The Noir Novel

by Thomas B. Dewey

  I drove over to Fifth and dropped quickly down the steep incline, using second gear, hearing the glass-packs rattle. I waited for the light, moved across Main to D and found a parking place not too far from Cable’s shop. I saw Riley’s patrol car parked in front.

  I piled out and walked toward the shop—and fell flat on my face.

  I had been knocked there by an awful concussion from behind me. An explosion that vibrated painfully all through me.

  Luckily I had thrown my hands forward, or my head would have been cracked open on the sidewalk. Cement is so non-porous and cushionless.

  Simultaneously with the blast, or right after it—I was still reeling from the force of the concussion—I heard pieces of glass strike pavement, metallic bangings, like dishpans on cobblestones.

  The quiet afterward was appalling.

  I managed to turn over, aware that feet were pounding toward me, doors were slammed, people shouted and traffic began to pile up. Car doors banged, but they seemed far away, now. A siren coming nearer was very faint.

  I think I blacked out for a few seconds. The ground tilted…then I focused on the Ford. It was now a pile of junk—blown to bits. Where I’d been sitting was nothing but a gaping, smoking hole. No top, no windshield, the hood kinked crazily forward. A scorched odor in the air, of electric wires grounded and burning insulation.

  Riley’s bellow was a welcome sound. Someone bent over me. It seemed to be sergeant Wilson.

  “Don’t move ’im!” Riley shouted. Then he was off, barking orders. Somebody began using a fire extinguisher. No flames, but a dangerous looking smoke billowed from the wreckage.

  I tried to raise myself up, and fell back, groaning. Something that had been numb began to throb like hell. Car horns tooted. It sounded like circus day…

  “Take it easy, Jason,” I heard, close by. Back a few paces, people were standing thick, jabbering like magpies. Shrill voices questioning, exclaiming.

  By the time the ambulance got there I was on my feet. I didn’t want to go to that damned hospital again. I told the driver I’d be okay. He took off, shaking his head, gawking at the mass of twisted metal and fabric that had once been a nice hopped-up runabout.

  Somebody had tried real hard—and it had been so close my knees were still shaking.

  With some help I got over to Riley’s patrol car, where Wilson gave me an assist. The seat felt like heaven. Wilson looked at me worriedly, then took off to help direct the snarled traffic.

  I checked myself a little. Both elbows were skinned, my upper arms ached from taking the brunt of the sudden fall, but my shoulders were always good, as I mentioned before, and they’d kept me from getting my brains smeared out over the sidewalk.

  I was able to get out a smoke and light it. But inside I was shaky and weak. Like when you’ve just missed driving over a high cliff. Only worse.

  Riley loped up to his car, peering in. His face was flushed, his lips set firmly together.

  “You really kept an eye on it,” I said.

  He blasted out a truly Irish curse. “I had my men on patrol check on their rounds. I got other things to watch! I figured you’d have brains enough to look it over!”

  “I did, believe me—but not well enough.”

  He wiped his forehead. “Too close—too close…”

  “What kind of explosive?”

  “Uh—probably dynamite. The State highway department supply was busted into the other night…you’re not driving any more cars—or Bingo! I toss you in jail.”

  I nodded. I was getting dizzy.

  “Look—I better get you up to the doc.”

  “Damn it all, I’m all right. Take me home if you want to be useful.”

  He growled and piled in. “You don’t look so hot, Jason…”

  “Shut up and drive.”

  He was pointed away from the wreck, and I was glad to get it out of my sight. “I hope the car dealer had it insured.”

  “They got a blanket policy, so quit chewing on it.”

  It didn’t take him long to get me home. I had another smoke and we sat in the car. I was rocky, but still curious.

  “How about it—did you find Cable?”

  “No. The place was practically empty. A few old radios and TV sets around, a few tools. It was locked up, like his apartment.”

  “Contact the old man who stayed in the shop?”

  “Don’t get so snotty. We will.”

  “And Cable just naturally dropped out of sight—”

  “Get inside and lay down, Jason. Let me handle it. I’ll find him. That old panel of his won’t be hard to locate.”

  I climbed out, stiffly. He started to pile out and help me, and I waved him off. “Go back to your dynamiter, Irish.”

  “And you get the hell inside and stay put.” He hesitated. “We’ll know more later. I’ll be around.”

  “Goody, goody.”

  He smirked, turned the car around and drove off, spinning gravel.

  I got inside, staggered to the bedroom and dropped. The bed went spinning, like when you’re on a real tail-twister of a drunk. I started to throw up, but didn’t. Just a dry heave or two. Then I passed out.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “As near as we can tell—and we got a real good explosives man on the force—this dynamite was wrapped around one of your tail pipes between the muffler and the manifold, and set off by a fuse that would pop when the pipe got hot enough. Simple, but not so accurate, or you’d be all over the landscape.”

  Riley had come up, as he’d promised, and had melted enough to have a can of beer. It was about seven and I’d had a sleep and was feeling much better. In fact, I felt more alive than I had for quite a spell. Maybe violence had worked where plain sitting on my can hadn’t. Or maybe I was just glad to be alive. What if, in driving downtown, I’d hit a good wide rut in the road?

  “Just for kicks, anything on Cable?”

  “Uh—no.”

  “Is he next?”

  Riley slapped his thighs with those brutish hands. “We’re trying, Jason. Got out an APB. What else can I do? Personally begin to examine every house and shack in the valley?”

  “Naturally. What’d the old man have to say, the one that worked in the shop?”

  “Said he came to work this morning, opened up, and Cable never showed. He called Cable’s apartment, but nobody answered. About noon the old guy gave up and went home. So he’s gone. Disappeared.”

  “Anything else, perchance?”

  He scowled. “Look—we went over his shop. Nothing outa line. No money in the cash drawer. I told you part of that.”

  I nodded. “When do you think the dynamite was planted?”

  “Must have been last night, some time. I checked around where your car was sitting. Not a thing in that loose gravel.”

  “You know where everybody was last night—I mean of these poetic jaybirds?”

  “Jason, my boy, you don’t run up to any of these people and put the bee on ’em. Sure I asked, clear down through the line, but there are laws—and every one of them can afford an attorney, and when you ask polite, do you think the guilty one hasn’t already got an answer?”

  “Just something I read.”

  “Look—you come along with me sometime and I’ll show you how far we can go without any evidence. They were all in town, doing various innocent things. We’ve got no set time to go on, like in Fay’s case. Marie Goddard stayed home. Miss Swatch stayed home. Ben Cook, ditto. Vently and Mrs. Snark, ditto. Henry Dee went to a show, the Sproot couple went to a tavern and drank beer, Cable—we don’t know. Like I said, I had men cruising this area…”

  I had a smoke. I opened two more cans. Riley said he was officially off duty, so it was all right. I told him I wouldn’t squeal to the Commissioner.

  “Riley, do you mind if I get back up the river? I’m on my feet, my money’s running short, and—”

  “Bull!” he snorted. “You wouldn’t give up that easy.”

  I had been thinki
ng about it all evening. “After today, you can have him. I think I’ll just let it ride, as they say.”

  He grinned slyly. “I know what you’re up to. This nut is after you, so you figure he’ll follow you up there and you’ll lay for him.”

  I had to grin. “Perchance…”

  “It’d be damn dangerous.”

  I sipped my beer, feeling the first one begin to kick a little. “You have any other ideas?”

  “Uh—not right now.”

  “You can’t hold me in town—”

  “Maybe I could, but—you think you’re strong enough?”

  “I never will be if I don’t get out of this smog and back to living again. I’ve been away too damn long.”

  “You don’t mind some things the city’s got.”

  He had me there.

  “It’s your funeral, Jason. I can’t give you any protection up there.”

  I dragged on my smoke and felt of my sore elbows. I’d wrecked a good jacket, too.

  “Don’t rub it in, Jason. Maybe I shoulda had a guy sitting in your car all night. But as cagey as this nut is, it probably would have worked out like our other little stunt. How did we know what he was going to do? I really figured you’d have brains enough to check it out.”

  “I did, around on top. Those old Fords sit pretty low. Here’s a clue. Our guilty one won’t be a potbelly.”

  “You get this way very often?”

  “Sometimes I spout poetry, even.”

  He sighed and stood up. He’d finished his can. “Tell your man at the car lot he can be thankful it wasn’t a late model.”

  “He won’t mind a bit—he’ll get plenty of publicity out of it, and so will you.”

  “Tell the reporters to stay away from here.”

  He grinned. “You might get a sample of what we got to put up with—all the time.”

  On that happy note he departed. As soon as his car pulled away I started packing. I wanted out. The idea had been brewing so fast I didn’t want to spend another night in this hole. I was a sitting duck. I’d had my three chances—I’d be a fool to press my luck in town any further.

  But the phone hadn’t been fixed. I couldn’t even call a cab. And I had no car. The beer and pain-killer had been working overtime.

  However, I still had a few friends. I rapped a message to Joe with my pocket knife via the steam radiator. About that time I heard a car park out in front. Activity around the old place was certainly picking up.

  Heavy feet made it up to the front door. A knock. I strolled into the parlor. “Who is it?”

  “I’m from the Herald—couldn’t reach you by phone.”

  “Beat it. I’ll write you a letter.”

  “Come on, Jason, this thing is big!”

  “Nope. Riley knows as much as I do—see him.”

  I heard a groan. “Come on—please!”

  “I’m shook up. I don’t want to see anybody. Doctor’s orders—”

  That did it, and then I heard Joe on the ramp. I left the reporter to his own devices. They would call me the savage, the riverman, as they had before.

  I let Joe in and locked the back door. The blinds were down.

  Joe looked scared. “Mark—I was afraid—”

  “It’s all right, Joe. I need a favor. See if you can call Henry for me. Tell him to drive up. This phone’s out of whack, as you know.”

  He nodded, peering at me steadily. “You sure you’re awright? I heard about it—”

  “I was lucky, Joe.”

  He saw my two old suitcases and looked up. “You leavin’?”

  “It’s time, Joe. I told you about my place on the river. If I live long enough, I’m going.”

  The expression of concern, of sadness on his ugly face made me lumpy in the throat. During the long months of my confinement, and for a while before, Joe and I had developed a real friendship.

  “I’ll come back and see you, Joe. I promise.”

  He nodded, looking like a whipped dog. “You been good to me, Mark.”

  I patted his shoulder. A half-smile livened his grotesque face. He turned and went out, quickly. I think he was crying.

  Strange what a few kind words and deeds could do to some people, and I’d really done nothing except put confidence and trust in him.

  And what would I tell Marie?

  I sat down stiffly, idly wishing I could somehow take her with me…the pain-killer had made me really high!

  Was I running scared? I wanted it to look that way, but Riley had guessed my purpose…Would others? I didn’t think so. By staying in town I couldn’t protect Henry or Marie or Joe—or even Rita. The others didn’t concern me a great deal. And by seeming to run I might catch me a crazy killer.

  In fifteen minutes I heard the roar of Henry’s Plymouth out front. He had one of the lively models. I had unlatched the door and he came in with a rush. He saw me standing and waiting and slowed down. “Joe called—said you needed help—”

  “I do, my friend. I need transportation. I’m clearing out.”

  “You mean—”

  “That’s right. Home. I’m fed up.”

  He shook his head, pacing about. “After getting shook up—like you did? I was going to go up to the hospital this evening—”

  “I’m all packed,” I said. “Perchance you’ll phone the landlord for me. This phone’s out of order…”

  “Yeah, sure Mark.” He looked rather put out. “You said you were gonna track down this killer—”

  “Believe me, I tried—and messed it up. We’ve been over that.”

  If he guessed my real intention, it didn’t show. In fact it was obvious he thought I was running away.

  “I guess after what’s happened, I can’t blame you. Did you get hurt?”

  “Skinned a little and all the poop scared out of me.”

  He growled under his breath. “Our plans kind of fell through.”

  “As plans often do. Let’s get moving. That is, if you don’t mind.”

  “Okay, Mark.”

  “Let’s go by your place a minute and use the phone. I want to talk to a couple of people.”

  He looked at my phone, saw the broken wire and shrugged. He grabbed one suitcase, I took the other, and out we went. I locked the front door, left the key over the door-frame where the owner stashed it, and we piled into Henry’s car.

  He didn’t say much as we moved westward across the Hill and dropped down to River Street. Although I could see his house from my window, it took quite a lot of turning and driving to reach it. He parked deftly and as we walked up to his front door I glanced up at the Hillview, perched like an eagle’s nest on the northwest edge of the Hill. Even with a few lights on, it looked ugly and monstrous—and I thought idly if it ever came loose it would slide right down on top of Henry.

  As he opened up and turned on lights he didn’t seem very cheerful.

  “What do you think about Cable? I guess you heard he’s missing…”

  “Yeah. But so what? He’s an oddball.”

  “No doubt. Maybe the killer—”

  “Oh, skip it and come on in.”

  It was an average bachelor hangout, rather disorderly. I’d never been here before. I’d gotten acquainted with Henry after my mishap on Fifth. Copies of Jasmine & Lace here and there, a few printing trade journals. A small TV set and a radiophono. Furniture dull and average, as it generally is in a rented home. He waved at his telephone and I sat down gratefully.

  I heard him in the kitchen opening the refrigerator. I also heard the ping of an opener going into a can.

  I dialed the Goddard home. She answered.

  “Mark, here—”

  “Well—really! Good gosh, I’ve been trying to call ever since I heard—they said you weren’t in the hospital…”

  “I was feeling rocky and had the phone unplugged.”

  She sighed. “I was really scared, Mark!”

  “Easy does it. I’m all right. How’re you, plushy?”

  “Yearni
ng—what else?”

  “I’m going to be gone a while, Marie. Leaving tonight.”

  “Well—gosh! I’ve got to get back to school, too. Can’t you come by and at least kiss me?”

  “I wouldn’t be able to leave, then.”

  She giggled. “I mean, really?”

  “Now listen—watch yourself. This character might decide to dynamite your car.”

  “I will, lover.”

  I sighed. “Any more calls?”

  “No.”

  “Till later, then, oh dream of torrid memories…”

  She laughed. “Real good, Percy. I’ll miss you…”

  It ended. Henry handed me a cool can, winking. I seemed to be nerved up again. It was still an effort to use a phone, any phone. But I did. It rang several times.

  “Hello,” came Ben Cook’s deep bass.

  “This is Jason. Remember our little conversation?”

  “Oh yes. Given me quite a lot of food for thought, you might say.”

  “Any old memories return?”

  He chuckled. “I’ll tell you what I can. Did I mention that Stein and his wife were very religious, very strict with their children, including Angela?”

  “You hinted at it. Anything else?”

  “Also, I think the girl was in trouble.”

  “Did it show?”

  “Perhaps not what you’re thinking. I got to remembering back. I stopped by their stand last fall, before the—accident. Stein seemed pretty upset—and I’m guessing it had something to do with Angela.”

  I felt a shiver of anticipation. “You’re coming through loud and clear. Anything else, perchance?”

  “I think she’d been seeing some man—on the sly.”

  My pulse hammered. This could be the first inkling of a real motive. I’d killed her, and the mysterious lover was after the one who had done it—me. “Anything at all about who it was?”

  “No. I don’t think Stein or his wife knew, either. That is, if I’m guessing right—and perhaps I’m all wrong…”

  I thanked him and cut the connection. Henry sat forward in his chair. “What was all that?”

  “The other day I went out to see our friend and fellow poet, Ben Cook.”