Clarence in seeming fascination, as if he were staring at a fish flopping helplessly on the ground, and then kicked him in the head. Clarence spun onto his back, the case still clutched to his chest.

“There’s the money,” I said, indicating the briefcase. “Just take it and go.”

“That’s the money case, all right,” said Sims. “But not the money. Instead it’s two phone books, a Bible, and a wet towel.”

“No money?”

“Just a few bills scattered on top to make it look good.”

I turned to Clarence, still on the ground, still clutching the case. “Where is it, Clarence?”

“Mine,” was all he said.

“He showed it to me in the room,” said Julia. “It was filled to the brim with cash. We were going to take it with us to Mexico.”

“That was your brilliant plan?” I said. “Mexico?”

“And south from there.”

“That’s the best you could come up with? Driving through the wilds of Mexico and Guatemala? With a briefcase full of money?”

“There wasn’t much time.”

“A briefcase full of money,” said Sims. “Don’t leave home without it. This is getting tedious. I’m going to start shooting if I don’t get an answer soon. Where is it, Clarence?” He cocked his revolver, still pointed at Clarence, and then swiveled his arm to point the barrel at Julia’s head. “Tell me or I’ll kill her.”

“Why her?” I said.

“Because I don’t think he cares if I kill you,” said Sims.

“Now, is this nice?” came an accented voice from the south corner of the motel. We all turned our heads to see Gregor Trocek, a sawed-off shotgun pointed at us from his hip, heading our way. “You are having party but did not invite me.”

Sims calmly moved the gun away from Julia so it pointed at Gregor. Gregor kept approaching, his shotgun steady on Sims.

“Remember what I said I’d do if I saw you again,” said Sims.

“Yes, I remember,” said Gregor. “Which is why I brought my friend Peter.”

Sims’s head swiveled. “Peter?”

Gregor shook the shotgun. “Peter.”

This is what I had plotted and planned for, that these two would face off over a suitcase full of money and hopefully murder each other in the process. But as usual, despite all my best efforts, my plotting and planning had turned ruinous. When the lead flew, both Julia and I would be in the middle. I looked around, hoping to see Hanratty or some other cop rushing in to save us, but all I saw was the desolation of the pool at the Mountain Drive Motel.

“Hello, sweet Julia,” said Gregor with the shotgun still at his hip. “I always thought if your husband was dead and you were twenty years younger, we might have had ourselves some fun. At least part has come true. And Victor, yes, always pleasure, though I am sorry to say our deal is off. All this running around and guns and such. Clarence, I have regards from your mother. And who is that sitting like a drunken log on the chair?”

I turned to look at the man on the chaise, staggering to his feet and then dragging his gangrenous foot to the fence.

“That’s Terrence,” I said.

“Ah, so he’s the one,” said Gregor. “Well, thank you, Terrence. You saved me much trouble. I would have had to kill Wren in any event, and I so much prefer someone else to perpetrate my violence. But, unfortunately, Detective Sims has inconvenienced me terribly by killing Sandro. So here I am, Peter in hand, ready to perpetrate violence on my own. Okay, hop-hop. We must work quickly. Julia dear, be so kind as to take briefcase from your lawyer and give to me.”

Julia didn’t move.

“Now,” said Trocek with a jerk of the shotgun.

“Do it,” I said.

Julie kneeled over Clarence and gently took hold of the briefcase’s handle. Clarence wouldn’t let go even as Julia pulled. Julia pulled harder. Clarence said, “Mine, mine,” as if the word were invoking some sort of spell.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I said as I stepped over, grabbed the handle, yanked the case away from Clarence and tossed it at Gregor.

As the big black case twisted in the air, the top flopped open, and out spun a smattering of bills along with the phone books, Bible, and towel. As the bills flitted toward the swimming pool, and Terrence reached for them as if they were bubbles floating by, the books and case dropped with a series of thuds just in front of Gregor.

“What is this?” said Gregor. “Joke?”

“No joke,” said Sims. “The money is missing.”

“It can’t be, not again,” said Gregor, the European languor cracking. “Where is it, Julia my love?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “It was in the case.”

“And now it’s not,” said Sims.

“Still in room?”

“I searched it,” said Sims. “Nothing.”

“Then where? Where is it?” growled Gregor. He tipped the shotgun toward me. “Victor?”

“No idea,” I said. “I just got here myself.” The second statement was true, the first no longer was, but I wasn’t going to let these two thugs know it.

“How about you?” said Gregor, waving the shotgun toward Terry. “What do you know?”

“Not much,” said Terry slowly. “Except I don’t have it. And Julia doesn’t have it. And Clarence doesn’t have it. And Victor is an idiot. And that leaves-”

“There was a woman,” said Sims. “Old, feeble.”

“She’s no one,” said Julia.

“The maid?” said Gregor. “Gwen?”

“I waited for her to leave before I went into the room,” said Sims.

“Gwen,” growled Gregor.

“A white car was waiting in front,” said Sims.

“Yes, I saw it,” said Gregor. “A white Buick. It went south just as we pulled in. Okay, now we are-”

Just then, in the distance, a siren sounded, and then another, both growing louder quite quickly. The heads of the two men turned in unison, like the heads of two birds on a wire. Terry started laughing.