A Century of Noir

by Max Allan Collins

  “Mr. Haggerty?”

  “Mr. Scolari. We’ve got some problems here.”

  “Oh?”

  “Marshall made me this afternoon, and now the captain has made it clear I’m not to be anywhere near Marshall or he’ll arrest me. I can’t even be an open shadow. I also think you’re right about why he came up here. He’s found a beautiful way to lose a tail. Soaring. You go up alone, and aren’t subject to the same rules as engined aircraft, so you can’t be followed. You parachute out in the middle of the desert to a waiting car, and you’ve got at least a half-day lead on anyone following you.”

  “Mr. Haggerty, it seems your usefulness has ended. You’re to leave the ship tomorrow morning and return the car to the airport. If you don’t want to return to this area, feel free to convert your ticket to any other destination you’d like.”

  “Are you going to be able to get someone else out here that soon?”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Haggerty, that’s all been taken care of.”

  “Okay, when are they going to get here? I’ll brief them on everything I’ve learned.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Haggerty.”

  “What about the girl? Have you found out anything about her? What is she? Accomplice? Victim?”

  “Mr. Haggerty, that is no longer your business.”

  “Wait a minute, that is my business. You don’t want me out here because my cover’s been blown, fine. You don’t care if Derek Marshall disappears, lives the good life without ever paying for what he did, fine. I thought that was why you sent me out here, but I must have been mistaken. But don’t tell me it’s none of my business that that woman could still be a target. That’s why I came out here.”

  “You’re right, Mr. Haggerty, I’m sorry. You can rest assured that we’ve determined she’s in no danger.”

  “That’s nice, Mr. Scolari. Tell you what, though; I’m not convinced. How about a name and address? How is it she’s here with Marshall? Give me that and then I’ll rest assured.”

  “Mr. Haggerty, I don’t have those details here with me. I’m at home. I’ll call you with them tomorrow morning. How is that? Then you can leave without any concerns.”

  “Fine. I’ll be waiting.”

  I hung up the phone, sat there and stared at it. Fuck him. Fuck Derek Marshall. Why was I getting all churned up? Because my easy ride was over? Sure. This was sweet. All expenses paid. Did I really think this would last forever? If old man Scolari didn’t care what happened to Derek Marshall, why should I? It wasn’t my niece he murdered. I wasn’t the law. He’d gotten away with that one. Once upon a time I’d hoped to catch him at something, anything, and to help put him away, for him to pay even a little bit for what he’d done, but I’d lost my chance at that when I went to prison. Just an empty threat I made a long time ago in another life. Who cares? Not me.

  I took a long look around the cabin. So long good life. So long warm showers. So long heated towels, so long maid service, clean sheets every day. I pulled down my suitcase, threw it on the bed, opened the dresser and tossed everything inside. Zipping up that side, I flipped the bag over, went into the bathroom and scooped up my toilet articles and dumped them into the bag and closed it up. Packed. I had the impulse to just walk out, get in the car and leave, let Scolari clean up after me. But another night on clean sheets and a hot breakfast wouldn’t hurt any. I opened up my plane ticket and fished out a piece of paper. Sitting up on the bed, I dialed a long-distance number.

  “Yeah,” was followed by a belch.

  “Is ‘The Kurgen’ there?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Tell him it’s Leo Haggerty. Slag told me to call.” Slag was at the top of the prison food chain. He had no natural predators but time.

  “Hold on.”

  I heard feet shuffle in the background, then someone picked up the phone.

  “Yo, so you’re out. Where are you?”

  “Mexico.”

  “That’s too bad. You coming up this way?”

  “Looks like it. That job still open?”

  “Yeah. There’s a couple guys out here think it should be theirs, but if you’re everything Slag says you are you’ll have no trouble convincing them otherwise.”

  “I got some business to clean up here first. You should see me in a couple of days.”

  “Alright. We’ll party first, then we’ll talk.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I went to the mini-bar, poured myself a gin and tonic, and turned on the TV. I muted the sound and just stared at the screen. I stared and I sipped, then closed my eyes and got very still. Five years ago I could play a spider’s web like a harp without anybody knowing I was there. At least I thought that, right up to “we the jury.”

  I was on another web now and I could feel it vibrate under my feet. Somebody was moving out there and it wasn’t me. I played back everything that had happened since Scolari first called me, rethinking every slip, every stumble as a feint.

  I went back to the bedroom and dialed the switchboard.

  “I’d like the phone number for Kiki Davenport.”

  “I’m sorry. We can’t give out crew member’s numbers.”

  “Can I leave a message?”

  “I’ll connect you with her voice mail.”

  “Hi, this is Kiki. I’m not available to take your call. At the tone, please leave your name and number and a brief message. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Kiki, this is Leo Haggerty. I need your help. It’s kind of an emergency. Call when you get in no matter what the time.”

  I hung up and waited.

  Around 1:30 I put down my drink and then my head. At 8:30 I heard a pounding on the door.

  “Leo, are you okay?”

  I stumbled across the room and opened the door. She didn’t come in. “I didn’t check my messages until this morning. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m okay. Come on in. I need to talk to you.”

  She slipped inside.

  “Does this have anything to do with Derek Marshall?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “Everybody got briefed on it by Tom Munson. If you’re anywhere near Marshall, he’s to be called.”

  “That’s why I need your help because I can’t go near him. I think he’s being set up for a hit.”

  “If what you said is true, why do you care?”

  “I’m not sure I do. What I do care about is being hustled out of the way so somebody can get a clean shot at him. I wanted him to pay for Gina Dalesandro. I don’t think this has anything to do with her. I don’t like the idea that somebody thinks I’ll just bow out so murder can be done or that I’m too stupid to know what’s going on. Besides, I’m still not convinced that the woman that’s with him isn’t in danger, also.”

  “Why don’t you tell the captain? Let him take care of it?”

  “Because I have nothing but hunches, and my hunches have nothing but questions dangling from them.”

  Kiki sat down on the sofa. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Hear me out. I used to be pretty smart. These days I don’t trust myself. But if this sounds plausible to you there may be something to it.

  “When Derek Marshall blew my cover, he didn’t recognize me at first. He said, ‘I told them I’d make the . . . ’ He didn’t finish his sentence. Then he recognized me. He was surprised that someone was there. He thought some ‘they’ had sent me and it was because he hadn’t made something for them. Made what? Made it good? Made payments?

  “He was reading some book on moneyless investing. Scolari said he’d ruined some of his investments, cost him and some other people a lot of money. Maybe more than he told me.

  “If Marshall needs money, she could be a potential victim. If Marshall’s a target, they may not care who goes with him. Especially if Scolari’s not behind this.”

  “Why do you think Scolari is not behind this?”

  “Let’s look at what Scolari did. He hears I’m b
lown so he fires me. Okay so far. He shows no interest in how Marshall might disappear. That’s why I’m suppose to be out here, so he can’t escape Scolari’s scrutiny. I tell him I’ll brief my replacement; he says don’t bother. He shows no concern for this girl until I raise it. Why? Because the ‘them’ Marshall thought sent me out here are going to whack him. So Scolari doesn’t have to worry about him getting away, or the girl being harmed by him. He just pulls me out of here so there’s nobody watching, nobody in the way. That gives them the go ahead. Hell, I have no idea if Marshall’s even in the wrong with these people.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can see why you didn’t go to the captain. I can think of half a dozen other explanations that this guy Scolari didn’t want to share with you.”

  “So can I, but this is the one that worries me.”

  “Okay, what do you want me to do?”

  “Find out what you can about the girl. If you can get into the cabin while they’re out, look in her purse, get a name, address, whatever. I need to know where she fits in. The other thing is to try to get to Marshall. See if he’ll agree to meet me somewhere public. Away from the ship. I ought to warn him that he’s a target and it isn’t me who’s after him. After that, he’s on his own.”

  “All right. I’ll go over to his cabin and try to talk to him or the girl, whoever’s there. Where will you be?”

  “I’ve got to check out. I’ll go down the road towards town, sit in the first gas station I come to and wait for him there. If he comes. If he doesn’t, I’ll take the car back to Tucson. Then I’ve got a plane ticket to wherever.”

  “You going to Fresno?”

  “I don’t know. The job’s still there.”

  “You called?”

  “Yeah.”

  Kiki shook her head.

  “When should I tell him to meet you?”

  “I have to be off the ship by eleven. Say ten after.”

  “I’ll call you here as soon as I get in touch with him.”

  “Okay.”

  She got up off the sofa and walked to the door. I went to open it for her. She turned in the space between me and the door, reached up to pat my chest and straighten out my collar. I looked down into her green eyes, at the little tug at the corner of her mouth where a smile was struggling to be, and felt an enormous ache in my chest as a huge bubble of longing moved in my blood like a case of the bends.

  Kiki kissed my cheek, spun under my arm and out the door.

  At nine thirty she called back. “I talked to the woman. Marshall was in the spa getting a fitness evaluation from Joey. He’s the personal trainer. She said she’d give him the message. I also got a quick peek into her purse. She was putting on her makeup when I got there. Her name is Leslie Bowen. She lives at 931 Euclid Avenue in San Francisco.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  At ten my phone rang again. It was Scolari.

  “Mr. Haggerty. I’ve got that information you wanted. The woman with him is named Leila Kurland, she’s from San Diego. Two priors for prostitution. Not a likely target for a man like him, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No, not the Derek Marshall we all know and love. I feel a lot better knowing she’s okay. I’ll be checking out at eleven, then I’ll take the car back to Tucson. I have to stop and gas it up before I turn it in.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know. See how far this ticket will take me I guess.”

  “Well, good luck Mr. Haggerty.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  I grabbed my bag, checked out, went to the car, threw it in the back seat and drove out of the lot. A couple of hundred yards up the road was a driveway that meandered up into the hills to a house that sat up above the Saguaro. I pulled into it and waited.

  At 10:45 a white Camry nosed out of the dock’s entrance. Leslie/Leila was behind the wheel. A moment of truth. The car turned east towards the mountains and flashed past me. I sat and watched it pull away.

  She told Kiki she’d give Marshall the message. She’s driving the other way. She didn’t give him the message. She’s in it with them. Or she did give him the message and he blew her off. Fuck them. It’s their problem, not mine. They’ve been warned.

  I pulled out and headed north towards America. I’d be in Fresno tonight. I turned on the radio, looking for something fast, loud and stupid. Look out bottom, here I come. You never bounce back as far as you fall. That’s a law of nature. Doesn’t matter if it’s a basketball, a rock or a man. So why bother?

  That worked for about five miles, but a cowlick of doubt kept popping up no matter how hard I tried to slick it down with bitterness or cynicism or self-pity. It just wouldn’t go away. Once it came up with Kiki’s face. That was easy to dismiss. No future there. Do it for yourself. Then it came back with a question. What would you have done five years ago? Would you drive away and let murder be done? What’s different now?

  “I am,” I said to no one.

  “Only if you let yourself be,” was the reply.

  If you never bounce back as far as you fall, then maybe you shouldn’t fall any farther than you have to.

  All important journeys begin with a U-turn, so I made one. I pushed the needle past ninety and held it there until I caught sight of Derek’s car. I confirmed the tag number and then fell behind.

  She was doing a steady seventy going rapidly into the desert, but not so fast that anyone would notice. I looked ahead at oncoming traffic for an opportunity to pull along side and force them over. Dust devils swirled off to either side of the road.

  Almost immediately she turned south at an unmarked crossroads. I followed. We were still on paved road, but now there was no traffic at all. Then we had company. I kept flicking my eyes from the road to the mirror. The Camry hadn’t changed speed, but the jeep kept expanding in my mirror. I saw its turn signal flash as it moved to pass me. Smoked glass hid the occupants. I looked for the tag number. There was none. I went to slam on the brakes and let them shoot past me when the jeep hit me broadside and I flew off the road. The car slammed up and down as it bounced across the desert like a brahma bull. I gritted my teeth and strangled the wheel trying to keep control. A giant Saguaro stood in front of me, his lone arm up and extended towards me like a traffic cop. I threw myself sideways on the seat as I slammed into it. The giant green cop came crashing down on the roof, and everything went black.

  I came to with a throbbing headache. The rest of me checked in as a battered presence. I was on my back and immediately tried to move my toes and hands. That was good. I flexed my limbs and felt their entirety. I opened my eyes and saw that the roof was gone. A bright light made me squint.

  “Where am I?” I asked.

  Surprisingly, a deep voice said, “You’re in the hospital, Mr. Haggerty.”

  I turned toward the voice. I saw a badge on his chest, the word policia, the black string tie, and the long black hair swept back over his ears, like a cutaway jacket behind a holster. His mouth was hidden behind a cookie duster.

  “You’re a lucky man. That Saguaro you hit must have weighed five tons. Crushed your car flat. You’re damn lucky we found you. We weren’t even looking for you.”

  I swallowed. My throat felt creased and raw.

  “Water.”

  He handed me a glass with a straw. I sucked long and hard.

  “Thanks. Who were you looking for?”

  “Guy named Derek Marshall, a guest on the ship. He missed the boat when it departed. Captain called me because of some trouble with you. We got a call about a vulture dance in the desert so I figured we ought to go check it out. Might be a cow, might be Marshall. We found you on the way there. Which brings me to my next question. What were you doing out there?”

  You never tell the law the truth. Because there is no truth. Only your lies and somebody else’s.

  “I got lost. I wanted to go out into the desert, see it up close for myself, so I left the main road to do a little exploring.”r />
  “And what happened?”

  “Some kind of pig ran across the road. I swerved to avoid hitting it. Next thing I know, I’m aimed at the Saguaro.”

  I asked for more water. “You find Marshall?”

  “Yeah, we found him, or what was left of him. Between the sun and the vultures, he looked like a half-eaten piece of beef jerky when we got to him.”

  “How’d he die?”

  “Stupidity, I’d say. We have no idea what he was doing out there. He was alone. No one knew where he’d gone. He had no water with him, although he did have a bottle of wine. We found that on the way to his body. Alcohol’s the worst thing to drink in the desert. It just accelerates the dehydration. His car was just stopped. It had run out of gas. We guess he thought he could walk out, got disoriented, wandered deeper into the desert, got thirsty, drank the wine he had with him, got dehydrated, then sunstroke. Somewhere along the way he fell into a jumping cholla. His face and hands were covered in spines. Eventually he sat down and died. That’s how we found him. Sitting up against a rock with his hands in his lap. They were covered in spines. He had spines in his eyelids, his lips. He was a mess.

  “You’re lucky we found you. You’d never have gotten out of that car by yourself. We needed a winch to get the Saguaro off you, then we had to use metal cutters to pry you out. Another day and you’d have been as dead as Marshall.”

  The cop got up to leave, then he turned back towards me.

  “You see, that’s the only reason I’m not arresting you. You couldn’t have killed Marshall, and you wouldn’t have staged that as an accident because nobody called us about you. You’d have died for sure. So I’m ignoring all the captain’s stuff about you harassing Marshall, or the amazing coincidence of two accidents on that road at the same time. No evidence of foul play, but lots of stupidity, so we’re gonna close it up as death by misadventure, unless you’ve got something you want to tell me?”

  “No, I know justice when I see it.”

  The cop nodded goodbye and left. The door was swinging closed when Kiki pushed through.

  She sat down in the chair, threw one leg over the other and clasped her hands around her knees. Her sandaled foot tapped away to silent music. “How are you doing?”