The Empty Copper Sea by John D. MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John D. MacDonald
that time-not in the Page 18
mood, have this little headache, and so on and so on-will be so feeble as to lead the spurned party to the inevitable conclusion that she is indeed sexually unappetizing. This is such an unthinkable blow to give to another person's ego and selfesteem, it is far more charitable to gird the old loins and hop to it.
So here she was in the sweet depths of her postcoital slumber, reassured once more of her sexuality and desirability. As I was wedged back against the wall, there was no hope of stealthy departure. I took hold of her shoulder and gave her a little shake.
"Whassawharra?" she said into my ribs.
"Got to leave, B.J."
She groaned and hoisted herself up onto her elbows and lifted a bleared face to stare at me.
"Whachawannago?"
"Daylight soon. Don't want old Jack watching me creep out of here, do you?"
"Shidno, swee."
I clambered over her and got into my clothes. "Shirdsonahanganashar."
"What? What?"
"When I got up before, I hung your shirt on a hanger in the shower, but it probally isn't dry."
"Oh."
It wasn't. Not quite. I pulled a sheet up to cover her. I kissed her lazy mouth and patted her rump, and she told me to make sure the door locked behind me. It did. I felt a dampness in the cool touch of the predawn air. My brow felt fine, but my arms were leaden and dulled, by the deep ache of the bruises from Nicky Noyes's big fists. Hell of a night, all told. Too much travel, too much to drink, a stupid brawl, and finally some romping with a small wiry tanned lady who was lonely enough to be potential trouble. By diligent effort I seemed to be prolonging my adolescence to total absurdity.
On impulse I turned away from the walk and found my way by starlight down to the beach, and out of my east-coast habit looked for that touch of light along the horizon which would warn of the new day. Then I realized it would come up behind me, over the land. I walked to a chaise and stretched out on the damp canvas.
Between love and sleep, she had given drowsy answers to my elaborately casual questions. What did Nicky mean about a girl leaving town the next day?
-Huh? Oh, her. She left town the next day. Who?
Who what?
-Who left town the next day?
Well, they said she and Hub Lawless had something going. Then there were other people said there was always talk about a woman like that, like Kristin Petersen, whoever she was working for, and they said Hub and Julie Lawless had too good a marriage. Then her leaving town the very next day while the Coast Guard and everybody was hunting Hub's body ...
Her voice had faded down into a muttering and then into slow, heavy breathing. A little bit more for Meyer's notebook. One Kristin Petersen, who had worked for Hubbard Lawless in some capacity as yet unknown and who was a natural target for gossip. A veritable battalion of women were thronging the Timber Bay scene: B. J. Bailey Felicia Ambar, Michele Burns, Julia Lawless, and now Kristin, who had departed.
There was beginning to be such a subtle additive of light that I could make out the ghostly shape of a marker off to my left, where North Pass entered Timber Bay, and beyond it some shadowy tree shapes on the outcroppings that sheltered the bay. The Gulf was quiet, with a gentle lap and slap of small waves on the packed wet sand. I heard a deep-throated diesel chugging through the wet noises of the sea and soon saw the outline of a ahrimper heading out. There was a pale yellow rectangle in the amidships area, with a man standing against the glow, and I saw him lift his arm and realized that he was lifting a cup of coffee to his lips. It was so vivid I could smell the coffee.
And I had a sudden wrenching urge to shed my own identity and be somebody else. Somehow I Page 19
had managed to lock myself into this unlikely and unsatisfying self, this Travis McGee, shabby knight errant, fighting for small, lost, unimportant causes, deluding himself with the belief that he is in some sense freer than
mood, have this little headache, and so on and so on-will be so feeble as to lead the spurned party to the inevitable conclusion that she is indeed sexually unappetizing. This is such an unthinkable blow to give to another person's ego and selfesteem, it is far more charitable to gird the old loins and hop to it.
So here she was in the sweet depths of her postcoital slumber, reassured once more of her sexuality and desirability. As I was wedged back against the wall, there was no hope of stealthy departure. I took hold of her shoulder and gave her a little shake.
"Whassawharra?" she said into my ribs.
"Got to leave, B.J."
She groaned and hoisted herself up onto her elbows and lifted a bleared face to stare at me.
"Whachawannago?"
"Daylight soon. Don't want old Jack watching me creep out of here, do you?"
"Shidno, swee."
I clambered over her and got into my clothes. "Shirdsonahanganashar."
"What? What?"
"When I got up before, I hung your shirt on a hanger in the shower, but it probally isn't dry."
"Oh."
It wasn't. Not quite. I pulled a sheet up to cover her. I kissed her lazy mouth and patted her rump, and she told me to make sure the door locked behind me. It did. I felt a dampness in the cool touch of the predawn air. My brow felt fine, but my arms were leaden and dulled, by the deep ache of the bruises from Nicky Noyes's big fists. Hell of a night, all told. Too much travel, too much to drink, a stupid brawl, and finally some romping with a small wiry tanned lady who was lonely enough to be potential trouble. By diligent effort I seemed to be prolonging my adolescence to total absurdity.
On impulse I turned away from the walk and found my way by starlight down to the beach, and out of my east-coast habit looked for that touch of light along the horizon which would warn of the new day. Then I realized it would come up behind me, over the land. I walked to a chaise and stretched out on the damp canvas.
Between love and sleep, she had given drowsy answers to my elaborately casual questions. What did Nicky mean about a girl leaving town the next day?
-Huh? Oh, her. She left town the next day. Who?
Who what?
-Who left town the next day?
Well, they said she and Hub Lawless had something going. Then there were other people said there was always talk about a woman like that, like Kristin Petersen, whoever she was working for, and they said Hub and Julie Lawless had too good a marriage. Then her leaving town the very next day while the Coast Guard and everybody was hunting Hub's body ...
Her voice had faded down into a muttering and then into slow, heavy breathing. A little bit more for Meyer's notebook. One Kristin Petersen, who had worked for Hubbard Lawless in some capacity as yet unknown and who was a natural target for gossip. A veritable battalion of women were thronging the Timber Bay scene: B. J. Bailey Felicia Ambar, Michele Burns, Julia Lawless, and now Kristin, who had departed.
There was beginning to be such a subtle additive of light that I could make out the ghostly shape of a marker off to my left, where North Pass entered Timber Bay, and beyond it some shadowy tree shapes on the outcroppings that sheltered the bay. The Gulf was quiet, with a gentle lap and slap of small waves on the packed wet sand. I heard a deep-throated diesel chugging through the wet noises of the sea and soon saw the outline of a ahrimper heading out. There was a pale yellow rectangle in the amidships area, with a man standing against the glow, and I saw him lift his arm and realized that he was lifting a cup of coffee to his lips. It was so vivid I could smell the coffee.
And I had a sudden wrenching urge to shed my own identity and be somebody else. Somehow I Page 19
had managed to lock myself into this unlikely and unsatisfying self, this Travis McGee, shabby knight errant, fighting for small, lost, unimportant causes, deluding himself with the belief that he is in some sense freer than
Similar Books
Dark War
Tim Waggoner
Here by the Bloods
Brandon Boyce
The Secret Sister
Brenda Novak
Lacy Seeing Double
Jana Leigh
Ballistics
Billy Collins
APretenseofLove
Aileen Fish
Mustang Sally
Jayne Rylon