Best Friends
Max Stillman and Phil Garber had been best friends since fourth grade. The two boys lived on the same street, were in many of the same classes at school and played on the same Little League team. They also smoked their first cigarettes together, took their first drink of alcohol together and discovered girls together.
When they were fifteen, they were caught stealing hubcaps and placed on probation, and at sixteen they were picked up for shoplifting. The following year, after their third brush with the law, they were sentenced to six months in a county correctional facility. While they were there, Max and Phil fell in with a group of professional thieves whose advice helped the two young novices in crime perfect their skills.
By the time they reached the age of eighteen, the boyhood friends had graduated from petty theft to more lucrative crimes. For seven years, Max and Phil burglarized homes in the affluent Ridgedale section of the city. While their thievery by no means made them rich, it paid better than most jobs available to young men with no high school diplomas and with prison records.
Eventually, however, the two young criminals grew overconfident and careless. After they were caught in the act of robbing the home of a Harvard University law professor, they were tried, convicted and sentenced to ten years each. Max Stillman was paroled after five years, Phil Garber after five and a half.
Max met his friend at the prison gate the day Phil was released.
"How are things on the outside?" Phil asked as he got into the passenger seat of Max's twelve-year-old Honda.
"Great! My parole officer got me a job—a real job. I work for a construction company in South Barnesfield."
"No kidding? How's the pay?"
"Good whenever I work. The problem is we're busy for six weeks, and then we lay off for three. And—oh hell! We'll talk about that later. Let's get you a decent meal first. I'm sure you're sick of eating the crap they serve on the inside."
Max drove to a small seafood restaurant, one not known for its atmosphere, but the catch of the day was always fresh, reasonably priced and cooked to perfection.
"I can't remember the last time I had lobster," Phil said, his mouth watering in anticipation. "This looks like a great place. How did you find it? You were always one for pizza or greasy burgers."
Max colored slightly as he replied, "Marlena brought me here."
"Marlena?"
"She's my girlfriend."
"Is this serious?"
"Yeah, it is. In fact, I've been thinking of asking her to marry me."
"Really? Congratulations!"
"I only said I was thinking about it. I didn't say it was definite."
"Well, if you're not sure she's the right one, it's best you don't commit."
"Oh, she's the one, all right. That's not what's keeping me from popping the question."
Phil raised an eyebrow.
"Doesn't she know you did time?"
"She knows. She also knows I've decided to go straight."
"What's the problem then?"
"You've been in prison these past six months, living off the generosity of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts," Max laughed. "I, on the other hand, have been out here trying to earn a living. Do you have any idea how much it costs to rent an apartment today? Then there are utilities, clothes, food, car expenses or mass transit and all the other little necessities of life. And God forbid you get sick and have to go to the doctor! Unless you've got an employer that provides good health insurance, you're screwed."
"So, it's a question of money, is it?"
"You always were the smart one."
"Neither your parents nor mine had much money," Phil pointed out, "yet they were able to get married and raise a family."
Max slammed his coffee cup down on the table, rattling the dishes in the act.
"Yeah, and we were always tottering on the edge of poverty, having to survive from paycheck to paycheck. I don't want Marlena to have to live like that. I want her to have a decent life."
"What does she say?"
"Oh, you know how women are. She thinks money doesn't matter, that love will conquer all. She doesn't realize how quickly the lack of money can destroy a marriage."
Phil didn't know how to respond. He had never been in love himself and had never given any thought to marriage. Hell, he hadn't even been out of prison for a full day.
* * *
"I'm so happy to meet you," Marlena said, hugging Phil warmly when her boyfriend introduced them later that evening. "Max has told me so much about you."
"He has?"
"Yes. I've heard all about your Little League days and your boyhood pranks."
During the short time they spent together, Phil found Marlena quite enchanting and could see why Max loved her.
Later that night after they left Marlena's apartment, Max put a spare pillow and a blanket on his couch.
"You know," Phil said, "you don't have to worry about me staying too long. Once I find a job and a place of my own, I'm outta here."
"Stay as long as you want," Max insisted. "I'm not rushing you."
Phil, however, had no desire to be a third wheel. Besides, he had spent the last five and a half years in prison. Now he wanted to enjoy his freedom. He wanted his own place, his own car, his own job and his own girl.
Two weeks later, the parolee got a job in a furniture warehouse. The pay wasn't great, but the benefits were good, and the company offered him the opportunity to work all the overtime he wanted. Less than four months after being released from prison, Phil could afford a studio apartment and a used Toyota. And while he hadn't met the girl of his dreams yet, he was dating fairly regularly. Life on the outside was good.
Max, on the other hand, was not nearly as happy as his best friend. Work at the construction company had slowed dramatically, and his financial situation looked grim. Desperate, he went to Phil for help.
"Hey, if I had some extra money, I'd give it to you," Phil assured him, "but I'm strapped for cash myself."
"Well, then, it seems my little plan will help us both out."
A warning bell sounded in Phil's head.
"What plan?"
"There's this house in Whitebridge ...."
"No way!" Phil cried emphatically. "I'm not gonna risk going back to prison now."
"There won't be any risk. It's an inside job. I know the housekeeper, and she's willing to let us into the house for a cut of the take."
"I thought we agreed to go straight."
"We will. I swear it. After this job, we'll both be set for life. I can buy a house, and Marlena and I can get married."
"If you love Marlena as much as you say you do, then forget all about this crazy scheme. Go look for another job—two if necessary—and make an honest living."
"The hell with being honest. It'll take years for me to save up enough money for a down payment on a house."
"Would you rather spend those years in jail? With our records, they won't go easy on us."
Max lost his temper.
"Fine! I thought you were my friend, but I can see I'm wasting my time," he cried and headed toward the door.
Guilt flooded over Phil.
"Wait! If you're determined to do this damned fool thing, then I'd better go along to keep an eye on you."
"You won't regret it. Murray Kellerman is the owner of Saturn Electronics, and his wife is from one of those old Boston society families. They're both filthy rich."
"Filthy rich people usually have good security systems to protect their valuables."
"Don't worry about that. I told you; my friend will let us in the house."
* * *
The following Thursday evening, the night before the planned burglary, Max invited Phil to join him and Marlena for dinner at Bubba's Steak House, one of the finest restaurants in Whitebridge.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Phil whispered to his friend after Marlena excused herself to go to the ladies' room. "You don't want to be seen spending a good deal of money when everyone knows you're having financial problems. It might make some people wonder."
"No one would question a man going out to dinner to celebrate his engagement, would they?"
Phil looked both surprised and delighted. He shook Max's hand heartily, and when Marlena returned to the table, he hugged her and kissed her cheek.
"I'm so happy for the both of you. Have you set a date?"
"Not yet," Marlena said, beaming with happiness. "We'd like a June wedding, but we have to see what dates the church has available. My sister is going to be the matron of honor, and Max would like you to be the best man."
"I'd be honored."
"Good. I wouldn't get married if I couldn't count on you being by my side," Max declared with a meaningful look at his childhood friend and partner in crime.
The evening was a success. The three young people enjoyed themselves immensely and looked forward to many years of friendship and warm camaraderie.
Only twenty-four hours later, however, Mr. and Mrs. Murray Kellerman and their young maid were dead, and Max Stillman and Phil Garber were charged with their murder.
* * *
Detectives from the Whitebridge Police Department questioned the two suspects separately. For ten straight hours, they grilled Phil, but he would admit nothing. Max, on the other hand, had more to lose should he receive a sentence of life without parole, and he was eventually convinced to turn state's evidence and testify against his best friend.
"I needed money badly," a tearful Max later testified at Phil Garber's trial. "I thought it would be an easy job. I fully admit I went to the Kellerman house to rob it, but I swear I never wanted to hurt anyone."
"Then what went wrong?" the prosecuting attorney asked.
"My friend, Rosa—she was the maid in the Kellerman house—phoned me to tell me that her employer and his wife had left. They were driving to New York to visit their daughter and wouldn't be back until the following weekend. Believing the coast was clear, Phil and I drove to the house on Sycamore Street, and Rosa let us inside through the back door. I was in the den on the first floor, emptying the wall safe, when Phil ...."
Max hesitated briefly.
"What was Mr. Garber doing?" the prosecutor prompted.
"He was upstairs in the master bedroom putting Mrs. Kellerman's jewelry in a pillowcase."
"What happened then?"
"The Kellermans returned home unexpectedly. Apparently, Mrs. Kellerman forgot her heart medicine, and they returned to the house to get it. Rosa panicked. She tried to warn the old couple to get out of the house, but Mr. Kellerman ran up the stairs and met Phil on the landing."
"And what did the defendant do when he found himself face to face with the owner of the house, the man he was attempting to rob?"
"He shot him," Max admitted. "Then Mrs. Kellerman started screaming, and Phil shot the old lady to shut her up. Rosa tried to run for it, and he shot her, too."
"So, you're telling us under oath that Philip Garber shot the three victims? That you had no part in their deaths? Why then were your fingerprints found on the gun?"
"Because it was my gun. I kept it in the glove compartment of my Honda. When we arrived at the Kellerman place, I immediately got out and headed toward the house. Phil joined me on the front steps a few moments later. I had no idea he'd taken the gun, but he must have because he had it with him when we went into the house."
"No more questions," the prosecutor said with satisfaction.
The defense attorney, an inexperienced public defender, cross-examined the state's star witness, but Max stuck to his story. Phil, who had held his tongue since his arrest, maintained his silence and refused to testify in his own behalf. Consequently, he was found guilty of three counts of murder and received the maximum sentence. Six months later, while the attorney was preparing his appeal, Phil was killed during a prison riot.
Max served only eighteen months for attempted burglary, and when he was released, he collaborated with a true crime author to produce a bestselling book that painted his boyhood friend as a psychopath who shot down the Kellermans and their maid in cold blood.
* * *
Max Stillman entered through the front door of the crowded church, paused a moment and then walked down the aisle and stood before the altar. The rented tuxedo was a little tight, and he couldn't wait to get out of it. Had he been a religious man, he would no doubt have taken the time to pray that his imminent marriage would be a long and happy one, but he believed in neither God nor church, putting his faith only in himself.
"Today's the big day, eh, young man?" the minister asked.
"Yes it is," Max replied, looking at his watch. "I wish we could get this show on the road."
The minister chuckled.
"What's the rush? God willing, you'll be married a long time."
Marlena's brother-in-law, who was acting as Max's best man, took his place beside the groom. Moments later, the organist began playing the wedding march.
"This is it," the best man joked. "Your last chance to make a run for it."
"No way," Max laughed. "I've waited years for this day to come."
Marlena looked radiant in her white lace wedding gown. Max beamed at her with pride, grateful that she had forgiven him for that imprudent burglary attempt. Had things not gone the way they had, he might have lost her forever.
Marlena's father ceremoniously gave his daughter away, and Max took her hand. The bride and groom exchanged their vows, and the minister pronounced them man and wife.
"You may kiss the bride," Reverend Mitchell concluded.
Max smiled and raised the front of Marlena's veil. As the groom leaned forward to kiss her, the bride cast her eyes on the best man and shrieked with fright. Suddenly, several wedding guests echoed the bride's screams. Others, terrified by what they'd seen, ran toward the doors.
"Hi, buddy. Long time no see."
The bride's brother-in-law had vanished. Standing in his place, wearing the best man's tuxedo, was the corpse of Phil Garber.
Both Marlena and her sister, the matron of honor, fainted. Max was so stunned that he made no attempt to catch either of them as they fell.
Max's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
"Is that any kind of welcome for your best friend? I came a long way to be here with you today. Remember, you and your charming bride did ask me to be the best man at your wedding."
"I ... I ...."
"Did you think I'd let that little misunderstanding get in the way of my promise to you?"
Marlena came to and lay at the foot of the altar, staring in horror at the dead man speaking to her husband.
"Who better deserves to be at your side today, Max?" the corpse sneered. "Who agreed—against his own better judgment—to help you rob the Kellerman house when you were desperate for money? Who was it that, right up to the moment he died, never talked and never turned against you?"
"I had to make a deal with the prosecutor. You gotta believe me. I'd have gotten life without parole and lost Marlena forever."
"Instead, I got sent away. But I didn't kill anyone; you did. You shot those three people, handed me your gun and told me to get rid of it. That's why I was the one found holding the weapon when the police arrived."
"Look, Phil, I'm sorry for turning on you. But can you blame me? I had everything to live for."
"And you still do," the corpse laughed. "That's why I came here today, to congratulate you and wish you the best of luck."
The former Phil Garber extended his decomposed hand toward the groom.
"No hard feelings, huh? We're still best friends, aren't we?" the dead man asked.
Max hesitated, staring down at the rotting appendage with revulsion.
"S-sure," he stammered, reluctantly reaching out his own hand. "W-why not?"
As the two hands clasped in a firm handshake, Max felt a chilling numbness travel along his lower arm, up to his shoulder and then throughout his entire body. It was the iciness of the grave, the paralysis of death. The bone-chilling cold eventually made its way to his chest where it gripped his heart and forever stopped its beating.
Marlena screamed again when her husband fell down dead next to her. Then she looked up and saw the best man—her brother-in-law—staring down at her in dazed confusion.
Despite all the trouble he causes, Salem is still my best friend.
