The Noir Novel

by Thomas B. Dewey

  The story was that his parents, before moving away, had been quite prominent in Layton, he’d grown up in a children’s home, and a kind social worker had found him a job tending furnace and doing yard work at the Hillview. He had learned these menial tasks at the orphanage. He lived in the basement with his comic books and tiny radio and never bothered anybody. I’d done Joe a few favors, and I’d made a real friend.

  His dog-like loyalty, unswerving and true, became one of the very few bright spots during my long stay in the city.

  “Have a chair, Joe,” I said, grinning.

  He nodded and sat down, hiding his short leg behind the other one. His overalls and old denim shirt were faded but clean. The jacket was one I’d taken down to him.

  “Anythin’ I can get y’u, Mark?”

  “Nope. How’re you getting along?”

  “Purty good.”

  But something was on his mind—he’d never been up here so late at night. It was nearly eleven.

  “Anything wrong, Joe?”

  “I been hearin’ funny noises in the plumbin’, Mark.”

  This needs explaining, too. Joe spent so much time in the basement, he’d developed a habit of ‘listin’ to the plumbin’ ’, as he called it. All the water, steam, gas and sewage pipes passed through his lair, the Hillview had been hodge-podged and added onto so many times—as for instance my own dwelling, perched on the edge of a hill, connected by a ramp with the rest of the structure, and Cable’s lean-to ‘penthouse’ tacked on top—that Joe could tell with some accuracy what was going on in the building, who got in late, who had a hangover and, sometimes, who had visitors.

  During the time I’d been off my feet, Joe and I had worked out a signal code. He had no telephone. I could rap on my kitchen sink or one of the old steam radiators with something metallic, and Joe would come right on up. As an errand-runner, he was invaluable.

  “What kind of noises?”

  He fidgeted. “Come from up here—”

  You had to be patient with Joe. His mind wandered sometimes.

  His black too-close-together eyes caught me full on. “You in trubble, Mark?”

  I felt I owed him some kind of explanation. “I’m afraid so, Joe. Somebody’s after me.”

  He nodded, as though I’d confirmed a suspicion. “If anybody hurt you, Mark, I’d kill ’em.”

  “Now, listen, Joe. Take it easy—”

  “I would.” His jaw muscles ridged. I didn’t doubt him in the least, and it made me feel warm and not quite so lonely.

  “The police are working on it, Joe. They’ll turn something up.”

  He nodded again, but I hadn’t convinced him. I wanted to guide the conversation back to the beginning.

  “You said you heard noises up here, Joe—do you know what kind? What they meant?”

  He squirmed. “It was some time back—the first night you got out—” He’d known that, too, of course. “I didn’t think much about it till later on, an’ Fay got killed—”

  It was a long speech for him, but we were getting warm. I waited.

  “Sort of a scratchin’ noise, Mark. Never heard nothin’ like it before.”

  I felt a little chill. Somebody in here that Friday night? Doing what? I have a good memory for detail. But then I’d been fuzzy when I’d come home from the hospital the last time—and maybe I’d missed something.

  “Somethin’ to do with the steam pipe,” Joe added emphatically. “I checked ’em all out up to here—I didn’t find nothin’.”

  “Want to look around?”

  He rubbed his hands along the legs of his overalls. “If it’s all right, Mark—”

  I nodded. He ambled first into the kitchenette, then out and into my bedroom, tapping with a pair of pliers. He examined every radiator.

  Finally he returned to the living room, shaking his head. Anybody can make a mistake. What would some fool be doing with the steam pipes, or any others, for that matter? All were heavily insulated, running beneath the rampway between Hillview and my cottage, perfectly innocent pipes.

  Joe returned to his chair, but he wasn’t satisfied. “If I find out what it is, I’ll sure tell you, Mark.”

  “Thanks, Joe.” I was getting tired, real tired.

  He sensed it and stood up. “Gotta be goin’, Mark.” Then he did an odd and strangely touching thing. Passing my chair, he gripped my arm in a friendly gesture—I felt his wiry strength. Then he was gone.

  I listened to the peck-peck of his thread across the ramp, then it faded away down the stair. I had a small lump in my throat. Jason, I said, maybe you are human, after all.

  I took another pill and had another smoke. A scratchy noise on a steam pipe, something he’d never heard before. Not ominous, surely. I had no gas up here—I cooked and heated water with electricity. And someone could get in here with no trouble at all. My back door key was an old-fashioned thing like a pass-key, and the front door was no better.

  Joe had heard the noise late at night, evidently, and had gone back to sleep. It had troubled him. In his own way he was apologizing for not having come up in the middle of the night to investigate. I didn’t see how he could pin-point sounds in individual apartments. Maybe some gal in one of the other cubicles dragging a fingernail across a radiator to irritate her boy friend or husband.

  I gave it up and creaked my way out of the chair, into my bedroom. It looked mighty good.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The next morning, after strong coffee, good food and a few exercises, I felt much more like living. I still hurt, but nothing like I had out at Chester’s.

  I plugged in the telephone and called Henry, who was now back on the job. We chewed things around a while and I came to the point.

  “You know where the Ben Cook lives? I don’t see him in the phone book.”

  “I think it’s unlisted. Just a minute—he had some stationery printed here a while back. Wait’ll I find the job ticket—”

  I waited. I had a smoke. The fog had cleared and I could see cars crawling down the spiral highway that twists like a snake for seven miles into the Hole, as the valley is sometimes called. Cars. They reminded me of too many ugly things, and I looked away.

  “—here it is. Three-one-four Fourth street. That’s on the Hill, not far from you.”

  I jotted the number down.

  “You gonna go out and see him?”

  “Perchance.”

  “Okay, Mark—but I think you’re on the wrong track.”

  “No doubt, but I may find the right one if I keep kicking around. Any suggestions?”

  He hesitated. “Oh, you know who I mean.”

  “Could be. Use a name.”

  “He’s your neighbor.”

  “I get it. You don’t like him.”

  “So what? A lot of other people don’t either.”

  I glanced over at Cable’s ‘penthouse,’ considering the idea. It wasn’t entirely new.

  “Just for kicks, I’ll think about it,” I said. “And watch yourself. That place of yours is not surrounded by a moat and high walls.”

  “Yeah, I know, Mark. You do the same.”

  And that was enough of that.

  I left the phone jack in and looked around for another number. While I battled the directory, the damn thing rang.

  I cursed fluently, hating the crazy black instrument that had caused me so much misery. However, it could be Marie, or even Rita…

  I let it jangle five times and picked it up. I shouldn’t have.

  “…ha, ha, ha, ha…” came the screechy giggle. I hung on, my jaws clamped hard, hoping for a lead, but it ended suddenly on a high, piercing note. A click.

  I smashed the receiver down, my palms sticky. I had a quick smoke, hating so fiercely my guts cramped. I jerked the cord out of the wall so hard it slapped the end-table leg.

  The phone hadn’t been plugged in for—how long? Thirty-six hours or so. And he’d caught me. Got in another dig, another reminder of what had been said before, the gri
sly promise…

  I stormed and fumed and cursed telephones clear back to Alexander Graham Bell, and cars all the way to Henry Ford. It didn’t do any good at all.

  After I cooled off a little I rang police headquarters and dutifully reported it. Somebody named Sergeant Hill said he’d take care of it, Riley wasn’t in.

  Right then the thought of my up-river sanctuary seemed sweeter than ever. I had to get out of this cage of madness or go mad myself. I had to get back to the peace and comfort of my river valley, which even in midwinter would be a thousand times better than this neoned fog and pack of chattering maniacs.

  But first I had a job to do. I hate to run from a fight. But how could I fight a sneaking bastard who was afraid to show himself, who was slowly tearing me apart?—this sly loosener of bolts, this driver of cars, this deadly amanita…

  After awhile I had more coffee and went through the phone book again. I found the number I wanted, plugged in and dialed quickly.

  She got it on the second ring.

  “Percy here,” I said.

  “Hey—crazy, man! I mean, really—”

  “You should be spanked and sent back to school.”

  “Ha, ha! I was told to take some time off. Would you spank me?”

  “I’d do more than that.”

  “Mmmmmmm,” she giggled cozily.

  “Any more spook calls, Marie?”

  The brightness went out of her voice. “One, Mark. About like the—first. I cut the connection and called Mister Riley—”

  “Good enough. How’re you feeling?”

  She giggled again. “Is that nice? It’s too soon to tell, chum.”

  “Now listen—what’re you getting at?”

  “Don’t be coy, Mark.”

  I caught the drift and felt my face getting hot.

  “Well—” she went on, at my stunned silence, “What if I was preg?”

  “Damn it all, let me explain…”

  She laughed. “Mark, I’m sorry, I mean really! I shouldn’t tease you about something so solemn, should I? Don’t worry—” she lowered her voice “I’m kind of dumb in some subjects, Mark—but bright in others.”

  I sighed. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Ha, ha! Like what?”

  “Like wine and candle light…”

  “I dig that. Am I being propositioned?”

  This gal made things plain enough—and if it pleased her to talk this way, was I going to object? Was I any shining example of morality?

  “Could be,” I said.

  “Well, lovely. I mean I’d like to, Mark. You see, I can talk like a lady when I want to.”

  “I could pick you up in a cab and we could go out to dinner.”

  “Chum, I’ve got a nice Lark, raring to go.” She giggled. “And the front seats let down, too.”

  “Tempting, but it could be dangerous. You know how this character operates. I’d feel safer with a third party, while we’re on wheels, anyway.”

  “Well, you’re the master.”

  “Would your parents object?”

  “Mark, you underestimate me! I told them I met a most fascinating and fierce-looking savage with big shoulders and long legs who would protect me with his life, life, life…”

  “Marie—damn it…”

  “Sorry, really. What time? I’m all goose-pimpley.”

  “Eight?”

  “Well, good. What shall I wear? Something slinky and plunging?”

  “Now listen, your savage hasn’t got any fancy duds.”

  She giggled again. “Well, okay, Mark. I’ll be ready—and willing…”

  I sighed and cut the connection. I unjacked the phone. I also grinned. It would do me good to get out of this hole, danger or no.

  * * * *

  Sitting across from Marie in this night club, in a darkened corner away from the bandstand, the table lighted only by a couple of candles in fancy holders, I was beginning to feel human again.

  “You’re quiet, Percy—”

  “I’m counting my errors,” I said.

  “Well, we are serious. I didn’t know Louise, really, but Fay was a nice gal. It hurts, Mark. But don’t blame yourself.”

  “It started with me, Marie. It may end with me, too—and some more people I care for might get hurt or killed in the process.”

  She put a hand over one of mine and squeezed. “I’m not afraid—not with you.”

  This gal had several facets, and I liked them all except the real gone stuff. None of us are perfect. She had worn a simple black evening dress, but on her a dress wasn’t simple at all. It became a temptation and a work of art, and if her soft bare shoulders were a might fuller than most men prefer, it didn’t alter the general impact of health, youth and liveliness.

  I thanked her with a look. She sipped her after-dinner drink, her eyes slumberous. The trio of piano, drums and tenor sax began a nice beaty drag. She winked at me, swaying her shoulders invitingly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a guy across the room begin to drool.

  We were moving out of the booth to dance, when we were interrupted. A heavy thickset individual with freckled hands and face stepped in front of the table. Riley, naturally.

  “What’re you two doin’ out here?”

  I eased back into my chair. “Is it any of your business?”

  He scowled, shuffling his heavy legs. “Look, I’m sorry—”

  For him that was quite a concession. Was his attitude changing?

  “Rest your feet,” I said.

  He glanced at Marie, who smiled winningly, then moved a chair over to the end of the table. He sipped a glass of water I had ignored.

  “Don’t you think you might be asking for it—a couple a miles outa town?”

  “Perchance, but we can’t quit living.”

  He grunted. I knew what he was going to ask, so I beat him to it. “We came in a cab, Riley. I don’t think this character would risk tinkering with a car so exposed.”

  He nodded, staring at the water glass. “It’s still risky, Jason. You know how this guy operates.”

  “We’re so aware of that,” Marie said.

  He growled something under his breath. A random thought struck me. Was the good Lieutenant up a tree and feeling around for help?

  “I’ve called,” I said. “But you were always out.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Anything you’d like to tell us?”

  He hesitated. Marie giggled. “Gentlemen, I can take a hint. Besides, it’s time I took a stroll.”

  She moved lithely out of the booth, graceful as a fawn, and Riley couldn’t help himself. I couldn’t either. She was meant to be looked at. She winked at me and swayed across the floor, evading dancers. The hangers-on at the bar looked, too. They were well rewarded.

  Riley cleared his throat, sipping more water. He was definitely uneasy.

  “Something stronger?” I suggested.

  “Uh—maybe later.”

  Real cordial.

  “Fill me in, Riley. Get it off your mind.”

  He squirmed. I had an idea he was going to ask a favor, and it hurt his pride. “Look—how’d you like to set a trap for this—nut?”

  I considered my glass of anisette. I had a smoke. He watched me coolly.

  “Just for kicks, I might. How will it work?”

  He glanced around. Our booth was isolated in a dark corner. No one could possibly overhear, especially with all the din of music and chatter.

  “I got this idea, and it might be outa line…see what you think.”

  I felt a puff of pride. Were my amazing talents going to be used?—or was this just a buildup for a nasty letdown.

  “Were not getting anywhere on this tracing deal. The guy’s smart—he won’t stay hooked up long enough. I’d be outa line if I went into all the details—the phone company is a little touchy on methods.”

  I smoked and waited. His hands clenched on the table-top. “You able to drive, Jason?”

  “Naturally�
��” A little chill wiggled along my spine.

  “This nut is after you—so…”

  “I’ve been under that impression.”

  “How’d you like to get another car, with our help?”

  “Try me. The Chevy was insured—I was going to get a replacement, anyway. I have to get back and forth to my cabin somehow.”

  “Okay. The department will help you pick one if you’ll try something.”

  I finished my drink. A nut-trap with Jason for bait. Jason in a car. Not too bad, if the bait didn’t get swallowed before the trap-jaws closed.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  He leaned forward. “This is far as I got. We could have it in the paper you were driving out of town to see somebody, and…”

  When he had finished I sucked hard on a new cigarette. “Good enough,” I said. “What day?”

  He sighed. “I figured you would. Look, most of the roads around here are bare and dry now—Tomorrow night?”

  I nodded, feeling a gathering tension. I saw Marie chatting with a couple across the floor, glancing our way now and then. Riley saw it, too. He stood up, giving me a straight, hard look.

  “You know it’s risky.”

  “Naturally. So is living.”

  He shrugged and took off, walking very light on his feet for a man so big. The story was he’d once played professional football back east. I believed it.

  Marie slipped into the booth, all freshly made up and looking almost too good to be true. Not pretty, but striking. Like you get struck with a bat.

  “Your chick is back,” she murmured.

  “Your rooster is crowing, too.”

  She smiled. “I’d like to dance, but I can think of something more interesting.”

  “No doubt.”

  For some vague reason the suggestion to return to my bungalow, as pleasant and provocative as it sounded, bothered me. Perhaps a lingering memory of Fay…of too many dreary hours spent there…

  “Well, heck! Did this Riley get you all dislocated?”

  “Nope. Nothing you couldn’t remedy.”

  “Mmmmmm. Let’s just be gay and frivolous—and forget our troubles, huh?”

  I didn’t waste any more time about calling a cab. On the way out, her arm through mine, she whispered: “I’ve got a surprise, Mark.”