Ross Macdonald - The Barbarous Coast

Ross Macdonalds real name was Kenneth Millar. Born near San Francisco in 1915 and raised in Ontario, Millar returned to the U.S. as a young man and published his first novel in 1944. He served as the president of the Mystery Writers of America and was awarded their Grand Master Award as well as the Mystery Writers of Great Britains Gold Dagger Award. He died in 1983.

The Dark Tunnel

Trouble Follows Me

Blue City

The Three Roads

The Moving Target

The Drowning Pool

The Way Some People Die

The Ivory Grin

Meet Me at the Morgue

Find a Victim

The Name Is Archer

The Doomsters

The Galton Case

The Ferguson Affair

The Wycherly Woman

The Zebra-Striped Hearse

The Chill

Black Money

The Far Side of the Dollar

The Goodbye Look

The Underground Man

Sleeping Beauty

The Blue Hammer

FIRST VINTAGE CRIME/BLACK LIZARD EDITION, DECEMBER 2007

Copyright 1956 by Ross Macdonald

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Vintage Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York and in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. Originally published in hardcover in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., New York, in 1956.

Vintage is a registered trademark and Vintage Crime/Black Lizard and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

A condensed version of this novel appeared in Cosmopolitan under the title The Dying Animal.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales in entirely coincidental.

The Library of Congress has cataloged the Knopf edition as follows: Macdonald, Ross. The barbarous coast [by] Ross Macdonald New York, Knopf, 1956.
p. cm.
1. Archer, Lew (Fictitious Character)Fiction.
2. Private InvestigatorsCaliforniaFiction.
3. Detectives and mystery stories.
PZ3. M59943
PS3525.I486
56006507

eISBN: 978-0-307-77288-6

www.vintagebooks.com

v3.1

For Stanley Tenny

T HE Channel Club lay on a shelf of rock overlooking the sea, toward the southern end of the beach called Malibu. Above its long brown buildings, terraced gardens climbed like a richly carpeted stairway to the highway. The grounds were surrounded by a high wire fence topped with three barbed strands and masked with oleanders.

I stopped in front of the gate and sounded my horn. A man wearing a blue uniform and an official-looking peaked cap came out of the stone gatehouse. His hair was black and bushy below the cap, sprinkled with gray like iron filings. In spite of his frayed ears and hammered-in nose, his head had the combination of softness and strength you see in old Indian faces. His skin was dark.

I seen you coming, he said amiably. You didden have to honk, it hurts the ears.

Sorry.

Its all right. He shuffled forward, his belly overhanging the belt that supported his holster, and leaned a confidential arm on the car door. Whats your business, mister?

Mr. Bassett called me. He didnt state his business. The name is Archer.

Yah, sure, he is expecting you. You can drive right on down. Hes in his office.

He turned to the reinforced wire gate, jangling his keyring. A man came out of the oleanders and ran past my car. He was a big young man in a blue suit, hatless, with flying pink hair. He ran almost noiselessly on his toes toward the opening gate.

The guard moved quickly for a man of his age. He whirled and got an arm around the young mans middle. The young man struggled in his grip, forcing the guard back against the gatepost. He said something guttural and inarticulate. His shoulder jerked, and he knocked the guards cap off.

The guard leaned against the gatepost and fumbled for his gun. His eyes were small and dirty like the eyes of a potato. Blood began to drip from the end of his nose and spotted his blue shirt where it curved out over his belly. His revolver came up in his hand. I got out of my car.

The young man stood where he was, his head turned sideways, halfway through the gate. His profile was like something chopped out of raw planking, with a glaring blue eye set in its corner. He said:

Im going to see Bassett. You cant stop me.

A slug in the guts will stop you, the guard said in a reasonable way. You move, I shoot. This is private property.

Tell Bassett I want to see him.

I already told him. He dont want to see you. The guard shuffled forward, his left shoulder leading, the gun riding steady in his right hand. Now pick up my hat and hand it to me and git.

The young man stood still for a while. Then he stooped and picked up the cap and brushed at it ineffectually before he handed it back.

Im sorry. I didnt mean to hit you. Ive nothing against you.

I got something against you, boy. The guard snatched the cap out of his hands. Now beat it before I knock your block off.

I touched the young mans shoulder, which was broad and packed with muscle. You better do what he says.

He turned to me, running his hand along the side of his jaw. His jaw was heavy and pugnacious. In spite of this, his light eyebrows and uncertain mouth made his face seem formless. He sneered at me very youngly:

Are you another one of Bassetts muscle boys?

I dont know Bassett.

I heard you ask for him.

I do know this. Run around calling people names and pushing in where youre not wanted, and youll end up with a flat profile. Or worse.

He closed his right fist and looked from it to my face. I shifted my weight a little, ready to block and counter.

Is that supposed to be a threat? he said.

Its a friendly warning. I dont know whats eating you. My advice is go away and forget it

Not without seeing Bassett.

And, for Gods sake, keep your hands off old men.

I apologized for that. But he flushed guiltily.

The guard came up behind him and poked him with the revolver. Apology not accepted. I used to could handle two like you with one arm tied behind me. Now are you going to git or do I have to show you?

Ill go, the young man said over his shoulder. Only, you cant keep me off the public highway. And sooner or later he has to come out.

Whats your beef with Bassett? I said.

I dont care to discuss it with a stranger. Ill discuss it with him. He looked at me for a long moment, biting his lower lip. Would you tell him Ive got to see him? That its very important to me?

I guess I can tell him that. Who do I say the message is from?

George Wall. Im from Toronto. He paused. Its about my wife. Tell him I wont leave until he sees me.

Thats what you think, the guard said. March now, take a walk.

George Wall retreated up the road, moving slowly to show his independence. He dragged his long morning shadow around a curve and out of sight. The guard put his gun away and wiped his bloody nose with the back of his hand. Then he licked his hand, as though he couldnt afford to waste the protein.