Manhunt. Volume 1, Number 3, March, 1953

Against the Middle by Richard Marsten

There’s one sure way to beat your competition and get the girl. Just put a bullet through your rival’s brain.

He was there when I arrived. He was always there lately. Every time I stopped in to see Deidre, he’d be sitting there like a damn big shot, wearing his best suit, his hair neatly combed, his shoes highly polished.

“Hello,” he said, and he didn’t mask the antagonism in his voice.

I looked at Deidre. My blood began hammering in my veins, the way it did every time I looked at her. “You started to take in boarders?” I asked her.

She tilted her head back, her auburn hair spilling free like an upturned glass of burgundy. Her lips parted, full and scarlet, and a laugh rippled up the clean, long line of her throat, bubbled out of her lips.

“You’re a fool, Gene,” she said. “A simple, jealous fool!”

“Damn right I am,” I said.

She rose quickly, her thighs flashing as she shoved herself off the couch. She sucked in a deep breath, and her breasts punched out against the shimmering green silk of her blouse. “And you are too, Charlie,” she said, turning to him.

He tried to grin. “Deidre, I...”

“Oh, shut up! Just shut up! I’m sick of both of you whining around me like a pair of lovesick puppies.”

“That’s unfair, Deidre,” I said.

“There are other men, you know,” she went on. “Plenty of other men. I don’t have to sit around here and listen to you two argue.”

Charlie’s heart was showing all over his face when he got up. “Honey, there’s no need to get angry.”

“Take me out,” she said, her eyes flashing. “Take me out and give me a good time. Both of you! Show me you’re interested! Instead of arguing, show me.”

“I... I thought we had a date tonight,” I said lamely.

“What?” Charlie complained. “Deidre, you said you’d go out with me.”

“If you’re going to start again, you can both get the hell out,” she said. She stared at us in heated silence. “Well, make up your minds.”

I looked at Charlie, and he stared back maliciously.

“All right,” I said at last, and Charlie nodded agreement.

“You’re dolls,” Deidre said, smiling. “Wait while I dress.”

That’s the way it went.

Charlie clung to her like a dirty shirt. If I called and the phone was busy, I knew she was talking to Charlie. If I went to see her and found flowers on the hall table, I knew Charlie had sent them. I began buying her things, things I couldn’t afford, but I knew Charlie was doing the same thing. Charlie, always Charlie! I began to hate him with a fierce intensity. And all the while, the fever that was Deidre grew inside me. I would think of her all the time, think of the silken flow of her hair, the rich swell of her breasts, the lissom walk, the flat stomach and rounded hips. I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life. But I knew that Charlie wanted her, too. I began to wish that Charlie was dead.

And then I began to plan a way of making sure he’d be dead.

The .45 was heavy in my pocket. I’d checked the clip a dozen times, sliding it in and out of the automatic. Seven slugs. With luck, I’d only need one, two at the most. I walked over to the phone, rehearsing Charlie’s number in my mind. I was reaching down to pick it up when it rang.

The sound startled me, and I jerked my hand back and stared at the black instrument. It rang again, and then a third time, and I suddenly realized that it might be Deidre calling. The old fire roared through my blood again, and I lifted the phone with a trembling hand.

“Hello.”

“Gene?”

“Yes?”

“This is Charlie.”

“What the hell do you want?”

I was sorry I’d said that as soon as it was out. I should have been sweet-talking him. I should have been setting him up for the bullet I would put through his brain.

“Now that’s no attitude to take, Gene.” His voice was soft.

“I guess not, Charlie,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I was about to call you.”

“I’d like to talk to you, Gene.” He paused. “About... Deidre.”

The name hung between us like a burning torch for several minutes. He was playing right into my hands, setting the thing up without my having to lift a finger.

“All right,” I said, finally.

“Tonight,” he said.

“Sure. Where?”

“Do you know the big fountain in the park?”

“Yes.” My heart was beginning to beat wildly. That would be the perfect spot. Dark, with very few passersby. And there had been enough muggings and rapes there lately to make this look like just more of the hoodlums’ work.

“I’ll see you there, Gene. At about... ten o’clock too late?”

“No, no, that’s fine.”

“All right. I’ll see you.”

“Ten o’clock,” I repeated. Then I hung up.

I waited by the fountain. I was there at nine-thirty, just to be sure. There was a faint sliver of a moon in the sky, a mugger’s moon that cast hardly any light on the stone fountain. I gripped the .45 in my pocket with a sweating hand, thinking that soon it would all be over. Soon, Deidre would be mine. There’d be no Charlie. Just me.

I began to weave a sensuous fantasy, a fantasy in which Deidre came into my arms naked, her lips wide and moist, her eyes half-closed. I thought of the sapphire necklace I had given her, the necklace that had cost me almost every penny I had. I thought of it against her white, warm flesh, dangling between the swell of her breasts. I thought of her sullen mouth against mine. No Charlie. Deidre and me.

She wouldn’t complain about my lack of attention then. She wouldn’t complain that anyone was bringing her more gifts than I was. A frown puckered my forehead. After the necklace, I hadn’t brought her anything for a long time. She hadn’t liked that. She hadn’t liked it at all. Because Charlie had been bringing her stuff! Always Charlie! Always Charlie!

I heard footsteps, and I ducked into the shadows of the fountain. The footsteps came quickly, clicking against the asphalt walk, hurrying toward the fountain. I glanced at my watch. Nine forty-five. Charlie was early. Early for his own funeral.

The footsteps stopped, and then began clicking forward slowly on the walk. I released the safety on the .45, and eased it out of my pocket. It was slippery in my hand, and panic gripped me as it almost dropped to the walk. I calmed myself and waited, listening to the footsteps come up on the other side of the fountain. I wet my lips and listened.

The footsteps stopped.

He was waiting on the other side of the fountain. I could walk around and give it to him before he knew what hit him. I swallowed hard and put the gun down against my leg, where he wouldn’t be able to see it.

“Charlie?” I whispered.

There was a startled gasp from the other side of the fountain. Then a voice asked, “Gene?”

“Yes,” I whispered. I took a step forward, the .45 heavy in my hand. “You’re early, Charlie.”

“You are, too.” His voice was closer this time, still a hushed whisper.

I saw the gun he was holding, and panic fluttered into my throat. He must have seen the .45 at about the same time because he backed away a pace. I saw that he was holding a gun, too, a war souvenir like mine.

In the dull gleam of the moonlight, we stood facing each other like two primeval beasts ready to do battle. We didn’t say a word. We just stared at each other, comprehension and realization seeping into our minds.

Slowly, I lowered my gun — and I saw Charlie lower his, too.

We sat down, then, and we talked for a long time.

She was dressed like a queen. My sapphire necklace captured light, held it in a glistening blue aura around her neck. She was wearing Charlie’s watch on her wrist, his cocktail ring on her pinky. The earrings dangling from her ears were another of my gifts.

And there were jewels I didn’t recognize, jewels I knew Charlie hadn’t given her, either. She wore them all at once, like a miser displaying his wealth, and we knew there had been many other men before us, and that there would be a long line after we were gone.

We watched her silently, wondering how many others had been driven close to murder, wondering where they all were now, wondering what became of them after they outlived their usefulness to Deidre. She stood like a Christmas tree, the jewels gleaming brightly.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” she asked. Her eyes glistened the way the jewels did.

“Very pretty,” I said. “But I thought we’d just take a walk tonight.”

She pouted for a moment, and then shrugged. Slowly, carefully, she began taking off the jewels, laying them lovingly in the case on her dresser. “Just a walk?”

“Well, maybe we’ll go some place later on,” I said.

“I’m kind of tired,” Charlie said. “I think I’ll head for home.”

“Oh?” A perplexed frown crossed her brow, and then an annoyed tone came into her voice. “Well, all right. Come on, Gene, let’s go.”

We walked down the steps, Deidre in the middle. When we reached the street, she said, “Well, good night, Charlie.”

“Oh, I’ll walk with you a little way,” he said. “If you’re going my way.”

“Where do you want to walk, Gene?” she asked.

“The park, I thought. It’s such a nice night.”

“The park? With all the muggings and shootings and everything there?” She pouted. Her eyes were opened wide, her lashes fluttering.

“The reports are exaggerated,” I said. “Besides, we’ll only walk for a little while.”

Deidre laughed her tinkling little laugh, and Charlie and I watched silently. “All right,” she said. “It sounds exciting.” She took my arm, and I clutched the heavy automatic in my pocket and looked at Charlie.

Charlie smiled, his eyes answering mine. “I’ll walk with you as far as the fountain,” he said.