A Deadly Shade of Gold by John D. MacDonald
Authors: John D. MacDonald
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Private Investigators, Detective and Mystery Stories, Political, Hard-Boiled, Fort Lauderdale (Fla.), Detective and Mystery Stories; American, McGee; Travis (Fictitious character), Private investigators - Florida - Fort Lauderdale
Ads: Link
and because tension and waiting can only be sustained so long, they make their own little games and charades in the stands, the charades of art, sex, money, power and random murder.
I went and sat in my old car of vulgar blue, and remembered the lovely, shy, mischievous face of Teresa, the night swim in a moonlight sea, the talk and the singing. I remembered her coming out of the sea in moonlight, combing her soaked hair back with her fingers, the phosphorescence twinkling around the wading thrust of her white thighs, seeing me waiting there, stopping, shielding herself for a moment with hands and arms, then lifting her chin and coming on toward me, boldly, making a single sound, deep in her throat, like a laugh. She loved her tropic sea and it had killed her dead, in the hot blazing days of August.
That's why they can never make it. They kill off the good ones. They gut their dreamers. Their drab stone discipline is a celebration of mediocrity. If we can restrain ourselves from killing off Page 53
our own rebels, our doubters and dreamers, all in the name of making ourselves strong, then we can prevail. But if we use their methods, then any victory will be but the victory of one iron symbol over another, and mankind will have lost the battle whichever way it goes.
I drove north at a sedate pace, measuring the new reality of Carlos Menterez y Cruzada, collector of gold, of women, and of many kinds of pills. He seemed the type who would have a special talent for survival. Bombs kill their chauffeurs. They catch the last flights out. They change their money in the right places at a favorable rate the day before the currency collapses.
I was very tired. I went back to Bahia Mar. As I approached the Busted Flush, I heard sweet and cautious singing, and I found that it was coming from my topside sun deck. I stepped over the chain, went aboard, and climbed the ladderway. In the starlight and the random lights of the yacht basin, I saw Meyer with four of the little seasonal girls, all bundled in sweaters, sitting on the deck in a close circle, singing one of the old English rounds Meyer liked to teach them. They were always about maidens fair, deadly knaves, lonely death in the castle tower.
They ended on a sweet synchronous chord of girl voices and Meyer congratulated them extravagantly. "Excuse the invasion, my boy," Meyer said. "Junior here has a dull young man prowling around trying to create scenes. We're in hiding. This group is in very good voice.
Lassies, if any of you do not know him, this is the crude fellow who owns the boat. His name is McGee. Excuse me a moment. Practice that last one again, please."
He took me over to a far corner of the sun deck. Behind us, the girl voices were heartbreakingly sweet and clear.
"A man named Branks was here, looking for you, Travis. He had some questions."
"Such as?"
"Your habits, your livelihood. Rather a clever fellow, I suspect. He leaps on any nuance, any mild hesitation."
"What kind of billing did you give me?"
"Why should I lie to him? I said you are a beach bum, a reasonably pleasant companion, that you seem to make a living from small speculative ventures, that you seem to enjoy practically anything, in moderation, in accord with your somewhat quaint standards of behavior."
"You two had quite a chat."
"It took a philosophical turn, the role of man in modern society, the decay of morals, the new permissiveness, group standards versus inner values. He said he would try to get in touch tomorrow."
"Did he seem hostile?"
"Not at all. Not at all. Quite amiable, and curious. I can depart with my little flock now, or, if you feel festive, we can all go below, for an hour of song and discussion."
"I don't feel that festive."
Page 54
"Can I offer you a flower from my little garden? The one facing us, the alto, with the perfectly straight strawberry blonde hair?"
"Meyer, this is not like you!"
"She is more than old enough to vote, and she met you the other day and was
I went and sat in my old car of vulgar blue, and remembered the lovely, shy, mischievous face of Teresa, the night swim in a moonlight sea, the talk and the singing. I remembered her coming out of the sea in moonlight, combing her soaked hair back with her fingers, the phosphorescence twinkling around the wading thrust of her white thighs, seeing me waiting there, stopping, shielding herself for a moment with hands and arms, then lifting her chin and coming on toward me, boldly, making a single sound, deep in her throat, like a laugh. She loved her tropic sea and it had killed her dead, in the hot blazing days of August.
That's why they can never make it. They kill off the good ones. They gut their dreamers. Their drab stone discipline is a celebration of mediocrity. If we can restrain ourselves from killing off Page 53
our own rebels, our doubters and dreamers, all in the name of making ourselves strong, then we can prevail. But if we use their methods, then any victory will be but the victory of one iron symbol over another, and mankind will have lost the battle whichever way it goes.
I drove north at a sedate pace, measuring the new reality of Carlos Menterez y Cruzada, collector of gold, of women, and of many kinds of pills. He seemed the type who would have a special talent for survival. Bombs kill their chauffeurs. They catch the last flights out. They change their money in the right places at a favorable rate the day before the currency collapses.
I was very tired. I went back to Bahia Mar. As I approached the Busted Flush, I heard sweet and cautious singing, and I found that it was coming from my topside sun deck. I stepped over the chain, went aboard, and climbed the ladderway. In the starlight and the random lights of the yacht basin, I saw Meyer with four of the little seasonal girls, all bundled in sweaters, sitting on the deck in a close circle, singing one of the old English rounds Meyer liked to teach them. They were always about maidens fair, deadly knaves, lonely death in the castle tower.
They ended on a sweet synchronous chord of girl voices and Meyer congratulated them extravagantly. "Excuse the invasion, my boy," Meyer said. "Junior here has a dull young man prowling around trying to create scenes. We're in hiding. This group is in very good voice.
Lassies, if any of you do not know him, this is the crude fellow who owns the boat. His name is McGee. Excuse me a moment. Practice that last one again, please."
He took me over to a far corner of the sun deck. Behind us, the girl voices were heartbreakingly sweet and clear.
"A man named Branks was here, looking for you, Travis. He had some questions."
"Such as?"
"Your habits, your livelihood. Rather a clever fellow, I suspect. He leaps on any nuance, any mild hesitation."
"What kind of billing did you give me?"
"Why should I lie to him? I said you are a beach bum, a reasonably pleasant companion, that you seem to make a living from small speculative ventures, that you seem to enjoy practically anything, in moderation, in accord with your somewhat quaint standards of behavior."
"You two had quite a chat."
"It took a philosophical turn, the role of man in modern society, the decay of morals, the new permissiveness, group standards versus inner values. He said he would try to get in touch tomorrow."
"Did he seem hostile?"
"Not at all. Not at all. Quite amiable, and curious. I can depart with my little flock now, or, if you feel festive, we can all go below, for an hour of song and discussion."
"I don't feel that festive."
Page 54
"Can I offer you a flower from my little garden? The one facing us, the alto, with the perfectly straight strawberry blonde hair?"
"Meyer, this is not like you!"
"She is more than old enough to vote, and she met you the other day and was
Similar Books
