The Year's Best Mystery & Suspense Stories 1992 by Edward D. Hoch

Author:Edward D. Hoch [Hoch, Edward D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

BARRY N. MALZBERG

FOLLY FOR THREE

A mystery story is not always a detective story. Occasionally the mystery can arise from the manner in which the story is told, as in this striking tale by Barry Malzberg. His contributions to the science fiction field have tended to overshadow Malzberg’s ventures into the mystery, but no one since Woolrich has delivered such a dark vision of the way we live. Malzberg’s 1976 novel The Running of Beasts, written in collaboration with Bill Pronzini, remains a classic study of a psychopathic killer.

Good, he said again, this is very good. Just turn a little, let the light catch you. I want to see you in profile, against the light. There, he said, that’s good. That’s what I want. His voice had thickened, whether with passion or contempt she had no idea. They were still at that tentative state of connection where all moves were suspect, all signals indeterminate.

Ah, he said, you’re a piece all right. That’s what you are.

I’ve never done this before, she said. I’ve never done anything like this before. I want you to know that. She looked out the window, the gray clouds on the high floor hammering at the panes. Way, way up now. For everything there’s a first time, she said.

Right, he said, humoring her. Whatever you say. I’m your first. Best in the world. Anything for a hump. He backed against a chair, crouched, fell into the cushions, stared at her from that angle, looking upward intently, checking out her crotch, then the high angle of her breasts, pulled upward within the brassiere, arching. He muttered something she could not hear and raised a hand.

What is it? she said. What do you want?

Come here. I want you to come here right now.

Tell me why.

I don’t want games, he said. We’ll have time for that later. You want to fool around, play with yourself. Come over here. Move it.

Can’t you be a little kinder? I told you, I’ve never done anything like this before.

You want a commendation? he said. A Congressional Medal of Honor? He cleared his throat, looked at her with an odd and exacting impatience. Everybody has to have a first time, he said. Even I did once. I got through it. You’ll get through it too. But you have to close your eyes and jump. Move it over here now.

This isn’t the way I thought it would be, she said.

How did you think it would be? Flowers and wine? Tchaikovsky on the turntable? White Russians with straws? This is the setup, he said, this is what a nooner feels like. You don’t hang out in bars midday if you’re not looking for a nooner.

She looked at him, almost as if for the first time, noting the age spots on his arms, the fine, dense wrinkling around the eyes, which she had not noticed in the bar. Could she back out now? No, she thought, she couldn’t. This was not the way it was done. That was all behind her now.

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