A Century of Noir

by Max Allan Collins

  The manager was almost cordial. “No . . . I won’t.”

  It didn’t need any more than that. They even did the work themselves. The cashier and two clerks brought it out stacked and packed while the killer’s mouth worked wetly, hoping for a mistake. Auger’s head bobbed like a satisfied customer and clucked at the killer to be patient. The mother-hen noises were a promise of better pickings later and his hands relaxed around the butt of the gun.

  Quietly I asked, “What’s the angle, Sheriff?”

  Just as quietly he answered, “She’s engaged to the Mayor. He’ll get us out.”

  The vastness of the desert disappeared into the darkness closing in behind us, while ahead the last groping fingers of sunlight poked over the range of mountains to probe the gullys and ravines of the foothills with splashes of dull reds and oranges.

  Beside me the Sheriff’s face was as tight as his hands on the wheel, his eyes bloodshot and tired. His breath was harsh in nostrils dilated taut and I knew just what he was feeling. Right in the back of my head was a cold spot where the bullet would land if we moved too fast or too wrong. Behind us sat Auger and his gun boy and even over the sound of the engine I could hear the lazy fingering and cocking of the triggers on the two rods.

  It was worse for the Sheriff. In the blue Olds behind us his daughter was on the end of another rod and whether she lived or died depended on what he did. Me too, in a way. Back there was the dough, a deputy and a daughter. Back there was a lot of reasons for playing it their way.

  The Sheriff had inched up on the wheel until the bottom of it was in his belly. Without turning, he said, “Either we stop and get the dirt and bugs off this windshield or you better let me turn the lights on.”

  Auger’s voice was totally calm. Completely without emotion. “You’ll do neither.”

  “We’ll wind up in a hole someplace then.”

  “I don’t think so,” Auger told him. “You have a reputation for knowing every inch of road to the border.”

  “Not the holes, mister.”

  He slowed for a turn, braked to ease over the sandy pot holes, then downshifted to get through the rubble of a rockslide. I saw the Olds jouncing in the ruts and almost run up our trunk. The Sheriff hit the go-pedal to get away from the sedan and his face got tighter than ever.

  “You better let me put them dims on, mister.”

  For a second I thought Auger was going to agree when the radio suddenly kicked up a carrier-wave hum and a woman’s high voice mouthed a call signal.

  Auger said, “Turn it up!”

  The gesture was automatic. The Sheriff’s hand touched the knob and the voice came in, faint but clear. “The Marshall’s call,” he said before he was asked.

  “Shut up!”

  “. . . using two cars, carrying Sheriff LaFont and several others. Sighted going west on ninety-two. High Section Six, can you report. Over.”

  Another hum was overlaid on the first, but there was no voice.

  Auger’s calm was still there. “Who is High Section Six?”

  “Forestry Service. They send on another frequency. We can’t pick them up.”

  “Mr. Auger . . .”

  “Yes, Trigger?”

  “We in trouble?”

  Instead of answering, he spoke to the Sheriff. “You tell him,” he said. The calm in his voice had turned deadly. I felt my shoulders hunching again.

  I could see the Sheriff’s teeth through his grimace. “No. Not yet. It’ll be a while before they figure this road.”

  The hum went into a series of clicks, then, “. . . all sections report moving lights. Do not radio. Repeat, do not radio. Telephone all reports. Out.”

  “Neat,” I said.

  “Not for you,” Auger told me.

  I think I was reaching for a wise answer. I had it in my mouth when I stopped, just barely glancing at the Sheriff. The Ford was moving too fast and the car had a peculiar set to it. There was a trace of swoosh in the tail section and I knew the wheels were on the edge of a drift. The road ahead was barely outlined and seemed to have the slightest curve to it.

  Right away I knew what he was playing for. He was setting up a dust storm behind us hoping the Olds would cut on its lights and maybe be spotted from one of those towers. He was doing it nice, but he did it wrong.

  From back there came the raucous blast of a horn, a screaming of tires scraping rock and the smashing, tinny racket of a car going end over end.

  The Sheriff didn’t try to hit the brakes because two guns were right against our necks. He eased to a stop, horsed into reverse and backed through the dust. There was no way of seeing anything, and at the same time we heard the yells as the rear end of the Ford plowed into metal and glass and with a sickening jolt the Olds rolled once more.

  Just once, then it toppled off the road into the ravine and you could have counted three before you heard it hit the bottom.

  The horror of what had happened swept into the Sheriff’s face and while he was starting to shrivel up and die inside, Carol’s voice, sobbing quietly, carried through the settling dust.

  Just as quickly, Allen was framed in the door with a gun in his fist pointing at me and his face twisted into a mad snarl. “You damn fool . . .”

  “Put that gun down, Allen.”

  The big guy turned his snarl to Auger without moving the gun. “Carmen and Leo were in there. They were getting the money out!” His hand tightened on the rod. “Let’s get that dough up here.”

  Auger moved slowly. He got out, then waved the Sheriff and me out and let Trigger stand behind us with the two guns at full cock. I could tell that Trigger was wearing his hoping smile. The big one.

  Out of the side of my mouth I told the Sheriff, “She’s okay. Just don’t move, that’s all.”

  He knew what I meant and nodded, never taking his eyes from Carol. She sat by the side of the road, dazed and crying but obviously unhurt. The deputy had a cut across his nose and was holding his ankle, his face twisting in pain.

  Allen said, “What about the dough?”

  There were just a few final snatches of light. Just enough to make out forms and vague shapes. The Sheriff moved to the edge of the ravine and peered over it. He shook his head. “Nobody gets down there until there’s light. Even then you got to go in from the cut up yonder.”

  Allen and Auger looked at each other quickly. I knew damn well what they were thinking because I would have thought about it myself. The pie was going to be cut in bigger slices now. The grin I tried to hold back picked up my lip because when you start that stuff it keeps going on and on. The pie looks best whole. Carol saw the grin and her sobbing stopped. It probably was too dark for her to see it, but I made like a kiss and blew it her way. She did something with her mouth too, but I couldn’t be quite sure just what.

  It was Trigger who finally asked the question. “What are we going to do now, Mr. Auger?”

  “You’ll see, Jason.”

  Behind me I could feel the gun goon go cold, ice cold. “You said you wouldn’t call me that anymore, Mr. Auger.”

  The fat man nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry, Trigger. I forgot.” Then his face showed that he had all the answers and he pointed his finger at me. “You can start clearing away all bits of metal and glass you can find on the road. You and the girl both. Watch them, Trigger.”

  “Sure, Mr. Auger.”

  I didn’t wait to be prodded. I walked to Carol, helped her up and wiped the dirt off her face. “You okay?”

  She nodded briefly. “Shaken up a little, that’s all. George twisted his ankle, but I don’t think it’s broken.”

  “You were lucky.”

  “I guess so. The three of us were thrown clear when the car rolled. I . . . I think both the others were dead . . . before the car went over.”

  “Don’t think about it. Let’s get this road cleared.”

  I had to pull a handful of brush from the shoulder of the road to make a couple of sweeps. It took a while, but we got up what glass an
d odd bits that were around. When there wasn’t anything left on top to show there was an accident I took Carol’s hand and walked back to the car.

  “That’s done. Now what?”

  Auger smiled. “You seem awfully unconcerned for a man who will be dead shortly.”

  “I don’t count on dying.”

  “You have to, Mr. Mayor. You just have to.”

  “That wasn’t what I asked.”

  From the darkness Allen half whispered, “Stop talking to him. Damn . . . let’s roll.”

  Trigger said, “We going, Mr. Auger?”

  Carol’s hand was squeezing mine hard. Auger turned to the Sheriff, his face a pale oval in the dark. “This house you mentioned?”

  The Sheriff waved toward the southwest. “Fourteen-fifteen miles maybe. Feller works a claim there.”

  “Completely alone?”

  “Don’t get to see folks for months.”

  “You know what happens if you lead us into any trap?” The Sheriff didn’t answer. Auger said, “First your daughter gets it. Then you. Then the others. We’re far enough off to be able to make our way without help now.”

  The Sheriff nodded. “There’s no trap.”

  Allen came in closer, the gun in his hand held too tensely. “I don’t like it. We ought to go after it now. Right now.”

  “And get ourselves killed, Allen? Don’t be silly. It’s too much to be clumsy about. We’ll do it the smart way.” He paused a moment, looking us over in that arrogant way he had. “Sheriff, you drive. Your daughter can sit between you and the Mayor. I want the deputy on the floor in the back with the rest of us.”

  “We ought to dump the crip, Auger. That’s a big load.”

  “Buzzards, Allen. They have them in this country. Why tip our hand? This time we’ll take it slowly, won’t we, Sheriff?”

  “Without lights we got to.”

  “And no mistakes.”

  I saw the Sheriff glance at Carol. “Don’t reckon so,” he said.

  The old man was big and angular, with arthritis. He had pale eyes that you knew had killed a dozen times and the type of face you wouldn’t have messed with even ten years ago. There was a leanness of age and of work in his hips and shoulders but over it all was the mantle of desert philosophy.

  His time had come and he knew it.

  He opened the door and in that single second he saw all of us there and knew what had happened. He saw the despair in the Sheriff’s face and the anxiety in Carol’s. He saw the abject fear of the deputy and the total lack of humanity in Auger. There was a touch of pity when he looked on Trigger and cold hatred for Allen.

  I was last. He stared at me longest, the corner of his mouth twitching with a strange quirk, then he flipped the door wide and let us all come in. He smiled when Allen patted him down, and smiled again when Trigger jacked the shells out of the rifle on the wall. The smile even stayed there when they pulled the ancient .44s out of the gun belt and punched them out of the Colt.

  Then he looked past the gunman and said, “Evenin’ Sheriff . . . Miss Carol . . . George.”

  He saved the faintest of smiles for me and barely nodded. Yet he knew. He knew damn well!

  Auger pulled a chair out with a wave to Allen and the gun boy. He sat down with a sigh and mopped his face with a clean folded handkerchief. “Old man . . . you seem to have gotten the picture here very rapidly.”

  The old boy nodded again.

  “You know what happened?”

  “I have a radio.”

  “Phone?”

  “No telephone.”

  “Perhaps you expect visitors. A neighbor. Someone from the Forestry Service?”

  “Nobody. Not until two weeks from now. Then Tillson comes with my trailer hitch for the Jeep. Then he can bury us all.”

  “Very perceptive. You’re not afraid?”

  “No.”

  “That’s too bad. It’s better to be afraid. You can stay alive just that much longer sometimes.”

  “I’m no kid.”

  “But you might be enjoying the twilight years.”

  “I am.”

  “For only a while. A pity.”

  He shouldn’t have looked at me. I felt the crazy itch across my shoulders and the sudden hunching in my shoulders. The old man looked at me and grinned and he was the only one who found out. His eyes saw the creases and curves on the outside and the dips and contortions on the inside. His eyes were little feelers tipped with needles and they were on me.

  “You can never tell,” he said, “never.”

  Auger frowned at his tone. “I can tell.”

  It was Allen who broke the long stillness that followed. He leaned on the battered hand-carved table, the gun beside his hand and his voice filled with controlled rage. “Maybe you can tell me what we’re going to do next?”

  For the first time I saw the deadliness in Auger’s character. It wasn’t something added; it was something lacking and even deadlier than murder. It was some barbaric callousness that nullified human life or feeling and fed on the lusting that led to death and destruction. With the first word Allen drew back slowly, recognizing something that wasn’t there by sight nor sound, seeing something that only I saw too.

  Or maybe the old man. He knew about those things.

  “Yes, Allen,” Auger said quietly, “I can tell you.”

  Something was about to happen then. I didn’t want to see it spelled out so I broke into it. I wasn’t welcome because I put out the flame but if a fire started I wanted it to be one I started myself. I said, “Sure, tell us. Give us a clue.”

  And Auger looked at me a long time, long enough so I began to wonder if he knew too. My shoulders felt funny again and for the first time I looked down and saw my fingers splayed.

  His character had a fault in it. A crack where the juice could leak out easy. He licked his lips until they shone wet. “I’ll enjoy telling you,” he said. “I think it’s funny. Tomorrow the girl and the Mayor go back for the money. If there’s any hitch her father is shot along with the others.”

  “You’re nuts!”

  “Allen . . .”

  “They’ll take off.”

  “It’s her father, Allen.”

  “Okay, so the guy takes off . . .”

  “They’re in love. Remember?”

  “Listen . . .”

  “No, you listen, Allen. Listen very carefully and you’ll know why this operation is mine, carefully conceived, planned and executed.” He looked at all of us while he spoke, a dramatist watching his audience for each reaction.

  “We picked that one town for its amazing cash wealth. We took their loved citizens as hostages knowing their incredible affection for each other, knowing that life is put above wealth. We selected an escape route impossible to trace.” He smiled at us gently. “And tomorrow, the Mayor and his girl recover our wealth. If they are interrupted . . . they think. If they don’t think, the Sheriff is dead.”

  “So what do they think?”

  “How to cover the situation. How to stay alive, bring the cash back here and keep her father alive.”

  I grinned at him. “You already said we were as good as dead.”

  Auger’s smile had the devil’s benevolency in it. “And I say it again. You just forget that there’s always that one chance.”

  “We might get out?”

  “That’s right,” Auger told me. “That you might win the game. Hopeless, but a game.”

  Allen said something filthy and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Trigger was there too, the idiot’s grin in his jaws. He watched Allen and both triggers were cocked on his guns. They were held idly, but ready.

  I didn’t feel that shaking anymore. I was away ahead of them all and being careful so it wouldn’t show on my face. I was thinking of how easy it was going to be to get away from there, how that one chance Auger thought was an impossibility was a fat reality after all and how fast and slick I was going to take it.

  Then I saw Carol’s face and
though I knew she couldn’t see what I was thinking she was wondering about it just the same.

  There was one other angle. The big one. The one only the old man got and his mouth was making faces at me because he knew for sure now. He was thinking what I was trying hard not to remember and I didn’t want to look at him. His eyes went back too deep and penetrated too far into a guy’s mind.

  “Mr. Mayor . . .”

  I grinned. “Yes, Mr. Auger?”

  “Do you need any further explanation?”

  “No.”

  “There is only one road. You’ll be able to find the site?”

  “I’ll find it.”

  “The Sheriff will tell you how to get into the ravine.”

  “I know where it is,” Carol said.

  “Good,” Auger beamed. “That makes it so much easier. And of course you realize the consequences of any nonsense, my dear?”

  Carol simply nodded, not speaking.

  “You’ll bring the money up and come directly here. I’m going to estimate a time of twelve hours. If you have not appeared by then, your father, his deputy and this old man will be shot. That much is clear?”

  We both nodded this time.

  “If, then, there is any sign of any trickery . . . any at all, understand, they die and we figure another way out. Don’t underestimate us. Don’t think we won’t do exactly as we say. That’s clear?”

  “Clear,” I said.

  “You take the road back in . . .” he checked his watch, “two hours. No lights. You travel slowly. Be sure not to raise a dust cloud or otherwise attract attention. You’ll arrive at the site after daybreak and have ample time to do what is expected of you.” He looked at Carol first then me. “Any questions?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. What about the bodies in the car.”

  “Forget them.”

  “The buzzards might be up early.”

  That got to him. Something twitched in his cheek. “If they have fallen out of the car, put them back. Buzzards hunt on sight.”

  “Yeah.”

  He got that twitch again. “You’re being awfully solicitous about our safety.”