The Way Down

By Ardin Lalui

A dark and brilliant new take on the literary detective genre. Art is a down and out gambler who has been hired to kill a woman working in a bar outside San Diego. Unfortunately for both of them he can't help falling in love with her before he does it. What follows is a strange tale in which Art tries to get to the bottom of the murder he himself committed. He soon learns that he is the only person alive who cares about the woman. He also finds out that although he may be able to escape the law and punishment, he can never truly escape his own fate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ardin Lalui
• Release date: Aug 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9780991763443

Book preview

I

SOMETIMES YOU DO A TERRIBLE THING and like as not there aint a soul around that cares a damn.

I’m talking about a man but the story begins when he was a boy. This boy went and got himself amazed by a fortuneteller. Last thing a boy should be doing if you ask me. The fortuneteller was older than Sunday and came from damn near the other side of the world. A real life gypsy from a gypsy world I guess you’d say. The boy was impressed straight off and who could blame him? Standing there in front of the gypsy he near lost his soul. Forgot his life, his world, his father and sister waiting for him outside the wagon. He fell in the gypsy’s world in a way most of us won’t ever know and not a thing to do to pull him back.

The gypsy told him his fate. Told him the sad and lonely path he’d tread. Showed him the devil that would run loose. The boy hung on every word like a dog to a bone. The gypsy saw it in his eyes. Here was a kid who wouldn’t never forget. Poor kid didn’t stand a chance. Later when the boy was grown he’d look back on what the gypsy said and try to make sense of it. If you were there to ask you’d see he remembered everything, word for cursed word. And the thing that gets you, if you let it, is that the gypsy knew all that. He knew the boy would remember. And maybe that’s what made him hold back. Because if there’s one thing the gypsy knew it’s that there are certain things a man should never know about his own fate. Now usually that wouldn’t stop the gypsy telling anyway. That was his job and a job will make you do a thing. But for some reason that day he held back. Something about the look in the boy’s eye. The gypsy could see how he’d be haunted by what he heard. Truth be told the gypsy went right ahead and told far more than any man ought rightly to know about his own future. He told about the dark things, the dangers of love, not to let a kiss fool him, and worst of all, that one day he’d kill the thing he loved most. It haunted him forever. But the gypsy did hold back just one thing. A thing he knew the boy couldn’t bear to hear. Not a big thing, but something I’ve been playing over in my mind close to fifty years now.

That there are two kinds of women in this world, and both of them are called Martha.

II

THE FIRST TIME I SAW MARTHA she was wearing a wedding dress, white as a coffee stained dove. It was her mother’s dress but you wouldn’t know it to look at her. You’d know she had slept in it though. It wasn’t too dirty but it was creased all over. She sat at the bar in her creased wedding dress and stared at me. I stared back. I liked what I saw. I liked the dress.

—I like the dress, I said.

Martha looked down at it and shrugged. That’s what she thought of my liking it. It turned out that having the dress on had nothing to do with her getting married. She had just opened the old closet, took out the old dress, and put it on same as she had plenty of other times. She wore it because she liked it. It didn’t remind her of her mother which isn’t surprising since she never would have seen her mother in it except in pictures.

—You just get married? I said.

The bartender washed a glass. He was used to guys like me coming in and pulling on Martha’s coat tails, I could tell. He looked bored of it, and by god a little jealous. Maybe he was married and so couldn’t be the one pulling, even though he knew how to do it. Probably reckoned he knew real well. We all know real well. We were born knowing. All it takes is a little attention and at the same time a little inattention. You have to be willing to let her talk but don’t listen too closely if you know what I mean. Listen but don’t hear, look but don’t see. It should come natural enough, it’s what’s been done since Eve ate that apple and we let her. Just follow that and Martha would be in your pocket by last call.

Martha said, —Does it look like I just got married?

She’d been through it as many times as I had. She was born knowing too. In a way she lived for it, same as us. Her voice had attitude but she was smiling. She liked to keep up her end of a conversation with a question. I say, ‘You getting married?’ and she says, ‘What’s it look like?’ You had to answer her. She could act like she wasn’t interested in what you said, but she’d give you more to work with, so it could all keep going, same as it always has. And like I said, that’s all it took.

—It’s just the dress, I said. —It’s a wedding dress right?

She looked at the dress like it was a source of great mystery to her, mystery and disappointment. Like it was the dress’s fault she wasn’t getting married.

—I’m just trying it on, she said. —It was my mothers’.

—Fits perfect, I said. —You’d never know.

I gave her the look over. She gave me the look over too. We were looking each other over the way two kids would in the playground on the first day of school. That suspicion and interest never really goes away. We get older but not wiser. Not in the ways that count.

—You want a drink? I said. The bartender was pouring brandy before she even said it.

—Brandy and coke, she said. —Thanks.

She took it from the bartender and stirred it with the nail of her wedding finger. I noticed no ring. I wondered if there’d ever been one.

—Why haven’t I seen you in here before? she said.

It was a fair enough question. Ramona wasn’t the type of place you’d just be passing through.

—I’m just passing through, I said. I couldn’t think what to tell her.

—Passing through, she said.

—Yeah, I’m going on a fishing trip down Baja. I was driving through town and I thought I’d just stop a while.

—Baja. You mean Mexico? She said it like she didn’t care but she did. That’s part of it I guess. Pretending you’re not interested.

—Is that your car outside? she said. —The big six with the Texas plates?

We could see my car parked through the window like it was a horse looking in.

—Yeah, but I’ve come from L.A.

—Hollywood?

—Long Beach.

She looked at me. —Long Beach, damn.

I looked round the bar, —You from here?

—Been here all my life.

She looked round the bar too. I didn’t know if she meant she’d been in the bar all her life or the town. If anyone could have spent their life in a bar it was Martha. She had that look about her. The kind of look you perfect hanging out in the same bar.

—So what kind of fishing you do? she said.

—You know, I said. —The regular kind.

I didn’t know what to tell her about fishing. I’m no fisher. I was sticking to the story Roose gave me. I was coming from Long Beach and going to Baja fishing. There wasn’t any more to it. I wished I knew something about fishing.

—Maybe a little marlin, I said but straight off I wished I hadn’t.

—Marlin, she said.

She believed me but still I sweat. I like my lies same as my truth, light on details. Marlin fishing. I don’t even know if they have marlin in Mexico.

—Yeah. You get great marlin down around Ensenada this time of year. They come in to feed on the kelp.

She was satisfied but still I kept talking. She knew probably less about fishing than me, especially kelp. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d never heard of it. She didn’t ask for much more details. No one likes to talk about kelp in a bar.

—You got a boat down there?

It was past time I changed the subject.

—Sure, a real beauty. Little cabin with beds and a kitchen. Even a bar. And a little boathouse on the shore.

She was listening so I kept talking.

—Always wanted a place like that so when my wife left me a couple years back I said what the hell.

—Sounds nice.

—Yes, it is. You can sit on the deck watching the sun go down and drink tequila and beer and when it’s time to go to bed you can choose whether you want to sleep on the boat or in the boathouse. I like that. Usually I sleep on the boat, feel the movement of the waves while I sleep. Sleep like a baby that way.

I never slept on a boat but it sounded nice. It was a real nice thing to tell her. Her eyes were lighting up like a child when you lie to it. With some people, the more you lie to them the happier they get. She was already in love with that little boat. I wasn’t convincing but I guess she was just one of those people who had no use for the truth.

—I’ve never been to Mexico, she said.

She was real interested. I could tell. I had us both imaging such a nice scene. Tequila and a cabin sounded like her kind of thing.

—You really should make a trip, I said. —You’d love it. I try to get down there as often as I can.

—Maybe if I had a place, she said. —Or someone to visit.

That’s my girl. I asked her if she wanted another drink. The bartender started pouring brandy and coke.

—Let’s make it tequila this time, she said.

The bartender stopped pouring the brandy and made her a tequila. I watched him give her the drink and then he was wondering what to do about the brandy he’d poured. I watched. He was just reaching the conclusion that he should drink it himself. The idea was good. He picked up the glass and drank it.

—I’ll take a tequila too, I said. —And how about leaving the bottle?

The bartender poured my tequila and then he started slicing up a lemon. We waited and he brought over some salt too. I tried to remember how to say cheers in Mexican. I looked at the tequila bottle for a clue but there wasn’t any. Martha took salt from the bowl and rubbed it on her hand, then she knocked down the shot, sucked her lemon, and poured herself another one. I watched with a grin on my face. She was a real girl. There’s nothing worse than a girl who drinks like she don’t like the taste. She’ll love you the same way.

—You thirsty? I said.

—Well, she said. —It’s just that I’ve never really had enough to drink, and she knocked down another one. —Keep up, she said.

The bartender leaned across the bar. —The bottle’s $40.

Son of a bitch. $40 is a hell of a lot. I looked at the two thirds of the bottle that were already empty and the one third that was still full.

—This bottle’s half finished, I said. Martha was already on her third drink.

—Keep up, she said again. The bartender knew he had me.

—Look, I’ll give you $20 for it, I said.

—Sorry friend, house rules.

House rules my ass. What does that even mean?

—I’m not your friend, I said.

I gave him the $40 and started keeping up with Martha. He took the money and left the bottle. Martha was getting tequila down the front of her mother’s wedding dress. I looked her up and down, head to toe. I could see her ankles under the end of the dress. She wasn’t wearing stockings or shoes, she was barefoot. Her feet were small. Her ankles dangled. They looked white and soft. The dress really was a perfect fit. It hugged her in all the places it ought to. The cream color went with her hair. I wanted to goddam touch her. She was pretty but that’s not why. It was because I knew she’d let me. She’d let anyone, but I was her anyone for tonight. It was as if there was some kind of helplessness about her, or maybe it was just a kind of freedom. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. It just seemed to me that she’d let anything happen. I leaned over to her and put my hand on her lap. She didn’t push it away. I breathed in and felt the throb of happiness. I’ve always loved best that moment when you put your hand on a woman for the first time and she doesn’t draw away. It’s one of life’s few blessings. One of the few things that keeps us all living. She lit a lucky strike and passed me the pack. I took one and lit it with her lighter. The bar got emptier and we drained the bottle. We went all the way to the dregs and then looked at each other. I was drunk. At one point I mistook the bowl of salt for my shot glass and drank that. I had to spit it out all over the bar. Martha laughed. She had a laugh like a little girl.

—You got a place to stay? she said.

The bartender was putting chairs on tables. I felt like birds were singing outside.

—I was planning on sleeping in my car out there, I said. I nodded at the big six.

—Sounds cozy, she said. A smile was on her lips.

—Yeah, I said. —Real cozy. It’s got a real back seat. I can sleep just like a baby. I’ve got to keep my legs curled though. That’s the only thing. They get pretty stiff sometimes. Sometimes I get out of the car in the morning and I nearly collapse on them. But you get an early start in the morning that way, waking up in the car and nothing better than get her started and drive on. I love the feeling.

—My place is just up the street, she said. —You can save your legs.

Everyone’s place in Ramona was either up or down that street. There must have been a twinkle in my eye. It’s definitely moments like this that keep us alive I thought. Moments like this, the first rain in March, and the joy they create in your heart.

—Yeah, want to check it out? she said.

—Well hell Martha, you know I do.

She opened her purse and left a tip on the bar. It was 28 cents. The son of a bitch saw it and told her keep it.

Martha kept his eye. —You’ll need it.

—Hell I will.

She gathered it up, three pennies and a quarter.

—Give it to your boyfriend, why don’t you? the bartender said. —He’ll need it.

—He doesn’t need it, she said. —He’s got me.

At the door she looked back and told the bartender goodbye. He didn’t answer. —I’m his lucky penny, she said. She let the door bang shut.

Going home with Martha felt like it ought to feel. I felt warm for her. Hot even. There was some connection between us. She was open to me. I felt she trusted me. She made me feel whole. Like I knew she’d go a long way with me. We staggered out the door of the bar. As we walked past my car Martha had a look in the window.

—You sure you don’t just want to sleep in that? she