David Goodis: Five Noir Novels of the 1940s and '50s (Library of America)

by David Goodis

  “Jesus Christ,” Fellsinger said again.

  “How’ve you been, George?”

  “I’ve been all right. Jesus, Vincent, I never expected anything like this—” Fellsinger ran to a small table, opened a drawer, took out a carton of cigarettes. With a thumbnail he slit the carton, extracted a pack, and with the same thumbnail he opened the pack, with the same thumbnail got a match lit. He ignited Parry’s cigarette, ignited his own and then went back to the door and leaned against it.

  “You saw the papers?”

  “Sure,” Fellsinger said. “And I couldn’t believe it. And I can’t believe this.”

  “There’s no getting away from it, George. I’m here. This is really me.”

  “In that brand-new suit?”

  Parry explained the suit. From the suit he went back to the road, told Fellsinger how she had picked him up, told Fellsinger everything.

  “You can’t work it that way,” Fellsinger said. “What you’ve got to do is take yourself out of town. Out of the state. Out of the country.”

  “That’s for later. What I need now is a new face.”

  “He’ll ruin you. I tell you, Vince, you’re working it wrong. Every minute you waste in town is——”

  “Look, George, you said I was innocent. You always kept saying that. Do you still believe it?”

  “Of course. It was an accident. Nobody killed her.”

  “All right, then. Do you want to help me?”

  “Of course I want to help you. Anything, Vince. Anything I can do. For Christ’s sake——”

  “Look, George, have there been any big changes in your life since they put me away?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean, you never used to have any visitors. You were always alone up here. Is it still that way?”

  “Yes. I lead a miserable life, Vince. You know that. You know I have nobody. You were my only friend.” A suggestion of tears appeared in Fellsinger’s eyes.

  Parry didn’t notice the tears. He said, “I’m mighty glad nobody comes up here. That’ll make it easy. And it won’t be more than a week. Do it for me, George. That’s all I’m asking. Just let me stay here for a week.”

  “Vince, you can stay here for a year, for ten years. But that’s not the point. You said she gave you money. That’s half the battle already. With money you can travel. Here you’ll only run into the police. Maybe even now——”

  “I can’t travel with this face. It needs to be changed. I’m going there tonight. Maybe the police will be here when I get back. Maybe not. It’s fifty-fifty.”

  Fellsinger took a key case from the back pocket of his trousers. He unringed a key and handed it to Parry. “It’s good for both doors,” he said. “I still think you’re working it wrong, Vince.”

  “Got anything to drink?”

  “Some rum. It’s awful stuff, but that’s all I can get these days.”

  “Rum. Anything.”

  Fellsinger went into the kitchen, came out with a bottle of rum and two water glasses. He half filled both glasses.

  They stood facing each other, gulping the rum.

  “I still can’t believe it,” Fellsinger said.

  “I was lucky,” Parry said. “I got breaks. If I had planned it for a year it couldn’t have worked out any better. The truck was right where I wanted it to be. The guards were nowhere around. It was all luck.”

  “And that girl,” Fellsinger said.

  Parry started to say something, then found his lips were closed, found the words were crumbling up and becoming nothing. He didn’t want to talk about her. He was sorry he had told Fellsinger about her. He couldn’t understand why he had told Fellsinger everything, even her name and her address and even the number of her apartment. He was very sorry he had done that but he didn’t know why he was sorry. He knew only that now and from now on he didn’t want to talk about her, he didn’t want to think about her.

  Fellsinger made himself horizontal on the davenport. He finished the rum in his glass, got the glass half filled again. Parry brought a chair toward the davenport and sat down.

  “And Madge Rapf,” Fellsinger said. “You sure that’s who it was?”

  “That’s who it was.”

  “All my life I’ve tried to keep from hating people,” Fellsinger said. “That’s one of the people I hate. I remember once I was at your apartment with you and Gert, and Madge walked in. I saw the way she was looking at you. I remember what I was thinking. That she was out to get you and once she had you she’d rip you apart and throw the pieces away. Then she’d go out and look for the pieces and put them together and rip you apart again. That’s Madge Rapf. And how come she’s connected with this Janney girl? What takes place there?”

  Parry thought he had already told Fellsinger what took place there. Wondering why he kept it back now, he said, “I don’t know.”

  “Sure you don’t know?”

  “George, I’ve told you everything, I’m depending on you now. I wouldn’t keep anything from you.”

  Fellsinger took a long gulp of rum. He said, “I wish I could sleep with Madge Rapf.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “You don’t get me,” Fellsinger said. “I wish I could sleep with her provided I was sure she talked in her sleep. I think she’d say the things I want her to say. I think she’d admit Gert never made that dying statement. Jesus Christ, if we could only prove that was a frame.”

  “I don’t think it was a frame,” Parry said. “I think Madge was telling the truth.”

  “Maybe she thought she was telling the truth. Maybe she drilled it into herself that Gert really said that. People like Madge make a habit of that sort of thing. It becomes part of their make-up.”

  “Gert hated me.”

  “Gert didn’t hate you. Gert just didn’t care for you. There’s a difference. Gert would have walked out on you only she had no one else to go to. No one.”

  “There were others.”

  “They weren’t permanent. She would have walked out if she could have found something permanent. And she wouldn’t frame you, Vince. She was no prize package, but she wouldn’t frame you. Madge framed you. Madge wanted to hook you. When she couldn’t hook you one way, she hooked you another way. Madge is a fine girl.”

  “Maybe one of these days she’ll get run over by an automobile.”

  “It’s something to pray for,” Fellsinger said. He took a thick watch from the small top pocket of his trousers. “What’s your schedule?”

  “I want to be there at three.”

  “Plenty of time,” Fellsinger said.

  “How’s the job going?”

  “The same job,” Fellsinger said. “The same rotten routine. Sometimes I feel it getting the best of me. Last week I asked for a raise and Wolcott laughed in my face. I wanted to spit in his and walk out. One of these days I’m going to do just that. I can’t stand Wolcott. I can’t stand anything about that place. Thirty-five dollars a week.”

  “What are you kicking about? That’s a marvelous salary.”

  “I talked to my doctor a few months ago. I asked him if I could stand a manual job. He said the only kind of job I could stand was a job where I sit in one place all day and don’t use my muscles. I had no idea I was in such awful shape. He gave me a list of rules to follow, diet and cigarettes and liquor and all that. Rather than follow those rules I’d throw myself into the Bay.”

  “You mean jump off the Bridge?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Not nothing. Something. You’ve been thinking in terms of the Bridge. You got to get rid of that, Vince. That’s no good.”

  “I’m all right. And everything’s going to be all right. With a new face I won’t need to worry. At least I won’t need to worry so much. As long as I’m careful, as long as I keep my wits about me, as long as I have something to hold on to I’ll be all right.”

  They sat there talking about themselves, the things that had
once amounted to something in common. Fellsinger’s amateur status with the trumpet. Fellsinger’s refusal to go professional. Fellsinger’s ideas in regard to sincere jazz. Fellsinger’s interest in higher mathematics, and his lack of real ability with higher mathematics, and his feeling that if he had real ability he could make a lot of money in investment securities. Fellsinger’s lack of real ability with anything. Parry’s claim that Fellsinger had real ability with something and as soon as he found that something he would start getting somewhere. Their vacation at Lake Tahoe a few years back. Fishing at Tahoe and the two girls from Nevada who wanted to learn how to fish. Empty bottles of gin all over the cabin. What a wonderful two weeks it had been, and how they agreed that next summer they would be there again at Tahoe. But they weren’t there the next summer because Parry was married that next summer and Gert wanted a honeymoon in Oregon. She wanted to see Crater Lake National Park. She was interested in mineralogy. She collected stones. She claimed there was flame opal to be found in Crater Lake National Park. She liked opal, the flame opal, the white opal with flames of green and orange writhing under the glistening white. She was always asking Parry to get her something in the way of flame opal. He couldn’t afford flame opal but he got her a stone anyway. He went to a credit jewelry store downtown and said he wanted a flame-opal ring. They said they didn’t have any flame opal in stock but if he came back in a few days they would have something. He didn’t tell Gert about it. He wanted to surprise her. She would have a birthday in four days and he would have that flame opal in three. When he went back to the credit jewelry store they had the flame opal, a fairly large stone set in white gold with a small diamond on each side. They wanted nine hundred dollars. Parry had figured on about four hundred dollars and he was telling himself his only move was to turn and walk out of the store. Then he was thinking the flame opal would make Gert very happy. She hadn’t found any flame opal in Crater Lake National Park. It ruined the honeymoon. She was always saying how badly she wanted flame opal. Parry made a down payment of three hundred dollars, which reduced his bank account to one hundred dollars. He told them to wrap the ring nicely. He took the ring home and on the following day, which was Gert’s birthday, he presented her with the flame opal. She snatched it out of his hand. She broke a fingernail tearing off the wrapping. Parry was in the room but Gert was all alone in the room with her flame opal and she had a magnifying glass and she studied the stone for twenty minutes. Then when she saw Parry was there she asked him how much he had paid for the stone. He told her. She asked him where he had bought the stone. He told her. She started to carry on. She said he didn’t have any sense. She said the credit jewelry store was a gyp joint and anybody with half a brain wouldn’t put out nine hundred dollars for a flame opal in a place of that sort. She told him to take the ring back and demand his money. She said the flame opal was full of flaws and the diamonds were chips and at the very most the ring was worth two hundred dollars. She hopped up and down and made a lot of noise. He asked her to quiet down. She threw the ring at him and it hit him in the face and cut his cheek. Gert started to sob and yell at the same time and Parry begged her to quiet down. He said he would take back the ring and try to regain his down payment. She laughed at him. On the following day he took the ring back but they wouldn’t return the down payment. When he became insistent they told him to get a lawyer. He said the ring wasn’t worth nine hundred dollars. They told him to go get a lawyer. He walked out of the store and he was very weary and he knew he was out three hundred dollars. He wanted to go home and tell Gert he had regained the three hundred and put it back in the bank. He knew that wouldn’t work. He had never been much good at putting a lie across. He told himself Gert was right. He didn’t have any sense. He should have used his head and taken her with him when he went to purchase her birthday gift. She was absolutely right. He didn’t have any sense. It was for his own good she had carried on like that. She wanted him to be something, not a nothing. She wanted him to be something she could respect. He put his hand to the cut on his cheek. She hadn’t meant to do that. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. It was for his own good. Maybe this would be the beginning of a change in his life. Maybe from here on he would start to use his head and make something of himself, climb out of that thirty-five-a-week rut in the investment security house. Maybe this was all for the best. He went to the bank and took out fifty of the remaining hundred. He went into a large, dignified jewelry store and asked if they had anything in the way of flame opal. A man wearing white and black and grey looked Parry up and down and said they didn’t have anything under six hundred dollars. Parry walked out of the store. He went into another store and they didn’t have anything under seven hundred dollars. He went into a third store and a fourth and a fifth. He was forty minutes past his lunch hour and he hadn’t eaten yet and he was getting a fierce headache. He made up his mind he wouldn’t go back to the office until he had a flame opal for his wife. He went into a sixth store. A seventh and an eighth. The headache was awful. He went into the ninth store and it was a small establishment that seemed sincere, that also seemed as if it was having a hard time staying on its feet. A man well past seventy showed Parry a ring set with a rather small flame opal, a sterling silver setting. The ring looked as if it had been in the store since the store was founded, and the store looked as if it had been founded a hundred years ago. But it was a flame opal and Gert wanted a flame opal, and when the man said $97.50 it became a sale. Parry threw a milkshake down his throat and sprinted back to the office. When he arrived at the office the headache was taking his head apart and Wolcott was telling him this sort of thing would never do, and besides his work lately had been anything but satisfactory, and he had better wise up to himself before he found himself out on the street looking for another job. When Parry got home that night he tried to kiss Gert but she turned away from him. He handed her the small package and said happy birthday. She opened the small package and looked at the small flame opal. She looked at it for a while and then she let it fall to the floor. She put on her hat and coat. Parry asked her where she was going. She didn’t answer. She walked out of the apartment. Parry heard the door slamming shut. He reached down, picked up the ring. He looked at the closed door, then looked at the flame opal, then looked at the closed door and then looked at the flame opal.

  8

  FELLSINGER TILTED the bottle, poured rum into the two glasses.

  “What time is it?” Parry asked.

  Fellsinger glanced at his wrist watch. “One thirty.”

  “I better be going.” Parry downed the rum.

  “When will you be back?”

  “I’d say around five or five thirty.” Parry reached in his coat pocket, took out the key Fellsinger had given him. “Got one for yourself?”

  “Yes. I’ve always kept two keys, although I don’t know why.”

  “Should I wake you up when I come in?” Parry asked.

  Fellsinger grinned. “Do that. I want to see what you look like.”

  “I’ll be all bandaged up. I’ll be a mess.”

  “Wake me up anyway,” Fellsinger said.

  “I hate to walk out of here,” Parry said. “I hate to go down that elevator and out on that street.”

  “You don’t need to go. You can stay here. I’m telling you you’re better off if you stay. Once you walk out——”

  “No. I’ll have to do it sooner or later and I might as well do it now. Can you spare a pack of cigarettes?”

  “Absolutely not.” Fellsinger took a pack from the carton, took another pack and handed the two packs to Parry. He was up from the davenport as Parry got up from the chair. He hit Parry on the shoulder and said, “For Christ’s sake, Vince—be careful.”

  “Careful,” Parry said. “Careful and lucky. That’s what it’s got to be. You better go to sleep now, George. You got a day of work ahead of you tomorrow.”

  “Be careful, Vince, will you?” Fellsinger walked Parry to the door. He put his hand on the knob. He tried to ke
ep his hand steady but his hand shook. He said, “Be careful, Vince.”

  Parry opened the door and went down the corridor. He pressed the elevator button and stood there waiting. The elevator came up for him and just before he stepped in he turned and saw Fellsinger standing beside the open door. Fellsinger was smiling. Fellsinger was giving him a little wave of encouragement. He smiled and waved back and entered the elevator. As the elevator took him down he extracted the folded slip of paper from his coat pocket. He looked at the name, Walter Coley, and the address on Post Street, and third floor—room 303. The elevator came to a stop and Parry walked out of the apartment house, walked for two blocks and saw a wide street that had car tracks. A streetcar was approaching but he knew he couldn’t take a streetcar. He had to depend on another taxi. He opened one of the cigarette packs, realized he had no matches, put the pack back in his pocket. He looked up and down the street and there was nothing resembling a taxi. He walked down the wide street, telling himself that he needed a smoke, needed it badly. He walked into a small confectionery store. There was an old woman behind the counter.

  “A book of matches,” Parry said.

  The old woman put two books of matches on the counter and said, “A penny. Anything else?”

  “No,” Parry said. He was handling some of the silver the taxi driver had given him. The old woman was looking at him. He put a nickel on the counter.

  “You don’t have any pennies?” the old woman said.

  He didn’t like the way she was looking at him. She seemed to be examining his face. Then she was turning her head slowly and her eyes were going to another part of the small store and Parry’s eyes went along with her eyes, following her eyes, then frantically leaping ahead of her eyes and getting there first, getting to the stack of newspapers beside a candy counter, getting to the front page and the big photograph of Vincent Parry on the front page. Automatically he sucked in his cheeks and frowned and tried to change the set of his face, and as the eyes of the old woman came back to his face he made an abrupt turn and he was going out of the store.