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“Well, then, what? Do you think killing your wife, or your best friend, or someone close at hand to be a lot more exciting?”

“Exactly”, said Jim.

“You must be kidding. You'd be implicated from the very outset. How far do you think you could get before they would arrest you”, said Frank, thoroughly engrossed in the mysterious depths of the crime.

“Thou hast said it, Frank. The challenge is almost insurmountable … but the satisfaction derived from that type of crime, executed successfully, is tremendous. So you see, I've really given you the better end of this bargain by setting my sights so high”, he laughed, “that's quite the appropriate expression, eh?”

“Yes”, said Frank, quickly acquiescing. “Be more explicit. Just what is the rest of your plan?”

“Surprise, the first element, right?”

“Right”, said Frank.

“The second is thrown in for spice, that is, someone who knows you, and he, in turn, is known to be a friend, or at least an acquaintance”.

“You say him, is it to be a man?” asked Frank.

“Certainly. Not that there's anything wrong with women, but I've never even considered a woman for the victim. That's odd … now that you mention it …”

“Okay, okay, it's a man. Now what?”

“You're certainly in a hurry for me to commit this murder, aren't you?”

“I'm just curious to find out what's happening next, that's all”.

“Third is nonchalance. You have to adopt an air of complete indifference, not to the crime of course, but to the investigation of your alibi, etc. I even think that if one went about trying to help solve the crime, his suspicion would be completely forgotten. Know what I mean?”

“No, not really”, answered Frank.

“Well, the greatest asset that any criminal can have is casualness. Have you ever been doing something, and someone asked you what you were doing, almost inferring that you were doing something wrong, and you casually answered, why, I'm wiping the dirt off my shoes, or, I'm just replacing this pen, it fell on the floor.”

“Well, sure, as a matter of fact, I have”, answered Frank.

“Well, now, if you were really picking up a pen that you stole, or whatever, you wouldn't have been able to answer with such conviction, and then you would arouse suspicion. Now, if someone really were doing something wrong. but answered as calmly as if he weren't, well, people wouldn't suspect as quickly”.

“But, they'd get on to you afterwards. That act can't hold up to facts”, said Frank, trying to find holes in Jim's argument.

“Quite so, but the act is just for the beginning. As time passes, it is only facts and not apprehension that can convict you. Since in this instance there will be no facts, no clues, since I am going to completely get rid of evidence, and since I am not only not going to hinder the investigation, which is an act which would mark me guilty, but I intend to actually try and help find the evil-doer. I don't see how I could ever come under suspicion”.

“How do you propose to get rid of the evidence”, asked Frank.

“That's simple enough. There's lye, acid, deep forests, untrespassed places, and then or course, there's the river. A well-weighted body might never come to the surface”.

Frank looked out of the car window on his side to the river that showed between long flat slips, and warehouses that resembled the heads of mute giants with their chins resting on the street level, looking out of square window-like eyes.

“If no one saw the weights, the body disappears, you act calmly, help with the investigation, have an alibi that will stand up …”

“Okay, what about the alibi?”, asked Frank.

“That's the only real problem, but that too is simple and obvious. People have a tendency to make life, and in this case, death, more difficult than it really is. Take Poe's ‘Purloined Letter'—ever read that story”.

“Yes, that's where he leaves a letter right in the middle of the room and the police search everywhere, even under the wall paper, but never looked in the obvious places”.

“That's right. Now if there is no evidence to work with, one can't be convicted in the first place, unless he is brought to suspicion by his absence. After all, the police realize you can get rid of a body. But now, if you were right in the midst of many people, or even a few of the right people, say the victim's wife, since we've established he's to be male, at the time of the perpetration of the crime, or the suspected time of the crime, well, they could never accuse you, could they?” said Jim.

“But how do you get to the wife at the right time, and kill the person at the same time?” asked Frank, somewhat perplexed.

“No one will know the exact time. It will only be calculated in hours of absence, and you could be far away before anything is known. Better still, if you were to bring the absence of the victim to everyone's attention, and began, together with the wife to look for the victim, well …”

“You've really got this all figured out, haven't you”, said Frank as he looked from the window and the river to Jim, and then turned forward, somewhat nervous because of the hideous atmosphere in which he was riding. The bridge was just overhead. They were passing under it, as they did every night, left turn and onto the …

“Say, why are you turning this way? The bridge is the other way”, said Frank in a quick, faltering way. “Why are you driving out to the wharfs?”

“Nothing. I'll just be a second”, said Jim, calmly surprised at Frank's nervousness, then he turned to Frank, adding, “I'm just going to collect a bet”.

THE LABYRINTH OF HAPPINESS

Rain billowed from the heavens. Outlined in front of the streetlight as I looked from my apartment window, the rain resembled thin cords of pulsating silver foil floating from the sky, winding and twisting in the wind. Spray bounced from the musty street, which was slowly losing its flat, lusterless charcoaled look. Little slick spots contrasted against the street here and there—now in greater profusion—and soon entire areas were completely covered with a slick blackness of wet reflecting a solid wedge of light from the drooping street lamp. From the level of the street arose the warm, all enveloping breath of dank, wet, dusty air which fills the first minutes of a rainy summer night with a strange, disagreeably nice, and so nostalgic an odor of past summers. I pushed away from the window frame and started toward the bathroom, my eyes still stiff with sleep. The outer edges of my eyelids felt inflamed and recoiled at the opening. I slid my hand against the smooth tiled wall and tripped the light switch. An image squinted at me from the silvery window on the wall.

“You must be crazy to be getting up at this hour”, complained the image. “I must be crazy? Bob must be crazy! Out of his God damn clear head to call up at this hour and ask me to meet him. What the hell time is it?”, I asked myself in the mirror, as I leaned forward and twisted the water faucet on the sink. “What the hell is the difference”, I continued as I unbuttoned my pajama top, “I'm up now!”

The cold shock of the water on my face and neck sent a shudder through my body which subsided into full awakedness. I walked out of the bathroom into the bedroom and took my clothes from the silent valet.

“What the hell's the matter with Bob calling at this hour to meet him?” I began again as I slipped my trousers on and gave a sidelong glance at the clock on the night table. “One thirty?” It had seemed as if I had slept for hours. “Where the hell did he say to meet him, … oh yeah, Pete's. Might as well get started”. I finished tying my shoe laces, took a rain coat from the hall closet and bounded down the stairs. I opened the front door and was greeted by the hiss of bouncing rain. Little streams were running down next to the curb and under the wheels of the awaiting car, which resembled a soaking wet cat sitting patiently with little streams of running water sliding off its sleek side. I slid in and turned the engine over. She roared lustily. As I sat and waited for the engine to warm a little, I lit a cigarette. The wind shield wipers began making their familiar quarter circle of squeegeed glass, which was quickly redotted with water, and as quickly wiped away. I eased the car from the curb and headed toward Pete's.

The light from the inside diffused out through steamy windows that bore the owner's name in big old-fashioned gold letters. I pulled the car to the curb and went inside. Sitting at the bar, slouched on a stool, observing potent liquid mount the sides of his glass as he twisted it in his hand, was my awakener.

“What the hell is up, man?” I asked taking off my dripping raincoat, hanging it on the little fingers of wood that stuck out from the wall. “Was it really this urgent?”

“Jesus, am I glad to see you, Don”, said Bob with a look of wild, half bleary relief on his face. “When you hear what I tell you, you'll be staggered”, he said with emotion, his eyes boring into me fiercely. “It sure staggered me!! I never believed it possible”. His head nodded absently as his voice trailed off into silent, unbelieving contemplation.

“What is it?” I asked, concerned. “It better be pretty damn staggering after getting me out of bed like this. Why the hell didn't you tell me yesterday afternoon when I met you at the plane?”

“I didn't know until tonight”, he said as he grabbed my arm, “until I saw Gloria”. The hurt that it became clear he was feeling, was transmitted through my arm. He pressed it in desperation.

“Ohh? What happened?”

His hand moved from my arm to the bar. He rested his chin upon a clenched fist. “I guess you know why the hell I went to California, don't you?” he asked.

I nodded I had, as I motioned the bartender to draw a beer for me.

“I went away so I could get enough money for Gloria and me to get married. I went away so we could get married”, he repeated to himself in a voice hinting amazement, … “and I come back feeling bad enough about not having enough money, … well not having enough to, … as much as I wanted anyway, you know? I felt kind of down about that, but I thought that coming home'd have its compensations. I'd see Gloria and she'd understand, you know? And she'd help me to start over again. At least I figured she'd be something real that I could hold onto without it slipping away … I saw her tonight”, he said flatly, almost with disgust. “You know, I told you I had a date with her?” I nodded. “Well we went for a long drive, and then for a drink somewhere in Westchester. She wasn't, … ohh, I don't know, she just wasn't with it, you know. She seemed to be thinking, or bothered about something. She was really, … uhh, moody. I asked her, what's the matter, and she said, ‘nothing'. You know the way women have of saying nothing is bothering them and you know damn well something really is. I don't know if you're supposed to beg them to tell you or what, … but anyway, she kept saying that nothing was bothering her. Say bartender, … bring me another drink please. You want another drink, Don?”

“No, no thanks, I still have this beer in front of me”, I replied.

“Thanks a lot, Joe”, Bob said as the bartender put down his drink. “So she keeps this up for a while”, he continued turning toward me, “and then she turns to me and says she thinks we should have a long talk and now was as good a time as any. I didn't know what to expect. I mean after going away to California and coming back feeling lousy, and now something is bothering my girl”, he droned on in his half desperate, half pleading voice.

“She wanted to have a long talk with you, … what about?” I asked, urging him to continue.

“She told me, …” He stopped, turning to face me with narrowed, searching eyes … “Don, I asked you to come because I had to talk to someone, … I had to tell somebody, … and I wanted you to come because you've been my buddy for years. I want you to listen to this, and just tell me what you think”.

“I'll try to help, Bob. What happened?”

“She said she wasn't sure anymore”, he said with a horrendous finality mixed with embarrassment, “that she doesn't know if she loves me”. He looked at me furtively for a moment to see my reaction then looked down. He was quiet now, taking a sip of his beer, lighting a cigarette. “While I was away she had to go out”, he continued. “I told her to. You know, I didn't want her to stay home all the time, or to feel bad if she did go. I told her to go out and have fun, and not to feel bad about it. You know, just to have something to do. You just can't sit around all the time for four months”, he said trying to explain.

“I understand. I don't think either of you could really expect the other not to go out while you were apart, and not be selfish”, I said, trying to show I understood.

“Well, she started to pal around with the crowd that she used to before we met …”

“Which crowd is that, … the one in the Village?”

“No, … just the gang in her neighborhood. There's a whole bunch of people around there, and they throw parties all the time, and live it up. Anyway, she starts to go out with this crowd again, and in particular, she sees this guy Jim Sammison. She went out with him before she went with me. Well, you know how it is when you go around with a crowd, a lot of laughs, plenty of places to go, … you know, never a dull moment, lots of kicks. So, she starts to have fun running around the town again, like she used to. Not that she cared for this guy. She told me he doesn't mean anything to her, but they went out on a couple of dates. She just went out with him because I wasn't in town …”

“Okay. She's going out with the gang, and she went out on a couple of dates, … so? What about not being sure anymore? Where does that come in?” I asked.

“Well, going out with the gang I guess she got to think that maybe she didn't love me. Maybe, now that she was enjoying going out with others so much, she didn't want to settle down. Anyway, when I get home tonight she was bothered because she didn't know what to do. She doesn't care about this guy, it's that she's just not sure anymore about me”. He stamped out a cigarette in the ash tray on the bar. “God! When she told me that, I almost went berserk. I was dumbfounded at first, you know, … then I saw red”. His hands gripped the edge of the bar. “I got so angry I almost wrecked the place where we were. I just couldn't control myself”.