A Song at Twilight

by Philip J. Lees

Decker was leaning on a lamp post at the corner of the street, waiting for a certain little lady to come by. When she did, he'd fix her, that was sure. He'd fix her good.

A few minutes ago it had got just dark enough for the lamp over his head to flicker into dim, half-powered orange light. It was making a low humming sound. Decker didn't know whether he should be worried about that or not.

Hell! He had better things to worry about. Like how it was starting to rain and he had no raincoat, just the suit with the shiny knees and elbows and the hat that he pulled down harder on his head. Decker straightened out the brim as best he could all the way round so the drips wouldn't go down his neck.

Damnation! She should have been here by now. Decker looked at his watch. Almost seven thirty. She was definitely running late then, but Decker would wait. He'd learned patience the hard way.

Barber was still inside. He'd shot the guard. Decker, the driver, was out in five and Barber had made him promise to get even. Decker knew that if he didn't hold up his end he'd be on Barber's list himself. You didn't mess with Barber. In any case, Decker had his own reasons for carrying the deal through. Five years was reason enough.

The five years were paid for now, though Sandra didn't know it yet. That's what Decker was waiting here to tell her, when she came by on the way to the dance classes she attended twice a week. She'd always been crazy about that flamingo dancing, Decker couldn't understand why. All that foot-stomping and arm waving--he couldn't see the point to it. She had the figure for it though, he had to admit. Sandra was tall and slender, with a tight muscular body that Decker would have loved to get his hands on, but she wasn't having any of it. "This is business," she said. "Let's keep it that way." Decker knew she really thought he wasn't good enough for her. Well, now it was his turn to show her some business.

The humming stopped and the street light popped into full brightness, the surreal sodium light mixing strangely with the gray dregs of the day. As if it were a signal, somebody turned on a radio in one of the apartments down the street. The window must have been open because the music carried clearly to where Decker was standing. It was a song he recognized--Nina Simone singing "My Baby Just Cares for Me." It helped take his mind off the drizzle.

Decker rehearsed in his mind how he would tell Sandra the way she'd paid for the five years of his life she'd taken away. The way her sister had paid for those years. Sandra's little sister Jen was the only person--the only thing in the world she cared about. That was why Sandra had taken most of the money and tipped off the cops to him and Barber. She'd left them just enough of the cash so the cops had a watertight case. There was plenty left over for her to put Jen through college.

Decker had been ready to tell the cops about Sandra, but Barber said no. "No point," he said. "That way we all lose. There'll be time for payback." That was when he'd made Decker promise.

Decker had kept that promise. The first part, anyway. Sandra and Jen shared an apartment two blocks from here and Decker had checked them out thoroughly before he made his move. He'd put that hard-earned patience to good use--something else Barber had taught him. He'd learned where Jen parked her yellow Toyota Celica, what time she left in the morning, what route she followed, what time she usually came back, what could make her late. Sandra didn't drive and either walked where she was going or ordered a cab.

Jen taught dumb kids at a special school a little way out of town. If Decker's family had put him through college he'd have used those smarts to make some big bucks, not wasted them on retards. Jen wasn't going to waste those smarts any longer though. Decker had parked the stolen Volvo off the road by the entrance to the bridge, lights off, and waited until he saw the Toyota, its color unmistakable even in the late afternoon light, appear round the long bend. It was alone. If it hadn't been he'd have gone back tomorrow. He estimated its speed and distance and started his own engine, anticipating what he was about to do, the timing of it. He could do this. Driving was one thing he knew.

When Jen's car was a hundred yards away Decker dropped the parking brake and slipped into first gear. At fifty yards he took the weight of his vehicle on the clutch, counted to three, and then accelerated forward with the gas pedal pressed to the floor. His car struck the other one just forward of the passenger door, exactly as he'd planned, knocking it across the road, where its own momentum could carry it forward through the fence that separated the verge from the steep cut of the canal. Decker backed up a few yards, then surged ahead again, full power, ramming into the back of the car and forcing it further, until it toppled forward and disappeared over the edge. He'd spent some time looking for the right wheels and he'd picked the old Volvo because it was built like a tank.

Decker looked around. There were still no other vehicles in sight. He undid his seat belt and got out to take a look. Jen's car was in the water fifty feet below. Only the roof was above the surface and it was still sinking. Decker watched until the car was completely submerged, then waited another few minutes for good measure. Patience. He dumped the Volvo on the outskirts of town and moved on to phase two.

Which was this. He'd tell Sandra about Jen's "accident." Then he'd tell her that if she didn't want the same thing to happen to her she'd better come up with his and Barber's share, soonest. Payback. What could she do? Go to the cops? If she hadn't got the money that was too bad. She'd have to take out a loan.

A motorcycle cop turned on to the street a few blocks down, followed by a patrol car, blue light flashing but no siren. They were headed his way. Decker looked at his watch, hunched his shoulders, turned around, fiddled with his hat, then looked at his watch again, like a guy waiting for a regular date. At least the rain had stopped for now. Nina Simone had given way to Sinatra singing "My Way."

The cop cavalcade went past, paying Decker no attention. Not that he'd been worried, it just paid to be careful. The cops turned into another side street. It was the street where Sandra lived. Decker strolled along until he could see round the corner. The patrol car was stopped outside Sandra's building. The motorcycle cop was leaning on his bike talking into the radio. All the street lamps were fully lit now and the yellow light washed over the scene, leaving no shadows.

A man and a woman in uniform came out of the building. They passed underneath the arches that framed the front porch and walked down the steps. With them was another woman, crying into a handkerchief. Decker peered, trying to make out Sandra's tall figure, her long dark hair. It took him a moment to realize that the picture didn't fit. This woman was shorter, and blonde. The pieces fell into place like in a kaleidoscope. It was Jen. If Jen was here, in tears, then who had been in the Toyota? There was only one possible answer. Those tears weren't being cried for no one. Decker had killed Sandra by mistake.

The music had changed again. Somebody else, Tony Bennett maybe, was singing "The Best is Yet to Come."

Yeah, Decker thought. He muttered a foul word and turned away. With Sandra gone, there went any chance of recovering any loot. He'd managed payback of a kind, but would that be enough for Barber? Decker didn't think so. Which meant that now Barber would be looking for him.