by Jim Thompson
“I don’t know how long I was out. I came to all of a sudden and I couldn’t figure out where I was. I was scared as hell, and I heard someone pounding and a bunch of guys calling back and forth. And I could see flashlights shooting around on the ground. I remembered where I was then and that really chilled me. All I could think of was that the place was being raided and what the hell I was going to say if they found me. I crawled up to the end where the street was, and then I ran across into that little park and—I don’t know where all I did go. It was still so damned dark and raining so hard. I think I passed out a couple of times. Then—I don’t know how long it was, but finally I heard the ferry whistle and I cut down to the landing. There was a big crowd there, and they were all wet, too—I mean they’d got pretty wet in the rain and most of ’em were stiff or half stiff from hanging around the bars all evening. I squeezed onto the ferry with ’em and went straight down to the john. I was down there in one of the stalls, having a few drinks when—”
“You’d kept the tequila with you then? That’s good.”
“Yeah, I’d held onto it somehow. So I thought I’d got out of the mess without any real trouble, and I was trying to pull myself together when these two guys came in. Boat hands, they were. They were talking about a woman being killed over in the cottages, and—and I didn’t think about it being her b-but, God, I’d been there and I’d been crawling all around and—and—and then I got home and Midge and I turned on the radio, and—”
“How did you get home?”
“I took a taxi—all but the last five blocks. I only had sixty cents, see, so I rode out fifty cents’ worth and gave the driver a dime tip and walked the rest of the way.”
“You didn’t give him your address?”
“No. I just had him head up Main and down Laurel until the meter showed four bits, and then I got out.”
That was good in a way and bad in a way. The driver didn’t know where he’d gone, but he’d remember him. And a neighborhood like this, particularly a neighborhood like this, would receive a thorough going-over by Stukey’s boys.
“Y-You—” Two big tears were in the corners of his eyes. “I’ve t-told you the God’s truth, Brownie. I d-don’t need to—You know I didn’t kill her, don’t you?”
“Yes, Tom,” I said. “I know you didn’t kill her.”
“B-But they think I did! They’ve got evidence! They know I was there. They know what I look like. They—”
“They don’t,” I said. “Get me? They don’t. They know a guy of about your build and size was there, but that’s all they know.”
“That’s all they need! That cab driver and knowing what I look like and—! I’ve got to get away, Brownie! It’s the only thing I can do!”
“It’s the one thing you can’t do,” I said. “They’ll be watching the trains and buses. If you did manage to get out of town, they’d trail you down. You’d be hanging a sign on yourself.”
“B-But—”
“The cab driver will be mistaken, if and when they turn you up. It’ll be your word against his. Yours and…What about your wife? She knows about this? She’d swear that you were at home all evening?”
“Sh-She—” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She knows. Sh-She’d swear to it. But—”
“Good. That’ll be good enough. You both stick to that story and there’s not a damned thing they can do. They’ll try to, of course, if they find you.…” If, hell! They’d find him, all right, but I didn’t want him any more frightened than he was. “Just deny everything and keep denying, and they’ll have to let you go.”
He lifted the bottle, slowly set it down untasted.
“I—I d-don’t think I can do it, Brownie. They get to questioning me and—”
“You’ve got to. Once they place you on that island at the time of the murder, once they get you to admit you saw her, that she refused to let you in and you laid around under those cottages drinking—”
“I know. Jesus!” He shivered. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about. They’ll think I was sore at her. They’ll think I hung around to—to—”
“Right. So you do what I told you to do. Don’t admit a damned thing.”
“B-But—but they’ll get me all tangled up! I…I don’t think I can take it!”
“How about the gas chamber? Can you take that?”
He buried his face in his arms and began to sob. I watched him for a minute and then I reached across the table, grabbed him by the hair, and jerked his head up.
“Now, listen to me,” I said. “You didn’t kill her and you’re not going to let anyone talk you into thinking you did. You’re absolutely safe. A rough seventy-two hours is the worst they can give you. That’s all, and then it’s over. You can take it. I know you can. Know it, Tom; get me? If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t say it!”
He tried to work up a smile, not much of one, but it was a large improvement on blubbering. “Y-You’re swell, Brownie. You really think I can—?”
“Didn’t I say so? Now, get yourself shaved and whatever else you have to do, and come on with me. I’ll drop you off at the office.”
“Office? Oh, God, no, Brownie. Not to—”
“Yes, to the office. They need you. It looks bad to lay off.” I stood up and pulled him up. “Get moving. You can tell the colonel your phone’s been out of order if he gives you any guff. He’ll probably be so glad to have some help he won’t say anything.”
It was like pulling teeth to get him started, and even after we were in the car and on our way downtown he kept on arguing and pleading, begging to be let off. He “just couldn’t do it” and “everyone would know” and “I’m s-sick, Brownie” and so on, until I almost decided to take him home and let come what might. Not because I was irritated by him—although I was—but because I was afraid my efforts were being wasted. For if he had no more stamina than this, if he behaved this way now, he wouldn’t hold out five minutes against Stukey. He’d cave in right away, and since that was the case…
But perhaps he would stiffen up; perhaps, given a day or so, he would become his usual resentful self, a man dedicated to the proposition that what was demanded of him should automatically be withheld. Perhaps the very arrogance and in-turned sullenness that had got him into this mess would get him out of it. It seemed logical that it would. Fate would have to be very cruel indeed to reform his dully dogged spirit now.
So I resisted his begging. I gave him drink for his stomach and steady pep talk for his nerves, and if the bottle was exhausted—and it was—by the time we arrived at the Courier building, it had nothing at all on me.
Sighing heavily, Tom opened the door and slowly eased one foot out to the curb. He hesitated, then suddenly turned around again.
“Brownie. I—”
“No,” I said. “No, no, no, no! Think of the brave little woman. Think of the wee kiddie. And drag yourself to hell upstairs!”
“I’m going, Brownie. But I may not see you again and you’ve been so swell—”
I groaned. I removed my hat and slapped myself on the forehead.
He frowned slightly, but he didn’t budge. “It’s about Dave. He’s always been nice enough to me and you—well, you know how you’ve been. But things are different now. Maybe Dave’s never done anything against me, but you’ve done plenty for me. We’re on the same side, and anyone that’s got it in for you—”
“Got it in for me?” I said. “Not that there is anything serious in my sniping at the colonel—the colonel understands my playful nature—but aren’t you just a little confused?”
“I know.” He nodded. “You’re all the time riding him, and maybe you’ve been asking for it. But that doesn’t cut any ice with me. You start noticing him, Brownie. Notice how he’ll load you up—try to swamp you with work—when he’s got other guys doing nothing. And he’s always getting you out of the office, shooting you out on assignments. He doesn’t want you around where you can shine up to the old man. He’s jealous and—”
&nbs
p; I stopped him. Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely, I was angered by what he said.
Dave was my own particular little target, and I wasn’t going to have anyone else tossing darts at him. They had no reason to; there was such a thing as being fair. If Dave kept me loaded with work, it was because of the high percentage of incompetent staffers such as Tom Judge. If he tried to keep me out of Mr. Lovelace’s way, it was because of a well-warranted fear that I might do or say something irreparably embarrassing.
I said as much, in a properly oblique way.
“I want to set you straight on this, Tom,” I said firmly. “Dave would be the last person in the world to do anything to harm me. He’s so constructed that he’d feel strongly responsible for any misfortune I suffered. I know; he’s proved it. Every time I’ve lost a job he’s quit also and hired me on at his next paper.”
“Maybe he was afraid not to. You might have hung around drinking and needling him, giving him so much trouble he’d get fired himself.”
I wouldn’t have done that. Dave wouldn’t have had to put up with it if I had done it. All he would have had to do was reveal a certain secret, and I would never have shown my face in another newspaper office.…Of course, if he did reveal it—
It was as though Tom were reading my mind, reading a thought that had never been there until now.
“It’s none of my business, Brownie—but you got something on him? I mean, did he pull a bad boner somewhere or—”
I shook my head, to myself as well as him. A boner, yes, but there’d been hundreds and thousands of boners, and the war was a long time over. It was simply a mistake. No culpability had attached to it then, and certainly none could now.
Dave had nothing to fear from me. He put up with me only because of his own stricken conscience. Naturally, he didn’t want—
“Dave’s all on edge, Brownie. It wouldn’t take much to throw him completely. He’s got a lot of dough tied up in a house here, and he’s not a kid any more, and newspapers are folding all over the country. If he thought he might lose out here—”
“He won’t. There’s no reason why he should,” I said. “You’re utterly and completely wrong, Tom. Dave and I are actually pretty good friends. If we weren’t, he’d have fired me long ago.”
“No, he wouldn’t. The old man wouldn’t let him. Why, I’ll bet if you took a notion to knock him to Lovelace he’d—”
“Go on,” I said. “Just get the hell up there and get to work. You’re the boy with the troubles, remember? Well, don’t forget it. Just forget about me, and remember what you have to do.”
He nodded grudgingly, climbed out, then leaned back inside again.
“You watch him,” he said. “Sneak a look at him sometime when he thinks your back is turned. You’ll see. That guy could kill you and enjoy doing it.”
11
I held midday maneuvers at the Press Club; early in the afternoon I stopped by the coroner’s office. He was a stuffy, conceited bastard. He wasn’t at all sure when he could release Ellen’s body, but he “thought” he might be able to do it by Friday.
I pointed out that this posed a difficult situation. It would mean that the burial couldn’t take place before Sunday, which might be impractical for the undertaker and undoubtedly would increase his charges. Moreover, it would crowd me seriously for time, if I was to be back at work on Monday morning.
He shrugged. My troubles, he indicated, were no concern of his.
I have never got along with coroners. They are either laymen of the lower orders who must pretend to be much, or they are fatheaded medical failures who are sore at the whole world for that which only they have wrought.
Our discussion continued on an increasingly less amiable plane. I finally suggested that if he simply had to have a body around I would buy him one from the local rendering plant, a cow, horse, or anything he named, and when he tired of playing with it he could stuff it—he, personally, and not a taxidermist.
That did it. Ellen’s body would be released Saturday, he said, and not a goddamned day before. Meanwhile, I was to get out of his office and stay out.
I got out and called Dave. As I saw it, the funeral couldn’t be held before late Monday, or more than likely, Tuesday; in other words I would probably be off until the following Wednesday.
Dave hesitated, studying the calendar, I imagine. He said it would be all right, he guessed. He’d have to get Lovelace’s okay, but he was sure it would be all right.
“How about coming out to the house for dinner before you leave?” he added. “Do you good to get some home-cooked food. Kay told me to ask you.”
“Good, sweet Kay,” I said. “Dear, kind Kay. Tell me, Colonel, wouldn’t you say she has a truly wonderful soul?”
“Good-by,” he said shortly. “I’ll talk to you when you’re not half stiff.”
“You misunderstood me,” I said. “I said soul, not—”
“Look, Brownie,” he snapped. “I’m trying as hard as I know how to—”
“You’re fed up with me, aren’t you?” I said. “You’ve had it up to here. It would suit you fine if I dropped dead.”
It slipped out involuntarily.
Dave made a sound that was midway between a grunt and a gasp. I didn’t blame him for being startled. I was myself.
He was silent for a long moment; then his voice came back over the wire, worried, warm with concern. “Look, boy. Where are you calling from? I’ll come and get you and take you home.”
“I’m sorry, Colonel,” I said. “Sergeant Brown presents his apologies. I have become patrol happy; the maneuvers have got me clobbered.”
“They must have when you talk like that. Where are you calling from?”
“I’m all right,” I said. “Forget it, forgive it, and God bless you. ’Twas a slip of the tongue and nothing more.”
“But…I just don’t understand. Of course, I get a little annoyed with you at times, but I thought you knew how I felt about you. Entirely aside from friendship, you’re the best man I’ve got. I couldn’t run the place without you.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Thanks a lot, Dave. I said a damned foolish thing, and I’m sorry, and let’s leave it at that.”
“Well…look.” He was still troubled. “I was thinking about that dinner invitation. Naturally, you don’t feel up to social occasions so soon after—afterward. Why don’t we make it next week, sometime after you get back from Los Angeles?”
I didn’t want to make it any time. My idea of an agonizingly misspent evening was one in the company of Kay Randall. I was afraid to refuse, now, however, in view of what I had said to Dave. He would think I had meant it. And somehow—whatever I felt about him and however I acted—I did not want him to think that.
So I accepted with thanks, and a mental note to kick Tom Judge’s tail. I went home, knocked myself out with booze, and fell asleep.
The next day, Thursday, I had another talk with Lem Stukey. He hadn’t turned up anything with the streetcar company, and he’d had the same result with the taxi operators. But he was by no means discouraged.
“We didn’t expect nothing on the streetcars.” He shrugged. “Just checked them out as a matter of form. The bastard took a cab, and don’t think hell ain’t going to pop when I turn it up.”
“But you’ve already—”
“We’ve checked the trip sheets, we’ve talked to all the drivers who worked that night. Now we pull ’em in one at a time and find out which one’s lyin’. Don’t you worry none, keed. He’s makin’ it tough for us—and he’ll sure as hell regret it—but he ain’t making it impossible.”
“I don’t get you,” I said. “Why would he lie about it?”
“Probably got a criminal record. Afraid of getting mixed up with cops. Or maybe his license has run out. Hell, there’s all kinds of reasons. Maybe he knocked the fare down. Maybe he did a hit-and-run and doctored his trip sheet to put him in another neighborhood.”
“You amaze me, Stuke,” I said. “I had though
t you cunning but never intelligent.” And I realized, with further amazement, that Stukey was constantly coming up with little things like that, things that maybe didn’t stamp him a genius but that sure as hell proved he was no slob.
“We’ll get him,” he promised. “We’re just gettin’ warmed up.”
I left Lem and paid a visit to the express company and an undertaker. I made a long-distance call to a Los Angeles undertaker and repaired to the Press Club. Dave had been trying to reach me. I called him, immediately following maneuvers.
He had talked to Lovelace, and it was all right for me to lay off the extra time. Perfectly all right. However—
“Oh-oh,” I said. “Pray proceed, Colonel, while I hoist my pack and rifle.”
“I wouldn’t ask you myself, Clint. The old man wants you to handle it if you possibly can. It’s a pretty big thing, and…”
He gave me the essential details. The president of one of the Mexican Federal banks, immediately across the border, had embezzled several million pesos. The fraud hadn’t been made public yet, and the president, who was en route from New York after a vacation, was unaware of its discovery. But he was due to be arrested as soon as he stepped off the plane in the morning. I was to be on hand to get the story.
I should point out here, perhaps, that the yarn wouldn’t have been a big one in New York or Chicago. For that matter it wouldn’t have got a very big play in Los Angeles. But because of our geographical location—because it concerned a neighboring city, although a Mexican one—it would be of prime interest to our readers.