The Turquoise Lament: A Travis McGee Novel by John D. MacDonald

Author:John D. MacDonald [MacDonald, John D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Thriller, Adventure
ISBN: 9780812984064
Google: dTgSAAAAQBAJ
Amazon: B008WONXEQ
Goodreads: 16156336
Publisher: Random House Trade Paperbacks
Published: 1973-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

For about fifteen seconds I didn’t know I was talking to Rine Houk. It had been a year and more. The man I knew had a long head, bald on top, a cropped stubble of salt and pepper around the edges, glasses with big black frames.

When he called me by name I peered at him again. “Jesus Christ, Rine!” I said before I could stop myself.

He shook his head and sat down behind his desk at his big boatyard. “I know. I know. You should try wearing this goddamn thing in weather like we were having lately. Trav, it’s like wearing a fur hat with ear flappers. The sweat comes apouring out from under it and runs down the inside of these wire glasses like you wouldn’t believe. If I see myself far off in a store window and I squint up my eyes, I can almost believe that’s a young fellow I’m seeing. Selling is a young man’s game, Trav, and don’t you forget it.”

“Bullshit, Rine. How about Colonel Sanders and his greasy chicken?”

“I’m not exactly selling box lunches.”

“Don’t get huffy with me just because I don’t like your hairpiece. We’ve never been great friends, Rine. But I like you. You are an honest man in a business where they are rare. I want to know a couple of things. Why that red-brown color like a setter dog?”

“That’s the color my hair was when I had any.”

“Do you sell boats from fifty feet away, or talking up close?”

“I sell them right across this desk.”

“Have you got a young girl friend?”

“Me!”

“Are you looking for one?”

“Am I looking for a coronary?”

“Rine, somebody gave you a bad steer. Are you selling more yachts lately?”

“Business is generally rotten.”

“Listen. I did not think of you as being young or old. I thought of you as being Rine Houk, the boat broker. I never especially thought of your face. But now I see your face underneath and between all that shiny hair, and your face looks so damn withered and old, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. You look silly, Rine. You look like you had bad judgment. You look desperate. I wouldn’t buy a leaky skiff from anybody who looks the way you do right now.”

“Get out of this office,” he said, but he wouldn’t look right at me.

“Rine,” I said gently.

He took a deep breath and let it out. He blinked rapidly, and I saw the tears squeeze out of his eyes. He jumped up and went around the corner of his desk, bumping into it, and went into the bathroom off his office and pulled the door shut. I felt rotten. People make such strange evaluations of self. Why upset them? It’s none of my business. I waited. And waited. And waited.

He came out, sans wig. He was back in the big glasses. He didn’t look at me. He sat on his heels in front of the executive icebox with the genuine cherrywood paneling. “Black Jack do you?” he asked.

“Fine. No mix.

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