9:41

by Iannuzzi, John Nicholas;

  “If you’ve got fifty thousand to bet, we’ve got a deal, put it up, Buddy Boy, or forget it”.

  “You’ve got it”, snapped Frank with irate rapidity. “Fifty thousand that you can’t put together a perfect murder”.

  Jim and Frank shook hands to complete their gentlemen’s wager. Jim briskly put his drink down and in serious, almost deadly, manner, took his overcoat off the hanger and put it on his back. Frank looked at him in an astonished, dumbfounded, and yet, unobservedly, pleased way. Jim turned to Frank and said: “are you coming, or do you want to take the train home?”

  “No, wait a minute”, said Frank. “I’ll be right with you. Just let me get my coat out of my office. You go ahead down and warm the car. I’ll be down in a second”.

  The steel cables that were suspended between the struts of the bridge swept down from the great heights, and then soared upwards again, as the car rolled forward, past strip after strip, beam after beam, girder after girder, of mute, dark, steel. Jim was driving across the bridge at an unusually slow pace this evening, obviously occupied with the thoughts of the foul negotiation he had just been a partner to. Below, the murky water jumped and quivered like a gelatinous mass. The lights of the shipyard shone forth and reflected off the water, making weird, vari-patterned designs of abstract lights thereon.

  Jim spoke from the somber depths of his being. “Frank, tomorrow, you bring in the amount we’ve agreed upon. By then, I think I’ll be able to lay the groundwork for a scheme, … but don’t let anyone know about the money, otherwise, we’ll arouse suspicion from the start”. Then he pressed his lips in a determined, familiar twist, one that Frank had seen so often before. It was a horrifying evil smirk now. Some time ago it had been an amiable grin, … and before that, it had been a sign of conviction. It was the smirk of a man who was about to accomplish something. No worry, no doubt, and it frightened Frank, exceedingly.

  The next morning. Frank strode past the receptionist in Jim’s office, through the little railing around her desk. Jim called to him from within his office and told him to enter. The receptionist intercom was faster than Frank’s feet.

  “Good morning, Jim”, said Frank, as he entered, “I …” but Frank dropped any sort of senseless pleasantry when he saw Jim. Jim was sitting behind his desk, tilted back in his swivel chair, a pile of money on the desk. His hands were together, fingers interlaced against his chin.

  “Here’s my half of the money”, said Jim as he watched Frank watch the money. “Where’s yours?”

  “Uh, … oh, right here”, stammered Frank as he pulled a neat packet out of his pocket.

  “Good”, said Jim. “Now what we’ll do is put the money in a safe deposit box, and each of us will have a key. This way, either of us can draw the money without any fuss”. Jim gathered the money from his desk, took Frank’s packet, and said as he preceded him out of the office, “thus starts the diabolical scheme towards realization”.

  A week had passed since the money was deposited in the bank, since the hellborn idea was pushed into motion, but no further mention of the affair was to pass Jim’s lips. Business transpired as usual, and a business-pleasure trip to Montauk Point was supported by many of the members of the club which Jim was the president and Frank was a member. So whole heartedly did Jim devise and applaud the venture, that all of the club members decided to go, including Frank. Frank’s wife was persuaded to stay over at Jim’s house, with Jim’s wife, so that they might have a bit of relaxation together since, over the years, they had become great friends. Jim and Frank were to drive out together since, they too, were great friends. The trip was to begin in one day, and so completely was Jim’s engrossment in the trip, that the idea of the murder seemed to have slipped his mind. Frank was well satisfied to wait and wonder, since he had only to gain … if not the hundred thousand—which he sorely wanted—at least the witnessing of the foul deed which could, in another way, be just as profitable

  Each night they drove home in funereal muteness, which was Frank’s indication that the murder was still pervading Jim’s thoughts. On the eighth day following the agreement, Jim said that his plan was complete, and that he was ready to put it into action at any moment. Jim’s heart leapt with satisfaction, or at least the anticipation that the thought of liberation brings.

  “Well?” exclaimed Frank, unable to contain his curiosity.

  “Well, what?” asked Jim.

  “Tell me of your plan, … I mean, just how do you intend to kill your victim? First things first, who is going to be your victim and …”

  “All in due time, Frank. You shall find out all about it in due time. Actually”, Jim said as he leaned closer to Frank to enhance the secretiveness of the moment, and to insure privacy, “I’ll tell you all about it tonight, before we leave for the Point. I think this evening is the time for it, just before we go away. We can say we were on the road to Montauk I’ll have you for a witness, and they won’t be able to even suspect me”.

  Frank’s eyes widened with pleasure. “Yeah, you’re right. I can tell whoever, we were together all the time. Tonight, hanh? Do you know your victim”, continued Frank’s curiosity.

  “This evening, Frank”, said Jim emphatically. “Now let me get some work done. I’ll see you after work and tell you all about it”.

  Frank got up and headed for the door.

  “Oh, Frank, wait a minute”.

  Frank turned quickly, thinking that Jim had decided to tell him now.

  “Listen”, said Jim. “I have a little gimmick ordered at a shop on Broad Street. It’s one of those catchy little gimmicks that are a lot of laughs, and I have to pick it up before we leave. But, with planning and other things, I haven’t got time to go and get it. I was hoping that you could pick it up for me. The shop closes at four-thirty”.

  “Oh, sure. I’ll get it. Where’s the shop?” said Frank.

  “The address is 26 Broad Street, on the second floor. The name of the place is Quality Novelties, … but listen, no one is to know about this, so don’t tell any of the boys, or anyone, for that matter, so when we get out there, it’ll be a surprise, okay?”

  “Sure, sure. I’ll pick it up myself, later. When will I meet you?” asked Frank.

  “I’ll pick you up right in front of the place about four forty-five”, said Jim.

  “What about, ah, you know, the …”

  “That comes between now and the time we head for the Point”, said Jim. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about it later”.

  “Okay, see you later”, said Frank as he left Jim’s office.

  Jim watched Frank go out and of a sort of smirk wrinkled the corner of his mouth. Frank, for his part, was bewildered by the magnanimity of the situation, … murder. And Jim’s uncaring, yea, even unfeeling attitude made him feel even more uneasy. He knew Jim though, and Jim never made wild boasts. He always hit his mark, … gad, what an appropriate metaphor, thought Frank as he entered his own office. No doubt about Jim though, thought Frank … a perfect murder. It certainly will be perfect in more ways than one.

  At exactly 4:40, Jim got up from his chair, took his coat out of the closet, folded it over his arm, took his hat off the shelf, and stepped out of the door of his office into the outer office. He walked over to his secretary’s desk, placed his hat down and said as he was slipping on his coat … “I’m going to leave now, Joan. Frank Graton was supposed to meet me here, but as usual, he’s not here yet. I called his office and he’s gone. I guess he’s waiting by the car. Anyway, if anything comes up that you can’t handle yourself, just ask Charlie Moreland, next door. He said he’d give you a hand if you needed him. I should be back in a few days, a week at the most”.

  “Yes, Sir. I’m sure I’ll be able to handle everything satisfactorily”.

  “Good, well, so long”, said Jim as he picked up his hat and headed to the door.

  “Have a good trip, Mr. Ackland”, called his secretary·

  Jim’s head twisted slightly sideways, and with a
concealed smirk and a glance at the secretary from the side of his eye, said: “Thank you, Joan. I hope this to be a very profitable venture”. The door shut quietly behind him. He pressed the little arrow shaped button that summoned the elevator.

  Jim sat in his car, right on schedule, waiting for Frank to show up. As a matter of course, Jim, who was punctuality personified, expected to have to wait for Frank whenever they were to meet. He always had … even in college. Like the time someone was … someone was twisting the handle of the car door on the passenger’s side back and forth, being restricted by the lock. Jim saw the familiar blue herringbone of Frank’s overcoat and leaned over and pulled up the lock peg.

  “Jesus, it’s cold as anything out there”, said Frank as he climbed into the car shrugging his shoulders closer together to create some body heat. “I was just calling your office. You must have given me the wrong address. There’s no Quality Novelties in this building”.

  “No? I looked the address up in the telephone book”, said Jim, thoroughly disconcerted. He glanced at his watch. “Too late now to even pick it up. Damn it all. Damn”, said Jim disgustedly as he started the car.

  Frank was blowing on his hands, rubbing them together as he turned to Jim. “Well, come on, what are you keeping all the wraps on this idea of yours for? Tell me about it will you, the suspense is killing me”.

  Jim nodded slightly with a chuckle. “Really”, he said. “Let me give you my basic concept on the matter before I begin”. He turned the car slowly into South Street toward the bridge. “Firstly, the main element of the murder must be surprise. That is, to take the victim while he is unaware of his circumstances. In this way he cannot retaliate nor even suspect … and therefore could not have told anyone of his would-be killer, or of his suspicions”.

  “You mean you should pick on a stranger that doesn’t know you from a hole in the wall, and just sort of ambush him on a quiet street, and no one could possibly be the wiser”, asked Frank, genuinely interested in figuring out the details.

  “Well”, said Jim, somewhat annoyed, “that certainly is a possibility, but I more or less considered that a lot less exciting than the plan I am about to unfold to you. True enough, you could do it very easily that way, but then, that’s just the point. An ambush like that takes such little skill and real thought that the satisfaction derived from the challenge would be nil”.

  “Well, then, what? Do you think killing your wife, or your best friend, or someone close at hand to be a lot more exciting?”

  “Exactly”, said Jim.

  “You must be kidding. You’d be implicated from the very outset. How far do you think you could get before they would arrest you”, said Frank, thoroughly engrossed in the mysterious depths of the crime.

  “Thou hast said it, Frank. The challenge is almost insurmountable … but the satisfaction derived from that type of crime, executed successfully, is tremendous. So you see, I’ve really given you the better end of this bargain by setting my sights so high”, he laughed, “that’s quite the appropriate expression, eh?”

  “Yes”, said Frank, quickly acquiescing. “Be more explicit. Just what is the rest of your plan?”

  “Surprise, the first element, right?”

  “Right”, said Frank.

  “The second is thrown in for spice, that is, someone who knows you, and he, in turn, is known to be a friend, or at least an acquaintance”.

  “You say him, is it to be a man?” asked Frank.

  “Certainly. Not that there’s anything wrong with women, but I’ve never even considered a woman for the victim. That’s odd … now that you mention it …”

  “Okay, okay, it’s a man. Now what?”

  “You’re certainly in a hurry for me to commit this murder, aren’t you?”

  “I’m just curious to find out what’s happening next, that’s all”.

  “Third is nonchalance. You have to adopt an air of complete indifference, not to the crime of course, but to the investigation of your alibi, etc. I even think that if one went about trying to help solve the crime, his suspicion would be completely forgotten. Know what I mean?”

  “No, not really”, answered Frank.

  “Well, the greatest asset that any criminal can have is casualness. Have you ever been doing something, and someone asked you what you were doing, almost inferring that you were doing something wrong, and you casually answered, why, I’m wiping the dirt off my shoes, or, I’m just replacing this pen, it fell on the floor.”

  “Well, sure, as a matter of fact, I have”, answered Frank.

  “Well, now, if you were really picking up a pen that you stole, or whatever, you wouldn’t have been able to answer with such conviction, and then you would arouse suspicion. Now, if someone really were doing something wrong. but answered as calmly as if he weren’t, well, people wouldn’t suspect as quickly”.

  “But, they’d get on to you afterwards. That act can’t hold up to facts”, said Frank, trying to find holes in Jim’s argument.

  “Quite so, but the act is just for the beginning. As time passes, it is only facts and not apprehension that can convict you. Since in this instance there will be no facts, no clues, since I am going to completely get rid of evidence, and since I am not only not going to hinder the investigation, which is an act which would mark me guilty, but I intend to actually try and help find the evil-doer. I don’t see how I could ever come under suspicion”.

  “How do you propose to get rid of the evidence”, asked Frank.

  “That’s simple enough. There’s lye, acid, deep forests, untrespassed places, and then or course, there’s the river. A well-weighted body might never come to the surface”.

  Frank looked out of the car window on his side to the river that showed between long flat slips, and warehouses that resembled the heads of mute giants with their chins resting on the street level, looking out of square window-like eyes.

  “If no one saw the weights, the body disappears, you act calmly, help with the investigation, have an alibi that will stand up …”

  “Okay, what about the alibi?”, asked Frank.

  “That’s the only real problem, but that too is simple and obvious. People have a tendency to make life, and in this case, death, more difficult than it really is. Take Poe’s ‘Purloined Letter’—ever read that story”.

  “Yes, that’s where he leaves a letter right in the middle of the room and the police search everywhere, even under the wall paper, but never looked in the obvious places”.

  “That’s right. Now if there is no evidence to work with, one can’t be convicted in the first place, unless he is brought to suspicion by his absence. After all, the police realize you can get rid of a body. But now, if you were right in the midst of many people, or even a few of the right people, say the victim’s wife, since we’ve established he’s to be male, at the time of the perpetration of the crime, or the suspected time of the crime, well, they could never accuse you, could they?” said Jim.

  “But how do you get to the wife at the right time, and kill the person at the same time?” asked Frank, somewhat perplexed.

  “No one will know the exact time. It will only be calculated in hours of absence, and you could be far away before anything is known. Better still, if you were to bring the absence of the victim to everyone’s attention, and began, together with the wife to look for the victim, well …”

  “You’ve really got this all figured out, haven’t you”, said Frank as he looked from the window and the river to Jim, and then turned forward, somewhat nervous because of the hideous atmosphere in which he was riding. The bridge was just overhead. They were passing under it, as they did every night, left turn and onto the …

  “Say, why are you turning this way? The bridge is the other way”, said Frank in a quick, faltering way. “Why are you driving out to the wharfs?”

  “Nothing. I’ll just be a second”, said Jim, calmly surprised at Frank’s nervousness, then he turned to Frank, adding, “I’m just going to co
llect a bet”.

  THE LABYRINTH OF HAPPINESS

  Rain billowed from the heavens. Outlined in front of the streetlight as I looked from my apartment window, the rain resembled thin cords of pulsating silver foil floating from the sky, winding and twisting in the wind. Spray bounced from the musty street, which was slowly losing its flat, lusterless charcoaled look. Little slick spots contrasted against the street here and there—now in greater profusion—and soon entire areas were completely covered with a slick blackness of wet reflecting a solid wedge of light from the drooping street lamp. From the level of the street arose the warm, all enveloping breath of dank, wet, dusty air which fills the first minutes of a rainy summer night with a strange, disagreeably nice, and so nostalgic an odor of past summers. I pushed away from the window frame and started toward the bathroom, my eyes still stiff with sleep. The outer edges of my eyelids felt inflamed and recoiled at the opening. I slid my hand against the smooth tiled wall and tripped the light switch. An image squinted at me from the silvery window on the wall.

  “You must be crazy to be getting up at this hour”, complained the image. “I must be crazy? Bob must be crazy! Out of his God damn clear head to call up at this hour and ask me to meet him. What the hell time is it?”, I asked myself in the mirror, as I leaned forward and twisted the water faucet on the sink. “What the hell is the difference”, I continued as I unbuttoned my pajama top, “I’m up now!”

  The cold shock of the water on my face and neck sent a shudder through my body which subsided into full awakedness. I walked out of the bathroom into the bedroom and took my clothes from the silent valet.

  “What the hell’s the matter with Bob calling at this hour to meet him?” I began again as I slipped my trousers on and gave a sidelong glance at the clock on the night table. “One thirty?” It had seemed as if I had slept for hours. “Where the hell did he say to meet him, … oh yeah, Pete’s. Might as well get started”. I finished tying my shoe laces, took a rain coat from the hall closet and bounded down the stairs. I opened the front door and was greeted by the hiss of bouncing rain. Little streams were running down next to the curb and under the wheels of the awaiting car, which resembled a soaking wet cat sitting patiently with little streams of running water sliding off its sleek side. I slid in and turned the engine over. She roared lustily. As I sat and waited for the engine to warm a little, I lit a cigarette. The wind shield wipers began making their familiar quarter circle of squeegeed glass, which was quickly redotted with water, and as quickly wiped away. I eased the car from the curb and headed toward Pete’s.