The Noir Novel

by Thomas B. Dewey

  “How could she know about love?”

  “Don’t ask me how these things work.” Vicki sounded annoyed. “Somewhere along the line she’d connected with some guy and Ann believed he had fallen for her. She’d moved out of the racket—I guess they didn’t care about her by then—and had taken a cheap apartment downtown. But it was Heaven because he was sharing it with her.” Vicki chipped nervously at a nail, then stopped. “From the way she described the fellow I pegged him as a cheap back alley grifter, but,” Vicki said, shrugging, “Ann had stars in her eyes.”

  Then Ann told Vicki she was pregnant, but she hadn’t told her romance. She wanted to wait a while. Poor Annie. The next episode was exactly what Vicki knew it would be. Ann called again in a couple of weeks, and she wasn’t crying because she was beyond tears. The crumb had walked when Ann had told him about the baby. Vicki put her to bed with a sedative and when she woke attempted to talk practicalities with Ann who wouldn’t listen because she was determined to go through with it; for once in her life, she said, she was going to have something of her own. Vicki offered to help her with advice, sympathy and money but Ann wouldn’t hear of taking a loan. She wasn’t asking for help. She just wanted to keep the record with someone.

  “I went to see her later,” Vicki no longer attempted to stop chipping at her nails. “It was awful. She hadn’t had any medical care and she was so sick she was out of her head. I took her to a hospital. Maybe it would’ve been better if she had died instead of the baby.”

  I only nodded.

  “I saw that Ann was taken care of, that she got well. But it was too late,” Vicki shook her head then started on the nails of her left hand. “Too much had happened to her. She wasn’t Ann any more. When she was discharged from the hospital she disappeared.”

  “Better for you,” I said. “If they don’t wanna be helped you can kill yourself trying.”

  “Shut up,” Vicki said. “She was back in the shows and had a sideline.”

  “Dope,” I said. “I saw the scars.”

  Vicki picked up her drink then set it down again. “That was the last I heard from her, until the other day.” Her voice was low. “Ann called here, wanted to tell me something. But she must have been awfully popped because she wasn’t making sense. I managed to piece together that somehow she’d got a little money, bought some clothes, and was going on a trip.”

  “Vegas,” I said.

  “She laughed as if this was going to be the biggest joke ever on Mike French. He was the big boy in the expensive suit.” Vicki made expressive gestures and looked squarely across at me.

  “So that was Mike’s business,” I said.

  “He was a recruiter,” Vicki said, voice filled with loathing, “and he did a big piece-goods business. But what I hated him most for was his enjoying his work.” She frowned. “Now they’re both gone. You think Ann knew about Mike before she went? Or was she put away before Mike?”

  “Afterwards,” I said because I knew. “I’m not sure about Mike’s killing but Ann’s was a hired job, for sure. A doll on the stuff and a wild talker is too dangerous to have around.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Who’s the top man?” I asked casually.

  Vicki glanced up at me but my expression was blank. “What do you mean?”

  “Mike worked for somebody. So did Ann. Who did they work for?”

  “It’s all done with mirrors in this town,” Vicki said. “The best part of town is the worst. I’ve never talked to anyone as much as you. And I’m even a little sorry for that. Accidents happen to the people who talk too much. Nobody’s ever to blame. I suppose you know that, though.”

  “I’ve heard,” I said. “Ordinarily I do my job and ask no questions. Now it’s different. I figure Mr. Big put the shiv to the girl’s throat as much as the guy who actually did it.”

  “I could make a guess who he is,” she said. “You could too.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Talmadge?” I said.

  “Talmadge is a man with many interests,” Vicki said. “And let me tell you something now. Don’t ask me things that you know.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “But I’m under a strain.”

  Vicki rose with slow grace and as she bent low over the table to pick up the highball glasses the loose material fell open at the neck to give me a partial view of her artistic merits. She was a well-rounded personality, sure of herself, sure of her possessions, and she straightened with no undue haste and went to the bar for refills while I stared out at the city and its bright span of lights. For Ann Gunther it had been a world of glitter and nightmares, a glass jewel of no value; it had smashed her and at the moment I’d have taken great pleasure in smashing it back for her and leaving the ruins as her grave marker.

  Vicki returned to put a new drink down on the table before me. It was as welcome as the gown which repeated its sliding routine when she sat.

  “Let’s get the taste out of our mouths, Steve,” she said. “I’m curious about you—the man in between. How do you figure to get out?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “My reason for hitting L.A. was to get to Talmadge for protection while I hunt the killer and maybe the killer a step above him. Now, I don’t know. Is Talmadge the man I’m after?”

  “It might not be Talmadge.” Vicki shook her pretty head. “Once he was Mr. Rackets. But no more. From what I hear someone has moved in and Talmadge is taking it. And Talmadge isn’t the type to stand still for it unless he has to,” she observed.

  “Blackmail,” I said.

  “Whatever it is, it’s big enough to keep peace in the family.” Vicki smiled. “There’re times when you use bad language, Steve. Blackmail,” she warned me with a shake of her head, and I understood.

  I sat and watched her while she talked, saw the light from the lamp pick out the flowing lines of her exciting body to accent their bold voluptuousness.

  “I’ll just have to take my chances,” I said when I realized she was waiting for me to say something. “Even if it means I’m ground meat tomorrow.”

  Vicki shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She gave me a slow look over the edge of her drink. “To me you look too tough to grind.”

  I glanced around. “I take it you pick up your information here, around the house?”

  “I hear a lot of talk.” She smiled. “And you must have charm because ordinarily I don’t pass any of it along.”

  “How much of a jam would you get into if it were known you’ve been talking to me?”

  “Who knows?” She shrugged again and now I wished she had worn a bra. “I keep clear of the organizers, and my position,” she coughed delicately, “is quite solid. I picked myself an important man. More than that, though, I’m the lucky girl who never fell in love.”

  “Never?”

  “Not even once,” she said. “That’s why I’ve made it to the Vanguard. If I’d fallen in love I don’t know where I’d be—but it wouldn’t be here.”

  I nodded at her success as proved by the fixtures. “All done with a clear head?”

  “It’s not as bad as you think,” she explained easily. “He’s oldish—and dignified and likes to own pretty things, that’s all.”

  “How does it feel to be an object d’art?” I asked Vicki

  She got up, crossed to the windows, and stood with her back to me. “Lonely sometimes,” she finally said. “Sometimes I think I ought to go down to the gallery and join the rest of the museum pieces.” She tried to say it lightly but bitterness came through.

  She turned to me, smiled, and I rose to move to her side at the picture window.

  “You should hear that line with a violin background,” she turned again.

  “I don’t have to,” I said. “Because you’re tops without music.”

  She turned to me, our eyes met, and impulsively, almost like a child stretching her hand toward warmth, she reached out and touched my sleeve. We stood like that for a moment, looking at each other, then her arm slid up around
my neck. Her hair was soft against my cheek. Her perfume was direct and to the point.

  “It gets awfully lonesome here sometimes, Steve,” she said. It was as easy as that. My hands caressed her hips and ran up her back. She was good to touch, soft and good. I held her close to me and suddenly she was more than a desirable woman, she was a refuge from the world outside, the world of connivance and slaughter that plotted to do me in.

  “I knew this would happen the moment I saw you,” she whispered. “We’re the same kind.”

  We held together a moment longer before I found the strength to thrust her gently away from me and it was the toughest job I had ever done.

  “It’s no good,” I said, “not like this.”

  “It might be love, Steve,” she stood before me, assured of her own perfection. “For the first time.”

  “And tomorrow I might be a wrong number in the official files,” I said. “It could happen. You don’t want a deal like that.”

  “I never asked anybody for a guarantee, Steve.” She adjusted her robe with a gesture of dignity. “Is there someone else?”

  I nodded. “I sent her away just a couple of hours ago. You’ve heard it before, Vicki.” I flushed. “She’s too good for a guy like me. I couldn’t drag her through all this.”

  “I’m not too good,” Vicki said.

  “I’ll keep it in mind, although I think differently. Right now—with you—I want to be on the level.”

  “I like you for it.”

  I moved away from her. “I’ve gotta move along now. Gotta decide what to do next.”

  “I’ve a car in the garage that isn’t going anywhere,” she suggested.

  I looked at her, and my mind flashed that loaning me the car would be a perfect way to put the cops on my tail. It goes to show how a guy’s mind works when he’s in a jam. Then I decided to take a chance.

  “You won’t need it?” I asked.

  She smiled and crossed to the telephone in the entry, lifted the receiver, asked for the basement garage, spoke briefly to someone called Max, and hung up. “A convertible,” she said. “A blue Olds.”

  “Not a Cad?”

  “Too common,” Vicki pursed her lips. “In this town Cads are in direct ratio to the flashy slobs who drive them. That makes for a lot of Cads.”

  “How about the guy in the garage?”

  “He’s okay,” she said. “Everyone here is. They hire them deaf, dumb and blind.”

  “Part of the service to the clientele?”

  She frowned. “Shall I take that personally?”

  “Am I the ungrateful type?”

  “No,” she said as she moved close to me, “just tactless. You can bring the car back any time.”

  “Any time?”

  Vicki nodded. “My friend’s in Palm Springs with his family.” Her hand went up my sleeve and the robe fell open a little. I reached for her and she trembled at my touch. Or maybe my hand was shaking. I pulled away from her and started for the door.

  “So long.” I grasped the knob. “Thanks for quite a lot.”

  “You’re probably right.” She flipped the lock and the light was soft on her hair and face. “I’ll see you soon?”

  “I hope so,” I said.

  “That’s what I mean.” She crossed her fingers. “Keep the deck marked and play it awfully close.”

  “I will,” I said, and shoved off while I still could.

  Out in the hall I paused to rest and wait for the world to become real again because Vicki Mercer was quite a jolt to take all at once. There was more to the girl than just a gorgeous face and body; she was the rare kind who knows how to keep a man fascinated for the rest of his life.

  I tried to shake it off. That kind of thinking could be poison for a guy on the run. But, on the other hand, it was sweet poison.

  Reason cautioned me to stay away from Vicki Mercer and that warm, responsive body of hers. But reason isn’t flesh and blood.

  Chapter Five

  The next morning it was almost nine thirty when I woke up. I came to slowly, fighting my way out of slumber, until I could sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Today was the day for games with Talmadge. At least I had learned from Vicki what the rules might be. Vicki. It seemed that my lucky star was still striking sparks and I bowed my head in thanks, and also to rub the back of my neck.

  I went into the bathroom and while shaving and washing thought about my meeting with Fat Boy and how to proceed. It would’ve been best to stay clear of Talmadge until I knew where he stood. But what I wanted and what I had to do were two different things. Too bad there wasn’t time to play it very safe. Back in the room, shaved and presentable, I put in a call to the Vanguard. I wanted to hear a friendly voice before I put my head on the block.

  “Slept well?” Vicki asked me.

  “Like the dead.”

  “That’s the nastiest insult I’ve had in years.”

  “I dreamed of you. But it was only second best. I know.”

  “That’s better,” she said before her voice became serious. “I was hoping you’d call. I remembered something I think you ought to know.”

  “Spill,” I said.

  “I don’t think I should go into it over the phone, though. Can you meet me somewhere on your way to see that man?”

  “I can manage it.” I glanced at my watch. “Name the place.” She named a restaurant on Beverly Boulevard that would be on my way to Hill Street.

  “Twenty minutes?” she asked.

  “I can make it,” I said. “See you there.”

  I hung up, dressed, and checked the .38 for action before I slung my holster. On the way out I squinted in the mirror and thanked the reflection for looking more like myself again.

  In the dingy lobby I started toward the desk, then stopped, because some man stood at the desk in conversation with the blowsy dyed female at the switchboard. He was an official character, the kind I’d learned as a kid to spot and avoid: it was in the curve of his back, the clothes he wore, and the way he wore them to accommodate a rod. I edged backward toward the stairs when I picked up what the dame was saying.

  “Don’t ask me where he is, mister,” she said. “He skipped on us too, owing three weeks’ rent. If I could help you I sure as hell would.”

  I moved to the desk, once again able to breathe. The guy was with a collection agency, but I was willing to bet he’d been with the force not too long ago. So I kept my face angled away from him as I dropped my key and started to move on.

  “Hey, you!” the dame yelled after me. I turned back. “You the one who came in last night? You stayin’ over?”

  The guy turned to give me the fish eye.

  “Guess so,” I nodded.

  “That’s in advance,” the dame said and held out her hand.

  I flipped her a bill. She clawed for it, put it away, and counted out my change, while the collection boy kept his eyes on me through the whole deal. I pocketed the money, left and kissed the dump goodbye.

  I chose a newspaper from a rack at the corner and picked one up to read on my way to Vicki’s car. The story was still on the front page, no added details from what they’d had the night before although gruesome highlights had been added for spice. Much was made of the girl’s state of undress in the “murder chamber,” and it was strongly suggested that her death came as the climax to “an intimate love party.”

  And they had dug up the police files on Ann and were using them for all they were worth because you could pack a lot of meaning into the “party girl.” She was smeared but good, and in disgust I almost threw the paper away; then I spotted the item about Gwynn.

  As I knew he would, King had shot his bolt. Gwynn had admitted knowing me and having seen me that morning, but insisted she had merely driven me to town and let me out on the street. Also she denied the possibility of romance between us and clinched the deal by revealing her engagement to her employer, Les Carter. A schoolmaster’s hickory stick beat me across the head as reward. I had
been a good teacher, Gwynn a good pupil who had wised up through my instruction the day before. I had no complaint coming.

  I dropped the paper in the gutter of the side street where I’d left Vicki’s convertible for the night. Then I climbed into the car, started the engine, pulled out, and headed for Beverly Boulevard.

  * * * *

  Vicki, like a diplomat, had picked for our meeting a small, quiet lunchroom in a shopping district, an ideal eatery for people who didn’t want to be seen or remembered, and I found her sitting at a table in the corner away from the windows. I sat down opposite and said hello. Even with a scarf over her hair and wearing dark glasses she was beautiful.

  A waiter came, took our orders, and then left us alone. “Now.” I put my elbows on the table. “What’s the story?”

  “It’s a story all right. Long. I hope you’ll be interested.”

  “These days I’m easy to interest.”

  Vicki folded her hands on the table. “Well I thought you’d like to know there’s at least one person in this town who lives only for the day when Talmadge fries in hell.”

  I lifted a quizzical brow. Interesting. “Who?” I asked.

  “Talmadge’s daughter.”

  “Daughter?” I said.

  “That’s right. And if you didn’t know he had one don’t feel left out. Very few people know the family.”

  “I didn’t even know he had a wife.”

  “He hasn’t,” Vicki said and I saw that the polish of her nails had been repaired. “She died years ago.” She glanced away from me as the door opened. It was a couple of kids who crossed to the counter opposite us and started ordering hamburgers. “I happened to hear the yarn one night from a drunken citizen who called up the next morning and begged me never, to repeat it,” she continued. “It’s fascinating if you go for high-powered domestic drama.”

  “Even if you’re not selling soap I lust for it,” I said. “Shoot.”

  “Well,” Vicki said, and took a deep breath, which I enjoyed, “it all started about twenty-seven or eight years ago when Sam Talmadge married a little movie extra, Brenda something-or-other, evidently a nice girl and pretty as a picture.”