Crime Stories

by Dashiell Hammett

  “It was manslaughter that time. They’ll make it murder if this guy dies. See? I’m on record as a killer.” He put a hand up to his chin. “It’s airtight.”

  “No, no.” She stood close to him and took one of his hands. “It was an accident that his head struck the fire-place. I can tell them that. I can tell them what brought it all about. They cannot—”

  He laughed with bitter amusement, and quoted Grant: “ ‘The strumpet’s word confirms the convict’s.”’

  She winced.

  “That’s what they’ll do to me,” he said, less monotonously now. “If he dies I haven’t got a chance. If he doesn’t they’ll hold me without bail till they see how it’s coming out-assault with intent to kill or murder. What good’ll your word be? Robson’s mistress leaving him with me? Tell the truth and it’ll only make it worse. They’ve got me”-his voice rose-“and I can’t live in a cell again!” His eyes jerked around toward the door. Then he raised his head with a rasping noise in his throat that might have been a laugh. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll go screwy indoors tonight.”

  “Yes,” she said eagerly, putting a hand on his shoulder, watching his face with eyes half frightened, half pitying. “We will go.”

  “You’ll need a coat.” He went into the bedroom.

  She found her slippers, put on the right one, and held the left one out to him when he returned. “Will you break off the heel?”

  He draped the rough brown overcoat he carried over her shoulders, took the slipper from her, and wrenched off the heel with a turn of his wrist. He was at the front door by the time she had her foot in the slipper.

  She glanced swiftly once around the room and followed him out . . .

  Three

  Luis

  She opened her eyes and saw daylight had come. Rain no longer dabbled the coupe’s windows and windshield, and the automatic wiper was still. Without moving, she looked at Brazil. He was sitting low and lax on the seat beside her, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding a cigarette on his knee. His sallow face was placid and there was no weariness in it. His eyes were steady on the road ahead.

  “Have I slept long?” she asked.

  He smiled at her. “An hour this time. Feel better?” He raised the hand holding the cigarette to switch off the headlights.

  “Yes.” She sat up a little, yawning. “Will we be much longer?”

  “An hour or so.” He put a hand in his pocket and offered her cigarettes.

  She took one and leaned forward to use the electric lighter in the dashboard. “What will you do?” she asked when the cigarette was burning.

  “Hide out till I see what’s what.”

  She glanced sidewise at his placid face, said: “You too feel better.”

  He grinned somewhat shamefacedly. “I lost my head back there, all right.”

  She patted the back of his hand once, gently, and they rode in silence for a while. Then she asked: “We are going to those friends of whom you spoke?”

  “Yes.”

  A dark coupé with two uniformed policemen in it came toward them, went past. The woman looked sharply at Brazil. His face was expressionless.

  She touched his hand again, approvingly.

  “I’m all right outdoors,” he explained. “It’s walls that get me.”

  She screwed her head around to look back. The policemen’s car had passed out of sight.

  Brazil said: “They didn’t mean anything.” He lowered the window on his side and dropped his cigarette out. Air blew in, fresh and damp. “Want to stop for coffee?”

  “Had we better?”

  An automobile overtook them, crowded them to the edge of the road in passing, and quickly shot ahead. It was a black sedan travelling at the rate of sixty-five or more miles an hour. There were four men in it, one of whom looked back at Brazil’s car.

  Brazil said: “Maybe it’d be safer to get under cover as soon as we can; but if you’re hungry—”

  “No; I too think we should hurry.”

  The black sedan disappeared around a bend in the road.

  “If the police should find you, would”-she hesitated-“would you fight?”

  “I don’t know,” he said gloomily. “That’s what’s the matter with me. I never know ahead of time what I’ll do.” He lost some of his gloominess. “There’s no use worrying. I’ll be all right.”

  They rode through a crossroads settlement of a dozen houses, bumped over railroad tracks, and turned into a long straight stretch of road paralleling the tracks. Halfway down the level stretch, the sedan that had passed them was stationary on the edge of the road. A policeman stood beside it-between it and his motorcycle-and stolidly wrote on a leaf of a small book while the man at the sedan’s wheel talked and gestured excitedly.

  Luise Fischer blew breath out and said: “Well, they were not police.”

  Brazil grinned.

  Neither of them spoke again until they were riding down a suburban street. Then she said: “They-your friends-will not dislike our coming to them like this?”

  “No,” he replied carelessly; “they’ve been through things themselves.”

  The houses along the suburban street became cheaper and meaner, and presently they were in a shabby city street where grimy buildings with cards saying “Flats to Let” in their windows stood among equally grimy factories and warehouses. The street into which Brazil after a little while steered the car was only slightly less dingy, and the rental signs were almost as many.

  He stopped the car in front of a four-story red brick building with broken brownstone steps. “This is it,” he said, opening the door.

  She sat looking at the building’s unlovely face until he came around and opened the door on her side. Her face was inscrutable. Three dirty children stopped playing with the skeleton of an umbrella to stare at her as she went with him up the broken steps.

  The street door opened when he turned the knob, letting them into a stuffy hallway where a dim light illuminated stained wallpaper of a once-vivid design, ragged carpet, and a worn brassbound staircase.

  “Next floor,” he said, and went up the stairs behind her.

  Facing the head of the stairs was a door shiny with new paint of a brown peculiarly unlike any known wood. Brazil went to this door and pushed the bell button four times-long, short, long, short. The bell rang noisily just inside the door.

  After a moment of silence, vague rustling noises came through the door, followed by a cautious masculine voice: “Who’s there?”

  Brazil put his head close to the door and kept his voice low: “Brazil.”

  The fastenings of the door rattled, and it was opened by a small, wiry blond man of about forty in crumpled green cotton pajamas. His feet were bare. His hollow-cheeked and sharp-featured face wore a cordial smile, and his voice was cordial. “Come in, kid,” he said. “Come in.” His small, pale eyes appraised Luise Fischer from head to foot while he was stepping back to make way for them.

  Brazil put a hand on the woman’s arm and urged her forward, saying: “Miss Fischer, this is Mr. Link.”

  Link said, “Pleased to meet you,” and shut the door behind them.

  Luise Fischer bowed.

  Link slapped Brazil on the shoulder. “I’m glad to see you, kid. We were wondering what had happened to you. Come on in.”

  He led them into a living room that needed airing. There were articles of clothing lying around, sheets of newspaper here and there, a few not quite empty glasses and coffee cups, and a great many cigarette stubs. Link took a vest off a chair, threw it across the back of another, and said: “Take off your things and set down, Miss Fischer.”

  A very blonde full-bodied woman in her late twenties said, “My God, look who’s here!” from the doorway and ran to Brazil with wide arms, hugged him violently, kissed him on the mouth. She had on a pink wrapper over a pink silk nightgown and green mules decorated with yellow feathers.

  Brazil said, “Hello, Fan,” and put his arms around her. Then, tur
ning to Luise Fischer, who had taken off her coat: “Fan, this is Miss Fischer, Mrs. Link.”

  Fan went to Luise Fischer with her hand out. “Glad to know you,” she said, shaking hands warmly. “You look tired, both of you. Sit down and I’ll get you some breakfast, and maybe Donny’ll get you a drink after he covers up his nakedness.”

  Luise Fischer said, “You are very kind,” and sat down.

  Link said, “Sure, sure,” and went out.

  Fan asked: “Been up all night?”

  “Yes,” Brazil said. “Driving most of it.” He sat down on the sofa.

  She looked sharply at him. “Anything the matter you’d just as lief tell me about?”

  He nodded. “That’s what we came for.”

  Link, in bathrobe and slippers now, came in with a bottle of whiskey and some glasses.

  Brazil said: “The thing is, I slapped a guy down last night and he didn’t get up.”

  “Hurt bad?”

  Brazil made a wry mouth. “Maybe dying.”

  Link whistled, said: “When you slap ‘em, boy, they stay slapped.”

  “He cracked his head on the fireplace,” Brazil explained. He scowled at Link.

  Fan said: “Well, there’s no sense worrying about it now. The thing to do is get something in your stomachs and get some rest. Come on, Donny, pry yourself loose from some of that booze.” She beamed on Luise Fischer. “You just sit still and I’ll have some breakfast in no time at all.” She hurried out of the room.

  Link, pouring whiskey, asked: “Anybody see it?”

  Brazil nodded. “Uh-huh-the wrong people.” He sighed wearily. “I want to hide out a while, Donny, till I see how it’s coming out.”

  “This dump’s yours,” Link said. He carried glasses of whiskey to Luise Fischer and Brazil. He looked at the woman whenever she was not looking at him.

  Brazil emptied his glass with a gulp.

  Luise Fischer sipped and coughed.

  “Want a chaser?” Link asked.

  “No, I thank you,” she said. “This is very good. I caught a little cold from the rain.”

  She held the glass in her hand, but did not drink again.

  Brazil said: “I left my car out front. I ought to bury it.”

  “I’ll take care of that, kid,” Link promised.

  “And I’ll want somebody to see what’s happening up Mile Valley way.”

  Link wagged his head up and down. “Harry Klaus is the mouthpiece for you. I’ll phone him.”

  “And we both want some clothes.”

  Luise Fischer spoke: “First I must sell these rings.”

  Link’s pale eyes glistened. He moistened his lips and said: “I know the—”

  “That can wait a day,” Brazil said. “They’re not hot, Donny. You don’t have to fence them.”

  Donny seemed disappointed.

  The woman said: “But I have no money for clothes until—”

  Brazil said: “We’ve got enough for that.”

  Donny, watching the woman, addressed Brazil: “And you know I can always dig up some for you, kid.”

  “Thanks. We’ll see.” Brazil held out his empty glass, and when it had been filled said: “Hide the car, Donny.”

  “Sure.” The blond man went to the telephone in an alcove and called a number.

  Brazil emptied his glass. “Tired?” he asked.

  She rose, went over to him, took the whiskey glass out of his hand, and put it on the table with her own, which was still almost full.

  He chuckled, asked: “Had enough trouble with drunks last night?”

  “Yes,” she replied, not smiling, and returned to her chair.

  Donny was speaking into the telephone: “Hello, Duke? . . . Listen; this is Donny. There’s a ride standing outside my joint.” He described Brazil’s coupé. “Will you stash it for me? . . . Yes . . . Better switch the plates too . . . Yes, right away, will you? . . . Right.” He hung up the receiver and turned back to the others, saying: “Voily!”

  “Donny!” Fan called from elsewhere in the flat.

  “Coming!” He went out.

  Brazil leaned toward Luise Fischer and spoke in a low voice: “Don’t give him the rings.”

  She stared at him in surprise. “But why?”

  “He’ll gyp you to hell and gone.”

  “You mean he will cheat me?”

  He nodded, grinning.

  “But you say he is your friend. You are trusting him now.”

  “He’s O.K. on a deal like this,” he assured her. “He’d never turn anybody up. But dough’s different. Anyhow, even if he didn’t trim you, anybody he sold them to would think they were stolen and wouldn’t give half of what they’re worth.”

  “Then he is a—” She hesitated.

  “A crook. We were cellmates a while.”

  She frowned and said: “I do not like this.”

  Fan came to the door, smiling, and said: “Breakfast is served.”

  In the passageway Brazil turned and took a tentative step toward the front door, but checked himself when he caught Luise Fischer’s eye and, grinning a bit sheepishly, followed her and the blonde woman into the dining room.

  Fan would not sit down with them. “I can’t eat this early,” she told Luise Fischer. “I’ll get you a hot bath ready and fix your bed, because I know you’re all in and’ll be ready to fall over as soon as you’re done.”

  She went out, paying no attention to Luise Fischer’s polite remonstrances.

  Donny stuck a fork into a small sausage and said: “Now about them rings. I can—”

  “That can wait,” Brazil said. “We’ve got enough to go on a while.”

  “Maybe; but it’s just as well to have a getaway stake ready in case you need it all of a sudden.” Donny put the sausage into his mouth. “And you can’t have too big a one.”

  He chewed vigorously. “Now, for instance, you take the case of Shuffling Ben Devlin. You remember Ben? He was in the carpenter shop. Remember? The big guy with the gam?”

  “I remember,” Brazil replied without enthusiasm.

  Donny stabbed another sausage. “Well, Ben was in a place called Finehaven once and—”

  “He was in a place called the pen when we knew him,” Brazil said.

  “Sure; that’s what I’m telling you. It was all on account of Ben thought—”

  Fan came in. “Everything’s ready whenever you are,” she told Luise Fischer.

  Luise Fischer put down her coffee cup and rose. “It is a lovely breakfast,” she said, “but I am too tired to eat much.”

  As she left the room Donny was beginning again: “It was all on account of—”

  Fan took her to a room in the rear of the flat where there was a wide wooden bed with smooth white covers turned down. A white nightgown and a red wrapper lay on the bed. On the floor there was a pair of slippers. The blonde woman halted at the door and gestured with one pink hand. “If there’s anything else you need, just sing out. The bathroom’s just across the hall and I turned the water on.”

  “Thank you,” Luise Fischer said; “you are very kind. I am imposing on you most—”

  Fan patted her shoulder. “No friend of Brazil’s can ever impose on me, darling. Now, you get your bath and a good sleep, and if there’s anything you want, yell.” She went out and shut the door.

  Luise Fischer, standing just inside the door, looked slowly, carefully around the cheaply furnished room, and then, going to the side of the bed, began to take off her clothes. When she had finished she put on the red wrapper and the slippers and, carrying the nightgown over her arm, crossed the hallway to the bathroom. The bathroom was warm with steam. She ran cold water into the tub while she took the bandages off her knee and ankle.

  After she had bathed she found fresh bandages in the cabinet over the basin, and rewrapped her knee but not her ankle. Then she put on nightgown, wrapper, and slippers, and returned to the bedroom. Brazil was there, standing with his back to her, looking out a window.

 
; He did not turn around. Smoke from his cigarette drifted back past his head.

  She shut the door slowly and leaned against it, the faintest of contemptuous smiles curving her mobile lips.

  He did not move.

  She went slowly to the bed and sat on the side farthest from him. She did not look at him but at a picture of a horse on the wall. Her face was proud and cold. She said: “I am what I am, but I pay my debts.” This time the deliberate calmness of her voice was insolence. “I brought this trouble to you. Well, now, if you can find any use for me—” She shrugged.

  He turned from the window without haste. His copperish eyes, his face were expressionless. He said: “O.K.” He rubbed the fire of his cigarette out in an ashtray on the dressing table and came around the bed to her.

  She stood up straight and tall, awaiting him.

  He stood close to her for a moment, looking at her with eyes that weighed her beauty as impersonally as if she had been inanimate. Then he pushed her head back rudely and kissed her.

  She made neither sound nor movement of her own, submitting completely to his caress, and when he released her and stepped back, her face was as unaffected, as mask-like, as his.

  He shook his head slowly. “No, you’re no good at your job.” And suddenly his eyes were burning and he had her in his arms and she was clinging to him and laughing softly in her throat while he kissed her mouth and cheeks and eyes and forehead.

  Donny opened the door and came in. He leered knowingly at them as they stepped apart, and said: “I just phoned Klaus. He’ll be over as soon’s he’s had breakfast.”

  “O.K.,” Brazil said.

  Donny, still leering, withdrew, shutting the door.

  “Who is this Klaus?” Luise Fischer asked.

  “Lawyer,” Brazil replied absent-mindedly. He was scowling thoughtfully at the floor. “I guess he’s our best bet, though I’ve heard things about him that—” He broke off impatiently. “When you’re in a jam you have to take your chances.” His scowl deepened. “And the best you can expect is the worst of it.”

  She took his hand and said earnestly: “Let us go away from here. I do not like these people. I do not trust them.”

  His face cleared and he put an arm around her again, but abruptly turned his attention to the door when a bell rang beyond it.