Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 49, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2004

She completed the sentence, but Memphis wasn’t sure she had completed the thought.

“He’s my friend,” he stated simply and kept driving.

The house appeared deserted. Only the presence of Carl’s truck adjacent to it betrayed the possibility that someone might be there. Memphis entered the house behind Lena with his pistol drawn and ready. It appeared empty as Lena led him from room to room.

A barely audible sound found their ears. It sounded like voices, but its direction was unclear. She showed him a doorway near the kitchen that led to the basement below.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you,” Angus Haynes asked upon seeing his daughter, who stood at the top of the stairs.

Memphis stood in the shadows behind her. He could see immediately why she had cowered without going farther. Rufus lay on the floor curled in the fetal position. He moaned with each movement, and he could see the bruises where Carl had beaten him. He gave Lena a gentle nudge, and she started reluctantly down the steps.

As Memphis stepped into view, he saw Carl look away and followed his line of vision to a shotgun propped against the wall.

“You won’t make it,” he warned, allowing them to see his gun.

“You!” Angus Haynes exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to get my friend,” Memphis answered. “Rufus didn’t take your money, Mr. Haynes. I did. Morelli followed your orders to the letter, Mr. Haynes. You told him to kill all the colored boys, so you wouldn’t have to pay them. He did just that. At least he tried.”

Haynes’s mouth dropped open with amazement.

“Can you walk, Rufus?” Memphis asked.

Rufus struggled painfully to his feet and staggered toward the stairs.

“You don’t think you’re going to get away with this, do you?” Haynes asked.

Rufus stumbled and Lena draped his arm across her shoulder for support to the astonishment of her father. As they passed in front of Memphis, Carl whirled toward the far wall, grabbed the shotgun, and rolled to one knee. Rufus stumbled forward, falling to his knees as Carl jerked the trigger.

Memphis lunged laterally, firing repeatedly toward the kneeling figure. He saw Carl crumple, but it was too late. He had seen the shotgun blast lift Lena up and fling her toward the stairs. They were all frozen for a moment, in pain and in time. All that Memphis could fathom was the pounding of his heart as he absorbed what had just happened.

Carl was dead. He kicked the shotgun away from him and turned toward Lena. He didn’t bother to approach her. There was too much blood. Nobody could live having lost that much blood.

Angus Haynes was seated on the floor. He was trembling and crying as Memphis stood over him.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you,” he said. “You’ve lost everything, and that’s exactly what you deserve. Besides, I need you alive to keep the cops off my back.” He dropped the empty pistol on the floor in front of Haynes. “You tell the police a story that will explain all of this — why Carl killed Lena and why you killed Carl. I hear you’re good at that sort of thing. Your story had better not include me, or I might have to tell them where all of that money came from. I hear it’s better to grieve in freedom than to grieve in jail. Think about it. Anyway, in the back of your mind, you’re thinking that you’ll eventually catch me, get your money back, and possibly kill me. Hold on to that thought. It could happen, but I promise you, the next time I see you I won’t be so charitable.”

Rufus was halfway up the stairs when Memphis took his arm.

“Who the hell are you?” Haynes cried.

“I’m Travis Redmond from Ahoskie,” Memphis answered. “You know about Ahoskie, don’t you?”

He smiled at the old man as he saw a terrible light of recognition spread across his face. People in that region knew the name Ahoskie — a town with an inordinate share of those with ambiguous racial appearances.

“Those three men you told Morelli to kill were family — my cousins,” Memphis informed him. “Morelli liked to hire men who moved up there from the South. They weren’t as streetwise as those who grew up in New York, but they knew how to play the skin game. Morelli didn’t get the connection because they just didn’t look as white as me. He had to shoot me, because I tried to kill him when I saw what he’d done.”

Memphis led Rufus out into the light. It was a beautiful June morning as they drove toward the state’s northern border.

“Is this Never-Never Land?” Rufus asked.

“Not yet,” Memphis replied.

“I’m sorry about your girl. I might have been wrong about her.”

Memphis nodded without speaking.

“I might have been wrong about something else, too,” Rufus sighed.

Memphis’s eyes left the highway momentarily. Rufus was not a man who often admitted to being mistaken.

“I guess I got at least one white friend,” he said, and they both laughed for a long time.

Russell Davenport and the Housekeeper

by Alex Auswaks

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