Manhunt. Volume 14, Number 1, February/March, 1966

Well, he thought, I never expected anything like this to happen, not to me. If only we had had a year, we would have had enough accounts so it wouldn’t matter. But six months? Who would have thought that it would all end in just six months?

He reached down and pulled up his sock, then pushed the intercom button. “Mary, hold all calls. I’ll be back around three.”

He came back much earlier, shortly before two, and had Mary call Bill Phillips.

“He was at the party last night,” Thomas explained. “I think he lives in the Riverside Apartments.”

He walked into his office and sat down at this desk. What a mess, he thought, and rubbed his eyes. When the phone buzzed he stared at it for several seconds before picking it up.

“Hello Bill,” Thomas said. “How are you feeling today?” After a pause, he said, “Yeah, I’m a little hungover too. What I wanted to find out is when you’re going to Miami?... Tonight?... A Southern Lines flight? I didn’t realize it was so soon. I wanted to ask you if you would do me a favor?... That’s right. It’s for my sister. She’s been living there for five months now... That’s right. Look, how about having dinner with us before you leave? I can pick you up after work and then I can drive you to the airport... Fine, I’ll pick you up about six... Bye.”

Thomas sat for a long time, staring at the telephone as if it could give him the answer he needed. Finally he sighed and walked out of the office.

“Mary,” he said, “I won’t be back today. If anything comes up and you need to contact me, call Phyllis. I’ll be home after seven.”

No one else had arrived when Thomas came to work the next morning, looking as if he hadn’t slept in days: his suit was wrinkled, he needed a shave and his eyes were red. He walked quickly into his office and without taking off his coat and hat spread several morning newspapers out on his desk and looked at the bold, black headlines:

124 KILLED IN PLANE CRASH

NEAR WILMINGTON

AUTHORITIES SAY

BOMB SUSPECTED

His hands shook as he read the story. He ran his fingers through his hair, then laughed softly. Well, he thought, they said a crash was a factor in advertising. Let’s see how big a factor it really is.

Thomas sat down at his typewriter and typed out a note for Mary: “Get Walter Adams for me. He works at Potter, Potter and Potter. He’s an old friend of mine and I understand he’s going to California sometime next week on a Continental Airlines flight.”

Deadly Star-Dust by Larry Dane

I cradled the rifle and rubbed the smooth stock. It wasn’t a weapon... it was the key to Fort Knox.

* * *

Mary Ellen used to say it was the law of averages that changed our luck. But I think it was her ankles! She was standing on a stepladder wiping the grease off the wall over the grill that day the stranger walked in. He ordered coffee without looking at me then perched himself on the middle stool at the counter and studied Mary’s legs. The way you look at a picture, long and keen. I noticed his eyes right away... pale, wintry eyes, too light to be grey. Too dark to be white. Snake’s eyes.

I gave Mary the discipline look as I squeezed past the ladder, and she flounced down with annoyed little wrinkles in her forehead. Like Scarlett O’Hara at a plantation picnic pouting just to tease. Mary’s quite an actress when she wants to be, and she wants to be most of the time. I suppose all her ham notions started five years ago when she was twelve and full of temper and day dreams. Her mother used to think Mary was better than Judy Garland and entered her in the talent hunt at the Albion Theatre in Detroit. Come to think of it, Mary did look a little like Judy Garland, tight and breathless, holding down that inside excitement but not very well. Mary sang “Over the Rainbow” that night at the Albion and won fifty dollars... second prize. She said she put a “lot of heart” into the song, but I thought she was a little off key. That night touched it off, I think. All those crazy ideas about New York and Hollywood and being a big star.

That same year her folks got smashed up and killed in an auto wreck. I always told Joe to lay off the hard stuff when he was driving, but he had a mind of his own. Joe was Mary Ellen’s dad, my kid brother. I took care of the kid, put her through high school. And that was no cinch for a dumb bachelor like me.