BORN IN KITCHENER, ONTARIO, David Morrell (1943– ) was still a teenager when he decided to become an author. He was inspired by the Route 66 television scripts written by Sterling Silliphant and encouraged by Philip Young (also known as the science fiction writer William Tenn), the Hemingway scholar at Penn State University, where Morrell eventually received his B.A., M.A., and Ph.D. In 1970, he took a job as an English professor at the University of Iowa, and produced his initial novel, First Blood, two years later.
Reviewers described First Blood (1972) as “the father of the modern adventure novel.” It introduced the world to Rambo, who has gone on to become one of the most famous fictional characters in the world, largely through the movies that starred Sylvester Stallone. John Rambo (the famous name came from a variety of apple said to have been planted by Johnny Appleseed) is a Vietnam War vet, a troubled, violent, former Green Beret warrior trained in survival, hand-to-hand combat and other special martial skills; he was loosely based on World War II hero Audie Murphy. The film series began with First Blood (1982), and has continued with Rambo: First Blood Part II (1985), Rambo III (1988), and Rambo (2008).
Morrell has enjoyed numerous other bestsellers in various genres of his novels, including four volumes in the series that began with The Brotherhood of the Rose (1984), which became a popular TV miniseries starring Robert Mitchum in 1989; four volumes about the notorious Thomas De Quincey, set in the middle of the nineteenth century; stand-alone international thrillers; comic books; nonfiction; and highly popular horror fiction, notably Creepers (2005), which won the Bram Stoker Award from the Horror Writers Association. He is also the cofounder of the International Thriller Writers Association.
“The Partnership” was originally published in the May 27, 1981, issue of Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine.
SURE, IT WAS COLD-BLOODED, but there didn’t seem another way. MacKenzie had spent months considering alternatives. He’d tried to buy his partner out but Dolan had refused.
Well, not exactly. Dolan’s first response had simply been to laugh and say, “I wouldn’t let you have the satisfaction.” When MacKenzie kept insisting, Dolan’s next response was, “Sure I’ll let you buy me out. It only takes a million dollars.”
Dolan might as well have wanted ten. MacKenzie couldn’t raise a million, even half a million or a quarter—and he knew Dolan knew that.
It was typical. MacKenzie couldn’t say “Good morning” without Dolan’s disagreeing. If MacKenzie bought a car, Dolan bought a bigger, more expensive one and, just to rub it in, bragged about the deal he got. If MacKenzie took his wife and children on vacation to Bermuda, Dolan told him that Bermuda wasn’t anything compared to Mazatlan, where Dolan had taken his wife and kids.
The two men argued constantly. They favored different football teams. Their taste in food was wildly different—mutton versus corned beef. When MacKenzie took up golf, Dolan suddenly was playing tennis, pointing out that golf was just a game while tennis was good exercise. But Dolan, even with his so-called exercise, was overweight. MacKenzie, on the other hand, was trim, but Dolan always made remarks about the hairpiece MacKenzie wore.
It was impossible—a Scotsman trying to maintain a business with an Irishman. MacKenzie should have known their relationship would never work. At the start, they had been rival builders, each attempting to outbid the other for construction jobs and losing money in the process. So they’d formed a partnership. Together they were more successful than they had been independently. Trying to outdo each other, one would think of ways to turn a greater profit and the other would feel challenged to be twice as clever. They cut costs by mixing too much gravel with the concrete, by installing low-grade pipes and sub-spec insulation. They kept special books for Uncle Sam.
MacKenzie-Dolan Enterprises. The two of them were enterprising, all right, but they couldn’t bear to talk to one another. They had tried to solve that problem by dividing the work so that MacKenzie ran the office and let Dolan go out troubleshooting.
For a time that did the trick. But they still had to meet to make decisions and though they were seeing each other less, they seemed to save their tension up and aggravate each other more when they met.
To make things worse, their wives became good friends. The women were constantly organizing barbecues and swimming parties. The men tried not to argue at these get-togethers. When they did, they heard about it from their wives.
“I hate the guy,” MacKenzie would tell his wife after a party. “He bugs me at the office and he made me sick tonight.”
“You just listen to me, Bob—Vickie Dolan is my friend and I won’t have your childish antics breaking up our friendship. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”
So both men braced themselves while their wives exchanged recipes.
What finally caused the big trouble was when Dolan started making threats.
“I wonder what the government would do if they knew about your special way of keeping books.”
“What about the sub-spec plumbing and the extra gravel in the concrete?” MacKenzie had replied. “You’re responsible for that, Dolan.”
“But that’s not a criminal offense—the judge would simply fine me,” Dolan answered. “The IRS is quite a different kettle. If they knew you were keeping separate books, they’d lock you in a dungeon where I’d never have to see your ugly puss again.”
MacKenzie stared at Dolan and decided there was no other choice. He’d tried to do the right thing, but his partner wouldn’t sell. There wasn’t any way around it. This was self-defense.
The man was waiting at the monkey cage, a tall, thin, friendly-looking fellow, young and blond. He wore a tailored light-blue jogging suit and he was eating peanuts.
At the water fountain, bending down to drink, MacKenzie glanced around. The zoo was crowded. It was noon on a sunny weekday, and people on their lunch breaks sat on benches munching sandwiches or strolled among the cages. There were children, mothers, old folks playing checkers. He heard tinny music from an organ grinder, muffled conversations, strident chattering and chirping. He was satisfied that no one was paying any attention to him, so he wiped water from his mouth and walked over.
“Mr. Smith?” he said.
The young man didn’t turn—he just chewed another peanut—and MacKenzie was afraid he’d spoken to the wrong man. After all, the zoo was crowded and there were other men in jogging suits. Besides, no matter what the papers said, it wasn’t easy finding someone who would do this kind of work. MacKenzie had spent several evenings haunting low-life bars before getting a lead. Once someone thought he was a cop and threatened to break both his legs. But hundred-dollar bills had eventually paid off and at last he’d arranged this meeting on a pay phone. But the man, apparently afraid of a trap, either had not arrived for the appointment or was playing possum.
As MacKenzie moved to leave, the young blond fellow turned to him. “Just a second, Bob,” he said.
MacKenzie blinked. “Your name is Smith?”
“Just call me John.” The young man’s smile was brilliant. He was holding out the bag. “You want a peanut?”
“No, I don’t think so—”
“Go on and have a peanut, Bob.” The young man gestured with the bag.
MacKenzie took a peanut. He ate it, but he didn’t taste it.
“That’s right, relax, live a little. You don’t mind if I call you Bob?”
“I don’t care what you call me as long as we get this matter settled. You’re not quite what I expected.”
The young man nodded. “You were counting on George Raft and instead you got Troy Donohue. I know it’s disappointing.” He was frowning sympathetically. “But nothing’s what it seems today. Would you believe I was a business major? But with the recession I couldn’t get a job in management, so I’m doing this.”
“You mean you’re not experienced?”
“Take it easy, Bob. I didn’t say that. I can handle my end. Don’t you fret about a thing. You see these monkeys? Just watch this.” He threw some peanuts. All the monkeys scrambled, fighting for them.
“See—they’re just like us, Bob. We’re all scrambling for the peanuts.”
“Well, I’m sure that’s very symbolic—”
“All right, you’re impatient. I’m just trying to be sociable.” He sighed. “No one takes the time any more. So what’s your problem, Bob?”
“My business partner.”
“Is he stealing from the kitty?”
“No.”
“He’s fooling with your wife then?”
“No.”
The young man nodded. “I understand.”
“You do?”
“Of course. It’s very simple. What I call the marriage syndrome.”
“What?”
“It’s like you’re married to your partner, but you hate him and he won’t agree to get divorced.”
“Why, that’s incredible!”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re right. That’s it.”
The young man shrugged and threw a peanut. “Bob, I’ve seen it all. My specialty is human nature. So you don’t care how I do it?”
“Just as long as it’s—”
“An accident. Precisely. You recall my price when we discussed this on the phone?”
“Two thousand dollars.”
“Half now, half later. Did you bring the money?”
“It’s in my pocket.”
“Don’t give it to me yet. Go over and put the envelope inside that waste container. In a moment I’ll walk over and stuff this empty bag in. When I leave I’ll take the envelope.”
“His name is Patrick Dolan.”
“The particulars are with the money?”
“As you asked.”
“Then don’t worry. I’ll be in touch.”
“Hey, wait a minute. Afterward, I don’t have any guarantee that—”
“Blackmail? You’re afraid I’ll extort you? Bob, I’m surprised at you! That wouldn’t be good business!”
Dolan walked out of the hardware store. The afternoon was glaring hot. He wiped his brow and squinted. There was someone in his pickup truck, a young guy eating corn chips. Blond, good-looking, in a jogging suit.
He stalked across the parking lot, reached the truck, and yanked open the door. “Hey, buddy, this is my truck you’re—”
The young man turned. His smile was disarming. “Hi there, Pat. You want some corn chips?”
Dolan’s mouth hung open. Sweat was trickling from his forehead. “What?”
“The way you’re sweating, you need salt. Have some corn chips.”
Dolan’s jaw went rigid. “Out!”
“Excuse me?”
“Get out before I throw you out.”
The young man sighed. Tugging down the zipper on his sweatshirt, he revealed the big revolver bulging from a shoulder holster.
Dolan’s stomach lurched. He blanched and stumbled backward, gaping.
“What the—?”
“Just relax,” the young man said.
“Look, buddy, all I’ve got is twenty dollars.”
“You don’t understand. Climb on up here and we’ll talk a little.”
Dolan glanced around in panic. No one seemed to notice him. He wondered if he ought to run.
“Don’t try to run, Pat.”
Relieved of that decision, Dolan quickly climbed inside the truck. He ate the corn chips the blond offered a second time but he couldn’t taste the salt. His shirt was sticking to the back of the seat. All he could think of was the bulging object underneath the jogging suit.
“Here’s the thing,” the young man told him. “I’m supposed to kill you.”
Dolan sat up so hard he bumped his head against the ceiling. “What?”
“Your partner hired me. For two thousand dollars.”
“If this is a joke—”
“It’s business, Pat. He paid a thousand down. You want to see it?”
“But that’s crazy!”
“I wish you hadn’t said that.” The young man reached inside his sweatshirt.
“No, wait a minute! I didn’t mean that!”
“I only want to show the note your partner gave me. Here. You’ll recognize his handwriting.”
Dolan glared down at the note. “It’s my name and address.”
“And your physical description and your habits. See, he wants your death to seem like an accident.”
Dolan finally accepted this wasn’t any joke. His stomach burned with sudden rage. “That dirty—”
“Temper, Pat.”
“He wants to buy me out—but I won’t let him have the satisfaction!”
“I understand. It’s like the two of you are married and you want to make him suffer.”
“You’re damn right I want to make him suffer! I’ve put up with him for twenty years! So now he figures he can have me killed and take the business for himself? That sneaky, rotten—”
“Bob, I’ve got bad news for you.”
MacKenzie almost spilled his Scotch. He turned. The young man had come up beside him without warning and was eating popcorn at the bar.
“Don’t tell me you botched the job!” MacKenzie’s eyes went wide with horror. He glanced quickly around as if expecting to be arrested.
“Bob, I never even got the chance to start.” The young man picked at something in his teeth.
“My God, what happened?”
“Nearly broke a tooth. These kernels aren’t all popped.”
“I meant with Dolan!”
“Keep your voice down, Bob. I know you meant with him. No one cares if someone else breaks a tooth. They only care about themselves. Do you believe in competition?”
“What?”
“Do you support free enterprise, the thing that made this country great?”
MacKenzie felt his knees go weak. He clutched the bar and nodded weakly.
“Then you’ll understand. When I went to see your partner—”
“Oh, my God, you told him!”
“Bob, I couldn’t simply kill him and not let him have a chance to make a bid. That wouldn’t be fair.”
MacKenzie started trembling. “Bid? What kind of bid?”
“Don’t get excited, Bob. We figured he could pay me not to kill him. But you’d just send someone else. So what we finally decided was that he’d pay me to come back and kill you. He offered double—two grand now and two when you were shoveled under.”
“He can’t do that!”
“But he did, Bob. Don’t go simple on me now. You should have seen his face. I mean to tell you, he was angry.”
“You accepted what I offered! You agreed to take my contract!”
“A verbal contract isn’t binding. Anyhow, you’re in a seller’s market. What I’m selling is worth more now.”
“You’re a crook!”
The young man’s face looked pained. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“No, wait. Don’t leave. I didn’t mean it.”
“Bob, you hurt my feelings.”
“I apologize. I don’t know what I’m saying. Every time I think about that guy—”
“I understand, Bob. You’re forgiven.”
“Pat, you’ll never guess what Bob did.”
At the railing, Dolan shuddered. He was watching as the horses thundered toward the finish line. He turned. The young man stood beside him, chewing on a hot dog.
“You don’t mean you told him?”
“Pat, I had to. Fair is fair. He offered double our agreement. Four grand now, four later.”
“And you’ve come to me to raise the price?”
“They’re at the stretch!” the track announcer shouted.
“It’s inflation, Pat. It’s killing us.” The young man wiped some mustard from his lips.
“You think I’m stupid?” Dolan asked.
The young man frowned.
“That I’m a moron?” Dolan said.
“Excuse me, Pat?”
“If I pay more, you’ll go to him and he’ll pay more. Then you’ll come back to me and I’ll pay more. Forget it! I’m not paying!”
“Fine with me, Pat. Nice to see you.”
“Wait a minute!”
“Is something wrong?”
“Of course there’s something wrong! You’re going to kill me!”
“Well, the choice is up to you.”
“The winner is number three, Big Trouble—” the track announcer shouted.
Horses rumbled by, their jockeys standing up to slow them. Dust was drifting.
“Damn it, yes. I’ll pay you,” Dolan muttered. “But do it this time! I can’t sleep. I’m losing weight. I’ve got an ulcer.”
“Pat, the race is over. Did you have a bet?”
“On number six to win.”
“A nag, Pat. She came in last. If you had asked me, I’d have told you number three.”
“You’ll never guess what Pat did, Bob.”
MacKenzie stiffened. Dolan stopped beside him, looked around and sighed, then sat down on the park bench. “So you figured you’d have me killed,” Dolan said.
MacKenzie’s face was gaunt. “You weren’t above the same temptation yourself.”
Dolan shrugged. “Self-defense.”
“I should sit back while you sic the IRS on me?”
“That was just a joke.”
“Some joke. It’s costing me a fortune.”
“It’s costing me too.”
“We’ve got a problem.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Dolan said. “The only answer I can see—”
“—is for both of us to kill him.”
“Only way.”
“He’ll bleed us dry.”
“But if we pay someone else to kill him, the new guy might try something cute too.”
“We’ll do it together. That way you can’t point the blame at me.”
“Or vice versa.”
“What’s the matter? Don’t you trust me?”
They were glaring at each other.
“Hi there, Bob. How are you, Pat?”
The young man smiled from behind their files. He was munching a taco as he went through their records.
“What the hell is this now?” MacKenzie said.
“He claimed you expected him,” the secretary said.
“Just shut the door,” Dolan told her.
“Hey, fellas, your records really are a mess. This skimping on the concrete. And this sub-spec insulation. I don’t know, guys—we’ve got lots of work ahead of us.”
A drop of taco sauce fell on a file folder.
“Us?”
“Well, sure—we’re partners now.”
“We’re what?”
“I took the money you gave me and invested it.”
“In what?”
“Insurance. You remember how I said I was a business major? Well, I decided this sideline doesn’t suit me, so I went to see a specialist. The things a graduate is forced to do to get a job these days!”
“A specialist?”
“A hit man. If the two of you decide to have me killed, you’ll be killed as well.”
MacKenzie’s chest began to stab. Dolan’s ulcer started burning.
“So we’re partners. Here, I even had some cards made up.”
He handed one across to each of them. MACKENZIE-DOLAN-SMITH, it read. And at the bottom: CONTRACTORS.