Part 5 (1/2)
”It's usually the Gregory Trexes of the world you have to deal with, Mary, not the Elysius Culhanes.”
”No,” she said, shaking her head adamantly. ”That's treating the symptoms, not the disease.”
”Gregory Trex is a symptom that will kill you.”
”The only way to stop being manipulated by men like Elysius Culhane is to refuse to deal with, to fight, their surrogates a” people like Gregory. When enough people refuse to fight, then the fighting will simply stop.”
”Gandhi, Martin Luther King, and the Community of Conciliation would have lasted about five minutes in n.a.z.i Germany or Pol Pot's Cambodia. Pacifism can only work in a basically just society, where the majority of people are basically just. The problem, Mary, is that it takes only one Gregory Trex with a machine gun to wipe out droves of pacifists, and Trex wouldn't give it a second thought if he thought he could get away with it. What do you do about that?”
”Wait for him to run out of ammunition.”
”You're joking, of course.”
”I am not,” she said evenly, drawing herself up slightly.
”He'll simply reload.”
”Then we wait for the people who supply him with the ammunition to stop manufacturing it.”
I had better things to do than debate pacifism with Mary Tree, and I didn't want our meeting to end on a sour note. I bowed slightly, extended my hand. ”Thank you, Mary.”
She took my hand in both of hers, smiled warmly. ”I take it you don't think much of the pacifist philosophy.”
”My philosophy is do unto others as you would have them do unto you, but keep a sharp lookout for the bad guys. There have always been bad guys, Mary, and there always will be. They'll roll right over you if you let them; first take everything you own and then take your life. If you're not prepared to fight and die for certain things, then you probably don't have much to live for.”
”But you believe you also have to be prepared to kill for certain things.”
”Yes.”
”Then you're back to the danger of being manipulated by demagogues, cowards, bigots, and hypocrites like Elysius Culhane.”
”No.”
”Who tells the good guys from the bad guys?”
”I do.”
”Only you?”
”Only me. Dying and killing are very personal things.”
”Men should only, say, fight in wars they personally believe in, and refuse to fight in others?”
”Yep. And then accept the consequences of that decision if the government wants to throw you in jail, or even kill you. It's a h.e.l.l of a lot better to die for what you believe in than to die a” or kill a” for something you don't believe in. Each individual must make his or her own decision.”
”That makes you an anarchist.”
”G.o.d, I hope Garth doesn't find out about it. He already has enough names to call me.”
Mary Tree laughed lightly, then gripped me gently by the shoulders. ”That reminds me of something I have to give you. Just wait here a minute.”
I waited, kneading my sore left arm and gazing out the bank of windows at the river. She was back a few minutes later, looking slightly flushed. She was carrying a plastic shopping bag, which she handed to me. It felt heavy.
”This is just between you and me and your brother, Mongo,” she said, her pale blue eyes bright with excitement and warmth. ”I've been negotiating with a small record company in Los Angeles that wants to sign me to a new recording contract. These are copies of demo tapes I've been working on for the past year. They're not as clean as they should be, and a couple of rhythm tracks still have to be laid in, but, since you say your brother is such a fan of mine, I think he might enjoy listening to them. I've written a lot of the songs myself, which is a departure for me, but there are a number of new Harry Peal songs, and Dylan even gave me one. They're also doing some uncredited backup vocals. I've autographed the tape slipcases.”
”Good grief, Mary,” I said, hefting the plastic bag. ”There must be enough music here for three or four alb.u.ms. Talk about collectibles. I'll certainly enjoy listening to the tapes, but I'm going to be sure we're standing in Garth's apartment when I give these to him. He's going to lose control of his bodily functions when he hears what I've got here.”
Mary Tree's smile grew even broader, warmer. ”Also, I want you to bring him out for the day when this other business is behind you. We'll poke around the antique shops, have a picnic lunch up in the quarry, and maybe go sailing, if you'd like.”
”I'd like. As for Garth, well, words cannot express.”
”I've got everyone else lined up out in the foyer. They'd like to say h.e.l.lo. Okay with you?”
”Fine with me.”
I followed her across the ballroom, stopped just before we reached the archway, and took her arm. She turned toward me, a puzzled expression on her face. ”Mary,” I continued quietly, ”I don't want to frighten you, but I'd like you to be very careful for ... a while. Until we get this matter of Michael's death cleared up, I want you to watch out for yourself. When you leave the house, even if it's just for a walk into town, always take somebody with you. Okay?”
She studied me for a few moments, and when she spoke her voice had grown slightly husky. ”Mongo, you think Michael was murdered, don't you?”
”Yes,” I said, feeling my stomach muscles flutter, ”I do.”
”You didn't seem so certain before.”
”I got certain when you told me Michael had supposedly used the canoe without permission. There was a time when Michael loved boating and swimming, and I was willing to grant the possibility that he'd decided to celebrate the new life he was planning to start with you people by going back to doing the things he'd once enjoyed; if so, his being out in a canoe on the Hudson might be explainable. The river kicked up on him, he capsized and drowned.”
”But now you don't believe that's what happened.”
”No. What I'm not willing to grant is that he'd use somebody else's property a” in this case a very special, handcrafted canoe a” without asking permission. Michael was a gracious and rigorously courteous man, a stickler for respecting other people's privacy and property. He would never have taken that canoe without permission. I wasn't sure I wanted to tell you my suspicions, not only because I didn't want to frighten you but because somebody might think you know more than you do, and that could place you in danger. But then I realized that people are bound to find out that I've talked to you, and just that fact could be dangerous. That's why I want you to be careful. Yes, I believe Michael was murdered. Now the questions become who did it and why.”
CHAPTER FOUR.
I hung around in the huge foyer of the Community of Conciliation mansion for half an hour, chatting with Mary and fifteen other members of the pacifist organization, and then I was out the door and three quarters of the way down the driveway before I realized that I'd forgotten to call a taxi. I flexed my tender right knee, decided that I'd test it with the walk back into town and hope that it didn't stiffen up too badly on me.
I needn't have worried. I'd limped along only a half mile or so, occasionally reaching across my body to knead my throbbing left arm, when a white Cairn police car pulled up to the curb beside me and Dan Mosely rolled down the window.
”You look like you're hurting, Frederickson,” Mosely said in his deep, resonant voice. ”I think you need a lift.”
I stopped, studied the impa.s.sive features of the man with the steel-colored hair and eyes. ”Chief, that sounds to me like an official invitation.”
”Semi-official. Get in, Frederickson. If you will.”
I walked around to the other side of the car, got in, and fastened my seat belt, but Mosely didn't put the idling car into gear. He leaned forward, bowing his head slightly as he hooked his wrists over the steering wheel. ”You must have hurt your leg while you were kicking the s.h.i.+t out of Gregory Trex again,” Mosely said with a small sigh. ”You really should be more careful; if you don't stop beating on that bonehead, you're going to cripple yourself.”
”Pardon me?”
”It really is true what they say about you.”