Masters of Noir: Volume One

by Ed McBain

  "Fill ‘er up,” Harper said. “Check everything. Battery, water, tires—the works. An’ be sure to wash that windshield. Better catch the rear window, too. All this dust."

  The attendant began to whistle.

  Julia, sitting in the car, nervously flipped the sun-visor down on her side and arched her back slightly, stretching up so she could see herself in the small mirror. She opened her white-beaded purse, dipped in and brought out a large gold-cased lipstick, and worked on her lips. They were already quite red, but she went over them still more heavily. Finally she sighed, put the lipstick away, folded the visor back with a flip of her hand, and opened her door. She climbed out, glanced at Linda. Linda was occupied watching the cars and trucks whizz by on the main highway.

  Harper was discussing oil grades with the attendant. Julia looked around, then wandered over to the map rack on the wall of the office, beside the doorway. Georgia. Florida. Mississippi. South Carolina. North Carolina. Virginia. Delaware. Oregon ... she withdrew the Oregon roadmap from the black metal rack, opened it, her face quite sober.

  A gleaming yellow and chrome car, not more than three feet high all around, shot roaring off the highway and slid to a grinding stop on the gravel just off the cement, inside the gas station area. There were five young men in the car. The hood of the engine was off, and chrome and nickel furnishings sparkled with a hard brilliance in the sunlight. It was as clean and sparkling as an expensive china steak platter.

  Julia turned, holding the road-map.

  The driver of the hot-rod, a tall, broad-shouldered, yellow-haired youth with a violent sunburn, wearing khaki shorts and moccasins, gunned the engine loudly. They all roared with laughter.

  The driver shut the engine off, leaped over the side of the car and crouched low and yelled, "Look at that!"

  "Va-va-VOOM!"

  "Hot rivets!"

  "Bite me!"

  Shrill whistles soared crazily into the sunlight, cutting through the afternoon with that same hard brilliance the car itself possessed—edged, clean, glasslike.

  "Oh—daddio!!"

  "Hit me!” one of the boys yelled. “Bash me—sock me—hit me!” He leaped from the car, ran around to where the yellow-haired youth stood and stuck his chin out. “Knock me cold!"

  The yellow-haired youth rapped his chin with a big fist, laughing. The other faked a backward stagger, turned fast and looked at Julia, eyes bugging. Then he ran around the side of the car, yelling like an Indian. He reached over the side of the car, came up with a brown pint bottle and gulped from it. He sprawled against the side of the car, gasping.

  "I'll never make it now, boys. Never make it now. I seen the light."

  Julia turned and tried to fold the roadmap, so she could put it away. It wouldn't fold right. Each time she moved, the round flesh of her hips bunched under the tight shorts. She gave up trying to fold the map and jammed it at the rack, her hands trembling.

  "What the hell's going on here?” Harper said, walking toward Julia.

  The yellow-haired lad pulled himself erect, then went very loose all over, like a released sack of potatoes, and lurched in an affected stagger toward Julia. He came up close to her, ignoring Harper. He looked Julia up and down beadily, his mouth hanging open. The rest of the young men in the glinting hot-rod vaulted out and formed a pack behind the yellow-haired driver.

  "Baby,” he said in a stage whisper. “I can't stand it. Do something before I shoot myself."

  The roadmap fell out of the rack. Julia Harper's face and throat had become violently red. She tried to walk away. The yellow-haired youth blocked her path.

  Harper shouted, “God damn! Get away! What you doing there?” His voice lowered. “What is this?"

  The yellow-haired one turned abruptly, ran over to the others, spoke quickly, and they all formed a straight line across the front of the gas station. They stared at Harper.

  "Dress right,” the yellow-haired one snapped. “Dress!"

  The line straightened.

  Julia hurried to the car, got in and closed her door.

  "What the hell's going—?” Harper broke off his question.

  He stared at them. They returned his stare. They stood very straight, lips tight, watching him.

  The attendant came over to Harper. “Bring you your change,” he said, then went around the line of boys and inside the office.

  Harper stood furiously in front of the line, his mouth faintly moving, but saying nothing. The attendant returned and handed Harper some change, then went quickly over to the gas pumps.

  "All right, men,” the yellow-haired one said, jumping lightly out in front of the other four. “Atten—shun! Pre-e-e-e-e-sent—arms!"

  The yellow-haired leader turned and they all held their arms out toward Harper. Each face was emphatically sober and deeply sincere.

  Harper wheeled and stalked stiffly toward the car, jamming the change into his pocket. He turned suddenly toward the stocky attendant.

  "What's going on around here?” Harper said, making his lips tight, scowling. “Who are they? What the hell's the idea?"

  The attendant glanced at him swiftly, then headed for the office, making it clear that he didn't want to get mixed up in what was brewing.

  "You check everything I told you?” Harper called.

  The attendant did not reply.

  "Hey, you! Did you check everything?"

  Linda called, “Hungy ... hungy,” from the rear seat.

  The young men still stood at attention with their arms held rigidly out.

  "Please, Dell,” Julia said. “Come on—let's go."

  Harper said, “I'd like to— “

  Angrily, he climbed beneath the wheel of the car, started the engine, and they drove off. As they swung into the highway, a loudly shouted chorus of laughter roared into the early afternoon.

  "My God!” Harper said.

  Julia Harper stared straight ahead through the windshield, her face strained and slightly pink. Her legs were close together and she held her hands clasped tightly around the white-beaded purse in her lap.

  Harper started to speak but there was something in his throat. He tried to clear it away. He gripped the steering wheel very hard, his shoulders rigid.

  "That attendant ignored the whole God damned thing,” he said. “He acted like he was scared of those hoodlums."

  Julia said nothing.

  "Hungy,” Linda said, jumping up and down on the rear seat. “Hungy ... hungy!"

  Harper turned sharply to his wife. “I should've—what'd you do? What did you do?"

  "How do you mean, Dell?"

  "Listen to me. You must've done something. You heard them. My God, I never saw—I felt like really letting them have it. That's the God's truth. I didn't know what to do, I tell you."

  Julia drew a deep breath and let it out. “It was nothing, really. They're just kids, Dell. They weren't really mean and they wouldn't really start anything."

  "You're right, there. No guts. No guts in the pack of ‘em. Kids."

  They drove for a time.

  "It was like you could feel it,” Harper said.

  Julia had her eyes closed. She opened them. “What?"

  "I don't know. Like—something. Like there's no law, no—nothing. Gutless kids—doing a thing like that. What could I do? Tell me that?” He looked at his wife again. “I wish you'd tell me what it was you did, God damn it."

  "I didn't do anything. Dell. I just stood there. That's all. I was just standing there, looking at a map. That's all."

  They drove for a time.

  "I didn't do a thing. Just stood there."

  "Yeah. You think I should report them?"

  "What could you report?"

  "You're right. They're gone now.” He sighed, moved his shoulders around. “They got my goat, I'll tell you that, though. I should've grabbed that one, that ringleader.” He clenched and unclenched his fist on the steering wheel. “Brassy little bastard."

  Julia said nothing. She turned on
one hip, tugged at her shorts, rested her chin in the cup of her hand, looking out the window. She closed her eyes again.

  The sound of a horn blaring came along swiftly behind them, wailing, growing louder with a frightening speed.

  "It's them again,” Julia said.

  "What?” Harper said. “Who?"

  She did not answer. The roar of an engine and the scream of a horn was upon them. It swept past, yellow-bright, screaming laughter, shouting, horn blatting. The yellow hot-rod careened in front of them, then leapt away and was soon out of sight.

  Nobody said anything.

  Finally, they reached the stone-vaulted entrance to the park in the glen. There was no sign whatever of the yellow car.

  "Hungy,” Linda said, and began to cry.

  "This is a good spot,” Harper said. “I just don't want to be down there in the main park with all those damned people."

  They were on a dirt road that wound high above the park. They had come through pine woods, and were opposite the top of a waterfall. It was a pleasant, completely isolated site, and Harper drew the car in beneath the shade of a young elm and some pines, beside a stone fireplace.

  "We should've brought hamburgers,” Julia said, climbing from the car. She stood there a moment and tugged at her shorts with both hands, then opened the rear door and let Linda out. Linda ran toward the stone fireplace and began slapping it with both hands.

  "Not so hungry, anyway,” Harper said. Then he said quickly, “I will be, probably. How about waiting awhile, huh? O. K.?"

  "I'm starved, Dell—really. Let's eat. If we don't, we'll have trouble on our hands."

  He looked at her suddenly.

  "I mean, Linda's full of the dickens this afternoon."

  Harper brought two blankets from the car, spread them on pine-needled ground. Julia brought the picnic basket and the gallon thermos jug of lemonade.

  "You'd better get that stack of newspapers in the trunk,” she said. “All right?"

  "Sure."

  Harper began to whistle. He returned to the car, flung open the trunk, picked up an armful of pillows, and the small stack of old newspapers. He closed the trunk and returned to the blankets. The sound of the waterfall rose through the afternoon. Sunlight streaked in slim shafts between the branches of trees. Wind sighed softly in the pines.

  "It's nice out here,” Harper said. “A few hours away from things—everything. Quiet. I just feel like eating and laying around. Glad we didn't go over to the Martins, aren't you?"

  "I thought you weren't hungry."

  "Am now."

  Julia set out the picnic dinner. Sandwiches. A bowl of potato salad. A cake. A thermos of coffee, and the gallon of lemonade. There were pickles and peanut butter, radishes, celery, apples, oranges, olives—the works. The Harpers always ate heavily when they went on a picnic.

  Linda ran, fell and sprawled across the blanket, two chubby hands reaching toward the stack of sandwiches on the waxed paper.

  After she was picked up, they sat down on the blanket and began eating.

  "What'd you think of old Holdsby's sermon?” Harper asked, around a mouthful of chicken. Julia held a pickle and Linda bit off a small piece, made a face, and spit it out. Julia tossed the small bit that Linda had rejected in among the trees, toward a thick growth of low bushes.

  "Oughta use the trash can,” Harper said. “What'd you think of—?"

  "I didn't listen,” Julia said. She looked at him, chewing. She swallowed. “He bored me silly today. I don't know. Sometimes—"

  "Yeah, I know."

  "What'd you think?"

  "I dunno,” Harper said, belching lightly.

  The distant sound of a car's engine that was being raced filtered up through the woods, the afternoon, above the sound of the waterfall, and seemed to drop like some kind of explosion among them. Neither spoke. Linda was busy with a piece of chocolate cake, her fingers in thick icing.

  The sound became louder.

  The sound lessened.

  Harper seemed to relax.

  The sound of the engine increased and abruptly the yellow and chrome car was beside their own, parked, with the shouting young men leaping over the sides, moving toward them.

  Harper came halfway to his feet, a chicken sandwich in one hand, chewing, trying to swallow, choking.

  The yellow-haired youth walked toward them.

  "What you know?” he said. “A picnic. Isn't that nice?"

  They all sang in a loud chorus, “We think it's wonderful."

  The yellow-haired leader stared at Julia. She was kneeling on the blanket, looking up at him. Harper came all the way to his feet, still chewing, still trying to swallow.

  "We want some too,” the four young men behind the yellow-haired one sang. “We want a lit-tul bit of ev-ry—thing. We're hungy!"

  "Hungy,” Linda echoed.

  "What?” Harper said, managing to swallow.

  "Hungy,” they sang. “We hungy, daddio."

  Julia did not move, kneeling there on the blanket.

  The yellow-haired one came around beside Julia and knelt on one knee and flung his arms wide. His sunburn was very bright. “Will you feed us, you sweet little darling? I wouldn't ask your old man, ‘cause I know he's mean.” He lowered his voice. “But I'd ask you, baby.” He stood up and looked across the blanket at the others. “Wouldn't you ask her?” he called.

  "We'd ask that baby anything,” they chorused. “We think she's the nuts."

  Harper stood there. He moved toward them, then stopped. “What?” he said. “Get out of here. What are you doing? You hear me?"

  "Please,” Julia said to the yellow-haired one. “Go away—leave us alone. Can't you see—?"

  "She says can't we see?” the yellow-haired one said. His face had changed. He leered down at her. They all ran over beside her. “She's cra-a-a-azy!” one yelled.

  Harper grabbed at a chunky fellow wearing dark blue shorts and an open white shirt. The chunky fellow didn't even look at Harper—he just shoved. Harper reeled violently backwards and fell flat.

  "We see you, baby,” they chorused, circling Julia.

  "We dig you, too,” the yellow-haired one said.

  Linda giggled and pulled at the chunky one's shoe. He reached down and patted her head. A red-haired youth saw him do it, and moved behind Julia and reached down and smoothed her hair. He snarled both hands in her hair and slowly bent her head back, until she was looking up at him. He leaned close to her and licked his lips.

  The yellow-haired one knelt on the blanket. “Look,” he said. “Look at all the crazy food.” He unwrapped a sandwich. “Chicken sandwiches.” He smelled of it, tossed it over his shoulder. He grabbed a handful of olives and threw them up into the air. “Olives,” he said. He began to grab everything in sight, one thing at a time, naming it, then throwing it into the air. “Chocolate cake! Zoom! Orange! Ham sandwich! Zoom—zoom! Celery—look at that crazy celery! Peanut butter!” The jar smashed against a tree. They all began grabbing food and throwing it into the air.

  Harper moved toward the yellow-haired one with his hands held out, saying words. The youth picked up the thermos of lemonade. It was open. He sniffed at the opening. “Have you had any of this?” he asked Harper.

  "I'll get the cops,” Harper said. He shouted, “You hear me? Get out of here and let us alone!"

  "Fighting spirit,” one of them said.

  "He's a gone cat,” another said.

  "Real gone."

  "He's dead."

  "He don't like us."

  "Shame."

  "He looks mean."

  "Looks and is, two different things."

  "He sure ain't is."

  "Man, you're frozen solid."

  "Crazy."

  "Wait,” the yellow-haired one said. “He wants some lemonade. He hasn't had any."

  Three of them grabbed Harper and held him, forced him down to the ground. The yellow-haired one stood above him and poured the lemonade on Harper's face until the the
rmos gurgled empty. Harper knelt there, gasping, spraying lemonade.

  Julia Harper was on her feet now. “Stop it,” she said. She moved quickly toward her husband. “Did you hear me? You boys, stop it—now!"

  The red-haired young man grabbed her around the waist, slapped her bare thigh with the flat of his hand. “We got your message, baby,” he said.

  Julia tried to pull away from the red-head. He yanked her to him harshly, holding her against him, held her face and kissed her. She fought and struggled violently in his arms, but he held her very tightly, kissing her.

  The yellow-haired one watched Harper. The young man scratched his head, watching Harper. Harper knelt on the ground, his hair hanging down, covered with lemon rinds and blobs of unmelted sugar. There were lemon pits in his hair.

  "Stop!" Julia said sharply. She gasped.

  "She's a bomb,” the one who held her said. “A great big, wonderful bomb, I tell you. Wasn't I right?"

  Harper started to get up.

  The yellow-haired one said, “You do what you're thinking and I'll smash your head in.” Then he said. “You weren't going to do anything, anyways—were you?"

  Harper looked at him, and that was all.

  The yellow-haired one said. “My great Jesus Christ. This big man sure scares."

  Linda ran around on the blanket, then began to cry.

  The yellow-haired one dropped the gallon thermos and called out, “Billy. Take care of the kid. You got the duty."

  "Please!" Julia said.

  "She told me ‘please',” the redhead said. “Wow!"

  Harper stood up, lemonade-drenched. The yellow-haired youth stared at him. Then he stepped over to Harper and shoved him in the direction of Julia and the redhead. Harper stumbled forward and the chunky fellow in the blue shorts brought his foot up and kicked Harper in the face.

  Harper fell down and did not move.

  "Take care of him,” the yellow-haired one said. “Tie him to a tree. He's faking. Hurry up!"

  A tall, lanky boy took Linda by the hand and moved quietly over beside the yellow and chrome hotrod, talking to her. “You going to grow up like your mommy?” he asked. “Tell me the truth, are you?” He paused. “'Cause if you are, I'll stand right here and wait."