The Kind One

by Tom Epperson

  “Oh no. I couldn’t take it—”

  “Please. To remember me by.”

  I was surprised to see tears in Dulwich’s eyes. I took it.

  “Consider it a talisman of good luck,” he said. “To keep you safe tomorrow night, and in the days to come.”

  “Thanks, Dulwich. This means a lot to me.”

  “I rather envy you, really.”

  “Oh yeah? Why?”

  “Off on an adventure! I’ve done a bit of tramping about in my time. I recall the pleasures of wandering in a new place without a penny in your pockets. Not knowing what’s to become of you. Knowing only that each step is a step into the new.”

  “Come with us.”

  “Oh, I think four would be a crowd, Danny. Five, counting Miss Tinker. But we’ll come visit you when you’re settled. Unlike most cats, Miss Tinker loves to travel.”

  “Okay. I’d like that.”

  Dulwich picked his pipe back up, struck a match, and put it to the bowl. “It’s interesting. I’ve been having traveling dreams lately. Just last night, for instance. I was in a motorcar with Aubrey. We were traveling across a lush green countryside. Neither of us said anything; it was perfectly pleasurable just being together.”

  We heard a soft thud at the front door.

  Tinker Bell was swatting at a pale-white moth fluttering against the other side of the screen.

  Chapter 15

  THE NEXT MORNING, I drove to Drucker’s Barbershop in Beverly Hills. Bud had introduced me to it. I got a haircut, a shave, a neck and shoulder rub, and a shoeshine.

  Traffic was light for a Saturday as I drove back. The city seemed exhausted, like it had had enough of summer. I stopped at a filling station and got a full tank of gas, and had the oil, water, and air in my tires checked.

  While I’d been gone the postman had come. I had one piece of mail. It began: “Dear Friend: To become independent you MUST invest! Line up with a REAL professional for REAL profits in the REAL ESTATE business!!!”

  I wasn’t hungry, but I forced myself to eat a bowl of Campbell’s tomato soup with some crackers crumbled up in it.

  Around two Dick called. Everything was set. Bud and the boys had left for Palm Springs. He’d talked to Darla, and she was eagerly awaiting my arrival. He suggested I show up around one in the morning. That would give Mousie and Freddie plenty of time to get drunk and pass out as was their habit.

  I went outside around three and sat on the stoop and drank a lemon soda. The day was passing with agonizing slowness. It felt like I’d gone to get a haircut last Saturday instead of this morning.

  For five minutes I watched a single strand of a spider’s web moving a little in a breeze, the sunlight running up and down it. Then Lois and Jerry came out of Sophie’s bungalow. Lois looked a little soberer and more presentable than she had recently. They gave me dirty looks as they walked toward the street but didn’t say anything. Then a couple of minutes later Sophie came out.

  “Are we still going?” she asked in a whisper.

  I nodded. “I gotta go pick up Darla first. So I’ll meet you out front a little after one.”

  “Can’t I go with you to pick up Darla?”

  “No, it’s better we do it this way.”

  She couldn’t keep the grin off her face.

  “I’m so excited. I couldn’t hardly sleep last night.”

  “You’re not worried about missing your mom?”

  She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated way.

  “Oh, brother. You got any other funny jokes? Well, I better go pack. Before Mom and the creep get back. Hey, that rhymes!”

  “Don’t let her see the suitcase.”

  “Don’t worry, I got a good hiding place. That rhymes too! See ya later!”

  I finished my soda, then also went in and packed.

  I wrote a note to Mrs. Dean apologizing for my sudden departure and put it in an envelope, accompanied by an extra month’s rent.

  I got another soda from the fridge, turned on the radio, and sat down on the davenport.

  At dusk, the crows passed over.

  Then I awoke with a start to darkness. I was sure that many hours had to have passed, that everyone was waiting, that everything was lost, and I groped in panic for the light switch, but it was only about ten fifteen.

  I went in the bathroom and splashed water on my face. Looked at myself in the mirror. Felt for a half of a half of a second that I was about to remember my real name.

  I was in the kitchen spooning Folgers coffee into my coffee pot when I heard somebody knocking at the front door, and hulloing softly.

  Dulwich was standing there with a crooked, half-apologetic grin. “Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “No, come in.”

  As he walked in past me, I caught a whiff of cologne. He was wearing a light-brown linen jacket and matching trousers and a crisp white shirt. His hair was carefully combed, agleam with oil.

  “You look like you’re going out,” I said.

  “I am, Danny. I’m going out with you.”

  “Thanks, Dulwich. I appreciate the offer. But I’ll be fine.”

  “But what if you’re not fine? What if something goes wrong? Have you ever even been hunting, Danny? Have you ever killed even an animal with a gun?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “This is my kind of show, old boy. And besides—I know if I don’t go with you, I shan’t sleep a wink all night for worrying about you.”

  Dulwich and I looked at each other. I think a part of me had been hoping that he would come. Had somehow known that he would come.

  “You got a gun?” I said.

  He pulled back his coat to reveal a pistol stuck in his belt.

  “I have a Smith & Wesson, like you. But mine’s a semiautomatic, as you see. I prefer it to a revolver. One can both fire and reload more quickly. Which, in a tight spot, can make all the difference.”

  “I’m making coffee. Want some?”

  “I’d love some.”

  Chapter 16

  EVEN ON SATURDAY night, Los Angeles wasn’t a town that stayed up late, so we pretty much had the streets to ourselves as we drove north toward Bud’s. We saw a few bums and drunks and unappealing hookers and a very fat Negro man on a tiny bicycle kicking at a stray dog that was trying to bite him. Ahead of us, neon signs glowed atop hotels and stores on Sunset and Hollywood Boulevards, and beyond the signs, the dark mass of the Hollywood hills rose up, with pinpricks of lonely light scattered across them.

  A police prowl car pulled up next to us at a red light. The two cops inside looked us over as if they sensed we were up to something questionable, but when the light went green they pulled away.

  I reached Franklin then drove across it and up the little hill. I was hoping to see in the glare of the headlights Darla standing there with her suitcase waiting for me but there wasn’t any Darla, or Dick either, just the stark iron bars of the gate.

  I switched the engine off and turned off the lights. Dulwich and I looked at each other, then I looked at my watch.

  “We’re a little early,” I said. “I’m sure she’ll be along any minute now.”

  The first minute was okay, the second uncomfortable, the third intolerable.

  “I say,” said Dulwich, “I’m feeling a bit exposed here. Like a sitting duck.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Why don’t we just hop out and have a squint at things?”

  We shut the car doors as quietly as we could. Walked up to the gate, peered through.

  The grounds of the house were lit up by the floodlamps. The driveway curved up and around and disappeared behind some trees. I could see only a small part of the second story of the house from here; it was dark and still.

  “Whose car is that?” said Dulwich.

  Now I saw the orange Ford coupe off to the side of the driveway, parked close to the wall.

  “Dick’s.”

  “And he was supposed to meet you here? With Da
rla?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Could there have been a misunderstanding about the time?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Then we heard the crisp sounds of footsteps. Someone was walking rapidly toward us down the driveway.

  Dulwich put a finger to his lips, motioned that we should step away from the gate. We concealed ourselves behind the stone wall.

  I noticed Dulwich had his pistol out. The footsteps were getting louder. We peeked around the wall.

  Dick emerged from behind the trees, swinging his arms briskly as he came down the drive.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s Dick.”

  I stepped out and Dick saw me and waved. “Hey, kid. So you’re here already.” He hit the gate button, and it rattled open.

  But he got suspicious when he saw Dulwich. “Who’s that?”

  “Relax, it’s Dulwich, he’s a friend of mine. Where’s Darla?”

  Dick shook his head and coughed and lit an Old Gold.

  “Ah, it’s all fucked up, Danny. They got her locked up in her fucking room.”

  Expect things to go wrong, Dulwich had said. I tried to stay calm.

  “So what happened?”

  “Well, Mousie and Freddie was glad to let me guard the gate, ’cause nobody likes staying down here the whole fucking night. So I’m expecting Darla to show but she don’t never show. So I go up there. Mousie’s got drunk and passed out all right, just like he was supposed to. But he’s passed out in a chair right in front of her fucking door. So I wonder where Freddie’s at. I walk around looking for him, then I hear music coming from outside. This Guy Lombardo kinda shit. I go around the house, and I find Freddie camping out like some fucking cowboy under the room where Darla’s at. He’s drug one of them lounging chairs over from the swimming pool and he’s hooked up a radio to an extension cord and he’s sitting out there drinking a beer and eating some kinda big fucking sandwich. Bud musta told ’em to do that. Maybe he smelled a rat or something.”

  Sweat was pouring down Dick’s face, even though the night was cooling off; now he took a rumpled handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his forehead.

  “I don’t know, kid. Maybe tonight ain’t the night. Maybe we oughta take a raincheck.”

  “I think Dick may be right,” said Dulwich. “No point in taking unnecessary risks.”

  “But what about Sophie?” I said. “They’re coming for her on Monday. I need to get her out of town. And tomorrow night’ll be worse ’cause Bud and the guys’ll be back.”

  “I don’t know who this Sophie broad is,” said Dick, “and I don’t fucking care. All I know is it’s making me nervous, us all just standing around here flapping our yaps.”

  “Is the door to the house unlocked?” asked Dulwich.

  “Yeah. You can just walk in like you own the joint.”

  “If we can deal with Mousie quietly,” Dulwich said to me, “we probably won’t have to deal with his brother at all.”

  I reached inside my jacket, pulled out an envelope. “Here’s the G,” I said, handing it over to Dick.

  He opened it up and glanced at its contents, then stuck it in his pocket.

  “Thanks, kid. Well—it’s been nice knowing you. I mean that.”

  We shook hands.

  “I feel the same way, Dick. I’ll miss you.”

  Dick slapped me on the shoulder, then walked over to his car. Got in, started it up, hit the headlights, and rolled out the gate.

  “Send me a postcard from Florida,” I said to Dick as he passed by. He waved and went down the hill and was gone.

  Dulwich was biting his lower lip thoughtfully as he gazed through the gate.

  “We should move your car, Danny. To an inconspicuous spot inside the walls.”

  I got in my Packard and drove through the gate and off the driveway thirty or so feet over the grass and behind some azalea bushes, where I parked and got out.

  Dulwich had hit the gate button, and it was sliding shut as I walked back to him.

  He smiled faintly at me.

  “So how do you feel, old boy?”

  Sick inside. Like my soul was melting and flowing out of my body through the soles of my feet.

  “I feel fine. Let’s go get Darla.”

  Chapter 17

  WE CAST LONG shadows in the light of the floodlamps as we walked up the driveway. The bushes and trees and flowers we passed seemed unreal somehow, as if they were made of plastic or wax. The shaggy heads of the palm trees were perfectly still in the breezeless air.

  The Kornblum brothers’ black Pontiac was parked in front of the house. All the windows in the house were dark. Dulwich and I paused at the front door, then took our Smith & Wessons out from under our jackets. I opened the door, and we slipped in.

  Dulwich eased the door shut behind us. Enough light came in the windows to make a dark twilight within the house. We passed through an anteroom. To our right was the room where in April we’d had the party, where Darla had eaten a cupcake and worn a gold lamé gown and Nuffer’s face had got redder and redder as he looked at Violet Gilbertson. Straight ahead was the living room. We went straight and I led Dulwich to the bottom of the staircase that led up to the second floor. There was a glow at the top of the stairs indicating a light was on up there.

  “Listen,” whispered Dulwich.

  I heard it too now: the rough rhythm of snoring rumbling down the stairs. Now Dulwich whispered: “Let’s locate Freddie. Just to make certain he’s where he’s supposed to be.”

  We went into the dining room. The crystal chandelier was an icy glistening above us in the half-dark. As we approached the French doors we could hear the smooth dance music Dick had talked about.

  Freddie Kornblum was stretched out on the lounge chair under the balcony of Bud and Darla’s room, his chin on his chest, his hat tilted down over his eyes, and his fingers interlaced over his stomach. Taking a little nap, it looked like, after his big sandwich.

  We retraced our steps to the foot of the stairs. Listened to the snores and looked up at the glow.

  “I don’t suppose you have a knife on you, do you?” Dulwich whispered.

  “No. Why?”

  “Why do you think? We could get a knife from the kitchen. Where is it?”

  “Do we really have to kill him?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well—sneak up on him. Get the drop on him. Take his gun away.”

  “And what if he decides to try to shoot us with his gun before we can take it away? Or what if he cries out for his brother? No, Danny. The safest thing is to silence him while he sleeps.”

  “Can’t we just hit him over the head with something? Knock him out?”

  I could see a hint of exasperation on his face; then he looked around.

  Across the room was a fireplace. Next to it a shovel, a broom, coal tongs, and a poker hung off an iron stand. I followed Dulwich over there. He picked the poker up. Hefted it. “This should do,” he said, and then the light came on.

  It was like the light switch was hooked up to my heart too and had sent an electric surge through it. I looked around. Anatoly was standing near the arched entranceway, barechested and barefooted, wearing only a pair of white trousers. We stared at each other in mutual surprise.

  I saw Dulwich had his pistol pointed at him, and I put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay,” I said.

  Anatoly blinked at us. Smiled tentatively. “I think I hear something, Danny,” he said in a soft voice. “But I see nothing here. Only empty room. Maybe it is mice. I am going back to bed now. Okay?”

  I nodded. Anatoly turned the light off, and left.

  “Who the devil was that?” said Dulwich.

  “Anatoly. The butler.”

  “How do you know he won’t give us away?”

  “He won’t. He likes me.”

  “Are there any other occupants of the house I should know about? Cooks? Maids? Filipino houseboys?”

  “No. Only Anatoly.”


  “This is the point of no return, Danny. Shall we continue?”

  I nodded.

  We stole up the stairs. Peeked around the corner, down a long hallway.

  Twenty-five feet or so of creaky hardwood floor separated us from Mousie Kornblum. He was sitting in a straight-backed chair, in front of Darla’s door, his feet propped up on a footstool. His posture was nearly identical to his brother’s, except his head was leaning back instead of forward and his mouth was open. He continued to snore heavily, his chest rising and falling. A tan fedora sat on the floor near a half-empty quart of Old Log Cabin bourbon.

  Dulwich started to take off his shoes, and indicated I should do the same. Then: “Ready?” he asked in the faintest of whispers, and I gave him the slightest of nods, then we were gliding down the hallway in our stocking feet toward Mousie. Dulwich, in the lead, had his pistol in his left hand and the poker in his right. Mousie seemed so profoundly lost in drunken slumber you’d have thought he would sleep through an earthquake but when the floor beneath my right foot emitted a tiny squeak, he awoke with a startled wide-eyed snort. Dulwich closed the remaining distance in a rush, lifting the poker above his head. Mousie saw him coming out of the corner of his eye, and his head started turning as he raised his left arm, the arm closest to Dulwich, but the poker came in over it and struck the top of his head. It made a terrible sound, like a squishy crunch, like the sound the lead pipe must have made when it connected with my head. He grunted and began to slump sideways as blood began to squirt through his hair and Dulwich hit him again, on the side of his head this time. He toppled off the chair and the chair fell over too. He lay on the floor with one leg twisted under him and the other still up on the footstool and a pool of blood growing around his head and then, horribly, he began to snore again.

  I tried the door but it was locked. Now I heard Darla through the door. “Who’s out there? What’s going on?”