Somewhere music was playing. People were laughing. People were dancing. A flashbar popped warm light. Somewhere far away. Johnny stared at the naked blade, transfixed, hypnotized by the play of the light over its honed edge.
“See this?” Markstone asked softly.
“Yes,” Johnny breathed.
“I’d seat this in his black, lying, murderer’s heart,” Markstone said. “I’d put her in as far as she’d go ... and then I’d twist her.” He twisted the knife slowly in his hand, first clock, then counterclock. He smiled, showing baby-smooth gums and one leaning yellow tooth.
“But first,” he said, “I’d coat the blade with rat poison.”
2
“Kill Hitler?” Roger Chatsworth said, his breath coming out in little puffs. The two of them were snowshoeing in the woods behind the Durham house. The woods were very silent. It was early March, but this day was as smoothly and coldly silent as deep January.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Interesting question,” Roger said. “Pointless, but interesting. No. I wouldn’t. I think I’d join the party instead. Try to change things from within. It might have been possible to purge him or frame him, always granting the foreknowledge of what was going to happen.”
Johnny thought of the sawed-off pool cues. He thought of the brilliant green eyes of Sonny Elliman.
“It might also be possible to get yourself killed,” he said. “Those guys were doing more than singing beer-hall songs back in 1933.”
“Yes, that’s true enough.” He cocked an eyebrow at Johnny. “What would you do?”
“I really don’t know,” Johnny said.
Roger dismissed the subject. “How did your dad and his wife enjoy their honeymoon?”
Johnny grinned. They had gone to Miami Beach, hotel-workers’ strike and all. “Charlene said she felt right at home, making her own bed. My dad says he feels like a freak, sporting a sunburn in March. But I think they both enjoyed it.”
“And they’ve sold the houses?”
“Yes, both on the same day. Got almost what they wanted, too. Now if it wasn’t for the goddam medical bills still hanging over my head, it’d be plain sailing.”
“Johnny...”
“Hmmm?”
“Nothing. Let’s go back. I’ve got some Chivas Regal, if you’ve got a taste.”
“I believe I do,” Johnny said.
3
They were reading Jude the Obscure now, and Johnny had been surprised at how quickly and naturally Chuck had taken to it (after some moaning and groaning over the first forty pages or so). He confessed he had been reading ahead at night on his own, and he intended to try something else by Hardy when he finished. For the first time in his life he was reading for pleasure. And like a boy who has just been initiated into the pleasures of sex by an older woman, he was wallowing in it.
Now the book lay open but facedown in his lap. They were by the pool again, but it was still drained and both he and Johnny were wearing light jackets. Overhead, mild white clouds scudded across the sky, trying desultorily to coalesce enough to make it rain. The feel of the air was mysterious and sweet; spring was somewhere near. It was April 16.
“Is this one of those trick questions?” Chuck asked.
“Nope.”
“Well, would they catch me?”
“Pardon?” That was a question none of the others had asked.
“If I killed him. Would they catch me? Hang me from a lamppost? Make me do the funky chicken six inches off the ground?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Johnny said slowly. “Yes, I suppose they would catch you.”
“I don’t get to escape in my time machine to a gloriously changed world, huh? Back to good old 1977?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Well, it wouldn’t matter. I’d kill him anyway.”
“Just like that?”
“Sure.” Chuck smiled a little. “I’d rig myself up with one of those hollow teeth filled with quick-acting poison or a razor blade in my shirt collar or something like that. So if I did get caught they couldn’t do anything too gross to me. But I’d do it. If I didn’t, I’d be afraid all those millions of people he ended up killing would haunt me to my grave.”
“To your grave,” Johnny said a little sickly.
“Are you okay, Johnny?”
Johnny made himself return Chuck’s smile. “Fine. I guess my heart just missed a beat or something.”
Chuck went on with Jude under the mildly cloudy sky.
4
May.
The smell of cut grass was back for yet another return engagement—also those long-running favorites, honeysuckle, dust, and roses. In New England spring really only comes for one priceless week and then the deejays drag out the Beach Boys golden oldies, the buzz of the