Lawrence Block - CMS - Strangers On A Handball Court Read online

  "You'll know it soon enough," I said with a smile. "From the newspapers."

  "Fair enough."

  I gave him a slip of paper. Like the one he'd given me, it had an address block-printed in pencil. "Wednesday would be ideal," I said. "If you don't mind missing your poker game."

  "I wouldn't have to miss it, would I? I'd just get there late. The poker game gives me an excuse to get out of my house, but if I'm an hour late getting there my wife'll never know the difference. And even if she knew I wasn't where I was supposed to be, so what? What's she gonna do, divorce me and cut herself out of my money? Not likely."

  "I'll be having dinner with a client," I said. "Then he and I will be going directly to a business meeting. I'll be tied up until fairly late in the evening-eleven o'clock, maybe midnight."

  "I'd like to do it around eight," he said. "That's when I normally leave for the poker game. I can do it and be drawing to an inside straight by nine o'clock. How does that sound?"

  I allowed that it sounded good to me.

  "I guess I'll make it another fake burglary," he said. "Ransack the place, use a knife. Let them think it's the same crazy burglar striking again. Or doesn't that sound good to you?"

  "It might tend to link us," I said.

  "Oh."

  "Maybe you could make it look like a sex crime. Rape and murder. That way the police would never draw any connection between the two killings."

  "Brilliant," he said. He really seemed to admire me now that I'd committed a murder and won two games of handball from him.

  "You wouldn't actually have to rape her. Just rip her clothing and set the scene properly."

  "Is she attractive?" I admitted that she was, after a fashion. "I've always sort of had fantasies about rape," he said, carefully avoiding my eyes as he spoke. "She'll be home at eight o'clock?"

  "She'll be home."

  "And alone?"

  "Absolutely."

  He folded the slip of paper, put it into his wallet, dropped bills from his Wallet on the table, swallowed what remained of his beer and got to his feet. "It's in the bag," he said. "Your troubles are over."

  *******

  "Our troubles are over," I told Vivian.

  "Oh, darling," she said. "I can hardly believe it. You're the most wonderful man in the world."

  "And a sensational handball player," I said.

  *******

  I left my house Wednesday night at half past seven. I drove a few blocks to a drugstore and bought a couple of magazines, then went to a men's shop next door and looked at sport shirts. The two shirts I liked weren't in stock in my size. The clerk offered to order them for me but I thought it over and told him not to bother. "I like them," I said, "but I'm not absolutely crazy about them."

  I returned to my house. My handball partner's car was parked diagonally across the street. I parked my own car in the driveway and used my key to let myself in the front door. From the doorway I cleared my throat, and he spun around to face me, his eyes bulging out of his head.

  I pointed to the body on the couch. "Is she dead?"

  "Stone dead. She fought and I hit her too hard..." He flushed a deep red, then he blinked. "But what are you doing here? Don't you remember how we planned it? I don't understand why you came here tonight of all nights."

  "I came here because I live here," I said. "George, I'd love to explain but there's no time. I wish there were time but there isn't."

  I took the revolver from my pocket and shot him in the face.

  *******

  "The police were very understanding," I told Vivian. "They seem to think the shock of his ex-wife's death unbalanced him. They theorize that he was driving by when he saw me leave my house. Maybe he saw Margaret at the door saying goodbye to me. He parked, perhaps with no clear intention, then went to the door. When she opened the door, he was overcome with desire. By the time I came back and let myself in and shot him it was too late. The damage had been done."

  "Poor George."

  "And poor Margaret."

  She put her hand on mine. "They brought it on themselves," she said. "If George hadn't insisted on that vicious prenuptial agreement we could have had a properly civilized divorce like everybody else."

  "And if Margaret had agreed to a properly civilized divorce she'd be alive today."

  "We only did what we had to do," Vivian said. "It was a shame about his ex-wife, but I don't suppose there was any way around it."

  "At least she didn't suffer."

  "That's important," she said. "And you know what they say-you can't break an egg without making omelets."

  "That's what they say," I agreed. We embraced, and some moments later we disembraced. "We'll have to give one another rather a wide berth for a month or two," I said. "After all, I killed your husband just as he finished killing my wife. If we should be seen in public, tongues would wag. In a month or so you'll sell your house and leave town. A few weeks after that I'll do the same. Then we can get married and live happily ever after, but in the meantime we'd best be very cautious."

  "You're right," she said. "There was a movie like that, except nobody got killed in it. But there were these two people in a small town who were having an affair, and when they met in public they had to pretend they were strangers. I wish I could remember the title."

  "Strangers When We Meet?"

  "That sounds about right."

  The End