A Century of Noir

by Max Allan Collins

  Stupid. I was stupid. I wasn’t drunk. Not on four quick beers. I’d just made myself sick as a slob on heat and thirst. I stayed there cooling down from the exertion, wondering why the bartender hadn’t given me at least a second call when the door opened again and he walked in.

  Or at least partly in. He was all shook up.

  “Gotta come out, stranger. You gotta.” His bottom lip quivered and under his pants his thighs were giving his bones a massage.

  “What?”

  “You . . . gotta. There’s a man here . . .”

  The man didn’t wait to be introduced. He shoved the bartender against the door jamb and slid in so I could see him but all that I bothered watching was the rod in his fist. It was big and black with the grey noses of the slugs showing in the cylinder and the hammer cocked back to start them moving. There was another one in his belt at a ready angle and from the expression on his face he was looking for an excuse to shoot somebody.

  He was crazy. Crazy as a loon. And he was a killer.

  “You don’ wanna come out here, mister?” His voice was too high.

  I nodded quickly. “I’m coming. Right now.”

  He stepped back and let me go past with the bartender crowding my heels.

  Whatever happened to make him go off I didn’t see. There was just a grunt, then a sharp curse from the hood. The sound the gun made as it cracked against the bartender’s skull had a nasty splitting note to it. He went down against my back, almost tumbled me, then his face hit the floor with a meaty smack. When I looked back, the gun pointed at my eyes and nudged me ahead. I kept right on going. Straight.

  Since I left, the bar had filled up. At one of the tables two men sat quietly waiting, saying nothing, doing nothing. There was one more at the door with a shotgun in his hands and he kept watching out the window.

  The Sheriff was at the other table. He had a welt over his eye and was just starting to wake up. Carol had a cloth pressed to his head and her lip between her teeth, trying hard to keep back the sobs.

  I heard the gun boy say, “He was in the john, Mr. Auger.”

  Auger was the small fat one. He smiled and said, “Good boy, Jason.”

  “Please don’t call me Jason, Mr. Auger.” Something went wrong with the high voice. It had a warble to it and I wondered if the gun guy was asking or telling.

  The fat one smiled even bigger and nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry, Trigger. I won’t forget again.”

  “That’s all right, Mr. Auger.”

  Then the fat one stared hard at me, his smile fading back into his cheeks again. “Who are you?”

  “Just passing through, buddy. That’s all.”

  Behind me gun-happy said, “Watch me make him talk, Mr. Auger,” and I tightened up, hoping I’d pull away in the right direction when it came.

  Before I had to Auger said, “He’s telling the truth, Trigger. You can tell by his accent. He’s no native.” He looked back at me again. “You have a car outside?”

  “No. I came in on the special.”

  “Why didn’t you go out on it then?”

  “I got sick and missed it.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Someplace a clock ticked loudly and you could hear the ice settling in the cooler. Twice, somebody passed by the place on the sidewalk, but neither came in nor bothered to look in.

  By rough estimation we stayed that way five minutes. The Sheriff opened his eyes and they were dull and hurt-looking. He moaned softly and put a hand to the lump that was turning a deep blue color.

  Carol said, “Can I wet this rag again?”

  Auger beamed paternally. “Certainly, my dear. But just wet the rag, nothing else.” The smile turned to the one behind me. “If she takes out a gun . . . or anything dangerous, then shoot her—Trigger.”

  “Sure, Mr. Auger.”

  I heard the guy turn and take two steps. Carol went across the room with him behind her and I knew he was hoping for any excuse to put one in her back. There was a fever in the eyes of the Sheriff as he watched his daughter walk in front of that gun and all the hate in the world was in the set of his face.

  All the hate, that is, except mine. I knew I was getting set to go when the small muscles in my shoulders began to jump. I was almost ready and close to where I couldn’t stop if it came and it wasn’t time. It wasn’t the time! My gut was sucked in so far that my pants fell away loose and I had to swallow before I could talk. I had to get off it, damn it, I had to get off.

  I said, “As long as you’re doing favors . . . can I sit down, mister?”

  Auger showed me his slow smile. “You are nervous?”

  “Very nervous.”

  “That’s good. It’s good to be nervous. It keeps you from making mistakes.”

  He didn’t know how right he was. He didn’t know how big the mistake could have been. Someplace in back a faucet ran, then stopped. Carol came back with the wet cloth in her hand and laid it on her father’s head. Auger pointed to their table. “You can sit with them. Just sit. I think you understand?”

  “I couldn’t miss, mister.”

  When I moved my feet, the feeling went away. My shoulders got still and I could feel my gut taking up the slack in my pants again. It was too close. I looked at Carol and for the first time in a long while felt scared down deep. Not so it showed. Just so I knew it.

  Carol looked up at me and smiled when I reached the table. Two people in trouble together, her eyes said. Two people mixed up in a crazy impossible nightmare together.

  The Sheriff’s eyes were closed, but his hand on the table was clenching and unclenching. His chest moved deeply, but too slow, as if he were controlling it to keep back a sob. Carol reached out and covered his hand patting it gently, cradling his head against her cheek.

  It was very quiet.

  You know how it is when you feel somebody looking hard at your back? You get crawly all over like it’s too cold and at the same time there’s a funny burn that grows inside your chest cavity. The hairs on the back of your arms stand up and you don’t know whether to look around fast or slow.

  The voice was so deep a bass it almost growled. It said, “Turn around, you.”

  So I turned slow and looked at the dark one next to Auger. His face showed a hard anger and I knew that this was the bad one. This was the one who ran things when the chips were down. Trigger was only a killer, but this one was a murderer.

  “I know this guy, Auger,” he said.

  Auger only smiled.

  “Why should I know you, guy?”

  My shrug was to work the jumps out of my shoulders again. I felt it starting but this time it wasn’t so bad. “I was a movie actor,” I told him.

  “In what ones?”

  I named three. I was lucky to remember the titles.

  The guy’s face was getting nasty edges to it. “I don’t remember them. What’s your name?”

  Before I could answer him Auger said, “Thurber. Richard Thurber.” He glanced at the dark guy with just a shade too much cunning. “You should leave these details to me, Allen.”

  The anger on Allen’s face disappeared. He almost smiled, almost let his teeth match the look in his eyes, then he stopped and I knew if he had smiled all the way somebody would have died.

  “Sorry, Mr. Auger. I just don’t like to meet people I know. Not on a job, anyway. If I know them, then they know me. Oke?”

  “A good thought, Allen. But actually, what difference would it have made?”

  Carol didn’t look up. She was crying inside and not for herself. She was crying for the old man against her cheek because we were all going to die and nobody could stop it. You could stop some things, but you couldn’t stop this.

  Auger’s chair scraped as he swung around in it. The guy at the door pulled back a little and spoke over his shoulder. “Here comes Bernie, Mr. Auger.”

  “Whom does he have, Leo?”

  “Short guy. Guy’s got a gun on him. They’re talking.”

  “No trouble?”
Auger asked.

  “Nothing so far. It’s just like fishing. He’s being suckered right in.”

  “Anything of Carmen?”

  “Can’t see him, Mr. Auger.”

  Auger leaned back in his chair. “Be nice when they come in, Leo.”

  Leo was big and he had teeth missing, three knuckles wide, but he still liked to grin. It was mostly all fun with a fat tongue in the middle. “I’ll be real sweet to him, Mr. Auger,” he said.

  Then he stepped back and faced the bar like he was a customer as the two men came in the door. It was all very neat. The boy he called Bernie came in first, paused fast so the other bumped into him, and as Leo slid the gun out of the holster from behind, Bernie poked one into his middle section from in front.

  The guy didn’t know what was going on. Carol let out a stifled, “George!” the same time Leo belted him behind the ear with his own gun and as George was heading face into the sawdust, he got the idea.

  George was a deputy.

  Auger swung forward in the chair and peered at him. “Carry him over by the other, Bernie. He’ll be all right. Did it come off as we planned?”

  Bernie hefted the deputy and grunted, “Sure. He was eating in the back room alone.”

  “Find their car?”

  “Around the corner.” He threw the deputy into a chair. “This one didn’t have the keys on him.”

  “We got the keys,” Auger said, and nodded toward the Sheriff.

  On the wall the clock whirred and a bent hammer tapped a muffled gong. Three times. For a brief instant every eye checked a watch and at the door Leo said, “I see Carmen, Mr. Auger. He’s alone.”

  Allen’s bass voice said something dirty.

  “You’re sure, Leo?”

  “Positive, Mr. Auger. He’s coming slow. No trouble. He’s just alone.”

  Auger’s fat little face showed its paternal smile again. He swung around the way fat men do and looked at us. At first I thought it was me he was going to speak to. Then I saw Carol flinch and go white around the mouth.

  “The Mayor, Miss Whalen. Every day at exactly the same time he goes to his office to take care of his private practice. Every day. Without fail.” There was something too pregnant in the pause that followed. He said, “Well?” and though his smile was still there, his eyes had a wetness of murder in them.

  I was surprised at the calm in her voice. “He’s out of town. He left Friday night to attend the State Bar Convention and is on this morning’s program so he won’t be home until tonight.”

  Trigger said, “You want me to make sure for you, Mr. Auger?”

  “No, Trigger. She’s telling the truth. People just can’t make up a lie that fast and that sound.” He stood up and the other two did the same. Allen was almost a foot taller so it seemed funny to hear Auger give the orders.

  I said, “Any chance finding out what the hell’s going on?”

  “I was wondering when you’d ask,” Auger laughed. “We’re robbing the bank. Simple? You’ll be the hostages. If followed, somebody is killed and thrown out the door. The chase will stop then. That is, if there will be a chase. We’ll go in the Sheriff’s car with lights, sirens and radio. However, we expect no chase.”

  “Then?”

  “Then you’ll all be shot. Very simple.”

  “That could urge a guy like me into making a break for it anytime.”

  His smile broadened. “No, it couldn’t really. Everybody wants to hang right on to life. It’s the most precious item. The minute you start to fuss—dead. It’s all very simple.”

  “It’s after three o’clock,” I suggested.

  “I know. The Sheriff will be our passport in. Two million dollars awaits. Pleasant thought?”

  “From your angle. You’ll get picked up,” I said.

  “Did they get the Brink’s boys yet?”

  “Nobody got shot on that job. It’s different when somebody gets shot.”

  “So? You’re familiar with criminology?”

  “I read mystery books.”

  He smiled at my joke. He let everybody smile at my joke. Then he looked at his watch and the tension was back with all its implications when he said, “Go look at the bartender, Trigger.”

  The killer went back past the bar and skirted its edge. He bent out of sight for a second, then straightened. “Guy’s dead, Mr. Auger.”

  “We’ll lock the place up. You have the keys, Trigger?”

  “I have them.”

  “Very well,” Auger said. “Let us go then.”

  On the floor the deputy was coming up into a sitting position and he drooled. He knew what was happening and it was too big for him. Even Trigger’s eyes were pointed at the corners like he was trying too hard to seem normal and beside Auger, the tall one called Allen was supressing something that wasn’t quite a grin.

  I said, “I want my hat.”

  The tension turned to surprised silence. Trigger’s gun came up and his head cocked like a parrot’s. Auger asked, “What?”

  “My hat. I don’t leave without my lid.”

  “Should I shoot him, Mr. Auger?”

  My shoulders started in again. I could feel it beginning but this time I sat on it quickly enough and it went away.

  “The fruitcake shoots me,” I said, “and outside they pile in on you. Like somebody once said, ‘the jig’s up.’ You know?”

  I think Auger smiled for real this time. He said, “Let him go get his hat, Trigger.” The fine line of his teeth showed under his lip. “Just go with him to be sure that’s all he gets.”

  “Sure, Mr. Auger.”

  So I got up and walked back to the men’s room. I went in with Trigger holding the door open and came out with my hat. When I was back beside Carol, I slapped the kady on, tapped the crown and said, “Okay, kids, put on the show.”

  I didn’t quite expect the reaction I got. Allen’s face was a dull mask and the other guy just stared at Auger. Our little fat friend looked like a pickpocket who got his pocket picked and for an instant a little shake ran right down his pudgy frame.

  “Imagine that,” he said. His eyes glinted at me. “You have nerve, our misnomered friend.”

  “You got took, Auger,” Allen said softly.

  “No . . . not took . . . just taken temporarily. His Honor is a shrewdy.”

  I started to squint when I got the picture. It came all at once and was so damn funny I almost started laughing right then.

  Auger shook his head. “Don’t laugh. It isn’t appreciated. I’ve been fooled before and it’s one thing I don’t appreciate.” His face flattened back into that smile again. “Though I do appreciate the humor of his situation, Allen. His Honor, whom we never saw up close, was to be identified as the only one in town who would forego a Stetson for a straw hat. He was also to be identified as a non-native. Whether he wanted to be or not, he was caught . . . and he wants to die with his hat on, so to speak.”

  Allen’s voice held a stubborn tone. “The dame, Auger. She was lying.”

  His head bobbed. “Something our informants overlooked. They’re in love. Lovers can think clearly when the loved one is in trouble.”

  “He’s a movie actor, Auger?”

  The smile went all the way to a laugh. “No . . . but so close a look-alike he can capitalize on it when he wants to.”

  This time I played it all the way. I said, “Do you blame me? So I was figuring. Maybe I could’ve had an out if you counted on survivors.”

  “Very smart. It’s too bad you have to die.”

  “It is?”

  “Me?”

  I could see the back of his tongue now. “It is,” he said. “Now let’s go.”

  “Me?”

  “That’s right. You and the Sheriff. Our in and our out.” He stopped a moment, smiled gently, then said, “Need I remind you that anyone sounding off will be shot? We’re playing for big stakes. You can take your choice. Sheriff . . . I’ll warn you that one peep from you and your daughter will be killed. Under
stood?”

  I saw the Sheriff nod and his face showed each line deeper than ever.

  Carol’s face didn’t seem so tan anymore. I grinned at her real big, almost as if the whole thing were funny and whatever she saw in that grin brought the tan back to her face and her eyes were grey again. She gave me a twisted little smile and one eyebrow had the slightest cock to it like she was trying to figure out the gimmick that should never have been there at all.

  She looked and wondered, and our eyes were saying hello all over again. I tried to stop looking at her but couldn’t make it and inside me a tight, hot little fire started to burn.

  I wasn’t grinning anymore. I was watching her, trying to say a soundless, “No . . .!” to both of us that something stifled before it could come out.

  At the door Auger said, “Get the Sheriff’s car, Carmen. Allen . . . are you ready to load the other?”

  “I’m ready.”

  Carmen walked back to the deputy, his hand in one pocket palming a gun. He eased the deputy from his chair with, “Up, laddie boy. Let’s make like an official.”

  Without a word, the deputy started toward the door. I thought he was going to be sick. Allen followed them out and the rest of us waited.

  Nobody had tried to come in as yet. Nobody had even passed the place as yet. It was going to be an easy grab. A mark. A first-class creampuff.

  The cars pulled in to the curb, a dark blue Olds sedan behind the black Ford with the whiplash aerial and blinker-siren combo. The Sheriff drove while I rode beside him. Auger and the killer stayed in the back seat. The deputy was unconscious on the floor again. All the others were behind us in the Olds and there was no way out. No way at all. It was all going nice and easy.

  And that’s the way it happened at the bank, too.

  They robbed it at 3:22 with no complications at all because the Sheriff saw the only possible hitch in the deal and took the lead almost willingly. The guard opened the doors for him and seemed more hurt than mad when a gun covered him.

  Auger walked us to the manager’s cage and indicated us with his gun. “This is a holdup. Touch the alarm and you and these hostages die. Others outside will die too and since you are fully covered by insurance, don’t try to be a hero.”