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

by David Goodis

  “I knew she wouldn’t be there,” Baylock said.

  “She was there.”

  “Why didn’t you bring her here?”

  “She didn’t want to come.”

  “What’s that again?”

  Harbin was off the bed, moving toward a chipped washbowl. He put some cold water in his mouth, swished it around in there, put more in and swallowed it, put some on his face and turned and looked at Baylock.

  “You’ll like this,” he said. “This is what you’ve been wanting.”

  “Maybe you better wake up more,” Baylock was taking his turn at the washbowl. “You’re still from fog.”

  “I’m wide awake,” Harbin studied Baylock at the washbowl. “You wanted her out of it. All right, now she’s out of it.”

  Baylock frowned. “How come?”

  “That’s the way she wants it.”

  “You told her what happened?”

  “I told her everything.”

  “You told her everything,” Baylock said, “and she wants to be out of it. Now that’s good. That’s really pretty good. She finds out we got ourselves in a serious mess and we’re wanted and she comes out with this interesting statement that she ain’t with us any more.”

  Harbin lit a cigarette. “I can use some coffee.”

  “Just like that,” Baylock said, “she’s out of it.”

  “Let’s get some coffee.”

  Baylock didn’t move. “I’m too worked up to drink coffee. I’m too worried.”

  “You don’t know what worry is,” Harbin forced a smile. “Here’s real worry for you. Our friend made contact with her.”

  “Our friend?” Baylock was far away from it.

  “The cop.”

  Baylock remained far away, unable to get himself to move any nearer.

  Harbin said, “His name is Finley. Charley Finley. He traced her down here and it seems he’s that sun and salt air you were talking about.”

  Reacting like an animal, Baylock made a move toward the door, changed his mind, started toward the suitcases, changed his mind about that, began to move here and there, darting little motions that got him back to where he had started. He whined, “I told you, I told you, don’t tell me I didn’t tell you.”

  “All right,” Harbin said. “You told me. You were correct and I was wrong. Does that clear it up or do you want me to start chopping off my fingers?”

  “We’re hemmed in. Now we can’t budge.”

  “Why not? Finley doesn’t know where we are.”

  “You sure of that?” Baylock said. “Look at the way he moves around. This is a trace artist. It’s a very special gift. One in a million has it. Like a mind reader, a dealer in some kind of magic, and don’t laugh, I tell you don’t laugh.” He saw that Harbin was not laughing and he went on, “For all we know he may have us spotted right now.”

  “I wouldn’t say that’s impossible.”

  “What do we do about it?” Baylock asked.

  Harbin shrugged. He looked at the door. Then he looked at the window. Baylock followed his eyes. And then they looked at each other.

  “The only way to know,” Harbin said, “is to find out.” He frowned just a little, thinking it over. “Finley could have followed me from her hotel last night. Followed me here. I doubt it and if I didn’t know what he’s done already I’d bet a grand against a nickel it couldn’t be possible.” He rubbed fingers across his chin. “All I know for sure is I need some coffee. While I’m out I’ll look around. You wait here.”

  “How long?”

  “Half hour.”

  “Suppose it’s longer.”

  “It won’t be.”

  “But suppose it is?”

  “In that case,” Harbin said, “you’d better skip and skip fast.”

  “With the emeralds?”

  “Listen,” Harbin said. “If it was you going out and me waiting here, and you said you’d be back in thirty minutes and you didn’t come back in thirty minutes, I’d go for that window, and I wouldn’t take the emeralds. And when I’d hit the street I’d start moving in a hurry.”

  Baylock shook his head very slowly. “I wouldn’t leave the emeralds here. You know I wouldn’t leave them here.”

  Harbin shrugged.

  Baylock said, “If you’re not back in thirty minutes, I’ll start aiming toward my sister’s place in Kansas City. You know the address and you know if I say I’m going there, I’m going there. And if you can manage to get there, you’ll find me there with the emeralds.” He tightened his lips. “Unless I’m grabbed before I can get there. Or dead.”

  Harbin said, “Should I bring you some coffee? Something to eat?”

  “Just bring yourself back.”

  Harbin started toward the door. Baylock moved quickly, with a kind of frenzy, went sliding in to place himself against the door, to face Harbin and show him a pair of disturbed eyes.

  Baylock said, “I want to get it straight about Gladden. What do we do with her?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What if she rats?”

  “Why would she do that?” Harbin asked.

  “She’s out of it, that’s why. When they’re out of it they’re in a position to rat. I’m worried, I tell you, and I think we ought to do something about Gladden.”

  “Do this for me,” Harbin said. “Don’t mention her name.” He opened his mouth wide and something like a sob came out, and he turned his head quickly to hide his face from Baylock, and he took his fist and slammed it hard into his opened palm. He threw one swift glance at Baylock and saw Baylock looking at him with pity. It went into him like the orange end of a poker. He pulled the door toward him, went through and heard the door crash shut. He started fast down the narrow hall, came to the stairs and told himself to stop the rush. There was no need to rush. He was going out to take a look around and drink some coffee.

  Downstairs, he could feel midday heat pouring in on him. It was like syrup. He felt his face get sticky and just a bit itchy. On the street moving slowly down Tennessee Avenue he saw the striped pole of a barber shop and decided on a shave.

  The shave did something for him and he felt more alive as he came off Tennessee and hit Atlantic Avenue. But the sticky heat was really serious in Atlantic and the tingling effects of the shave were fading away while he looked around for a restaurant. Very few people were on the street. He saw some natives of the city walking across Atlantic in the direction of the beach. They seemed sullen, annoyed with their town for allowing itself to be messed up with this wet heat and angry at their ocean for not doing something about it. They wore beach robes and sandals and there was a sacrificial air about them as they headed toward the beach, as though this was something unfit for natives of Atlantic City at this time of year. It was all right for the vacationers because anything was all right for the vacationers, but natives of this town didn’t deserve this weather, and it was an outrage.

  He glanced at his wristwatch. Eight minutes. He had been out for eight minutes, and twenty-two minutes remained. A restaurant sign displayed itself on the other side of the street. He crossed and entered, sat down at a sloppy counter and told the waitress he wanted coffee. The waitress made a comment about how hot it was today for coffee, and maybe he would like it iced. He said he didn’t want it iced. The waitress said it was good when it was iced. Harbin said he had never tried it iced and would appreciate their terminating the discussion; the waitress said the reason the world was like it was could be attributed to the fact that too many people were hard to get along with. She gave him a cup of black coffee and stood there watching him as he started on it. She was a short girl who looked Italian and restless, and below the short sleeves her fat arms were shiny with sweat. Harbin raised his eyes from the coffee and saw that she was watching him. He smiled at her. She took her eyes away from him and gazed through the opened doorway at the yellow, steaming street. She let out a long sigh and folded her arms and leaned back against the selling side of the counter.

  Har
bin glanced at his wristwatch and ordered another cup of coffee. She gave it to him and he lit a cigarette and began sipping the coffee, watching her as she stood there looking out toward the street. The sun came in and sent a yellow glaze all over her, so that it seemed as though she stood in the center of a bowl filled with bright yellow syrup. She put out her tongue and licked some wetness away from under her lip. Then a dark ribbon slanted across the yellow, so that she was in shadow and the shadow was caused by someone entering the restaurant. The Italian girl moved to greet the customer, and Harbin lowered his head toward the cup, started the coffee toward his mouth, felt the cup shake in his hands as the perfume hit him and he knew it was the perfume of Della.

  Chapter XIV

  DELLA SAT down at the counter beside him. She wore an ivory-colored blouse and skirt but even before he took note of her appearance he knew she would appear cool. Her tan hair gleamed in a quiet way, her face was quiet and cool, her voice cool as she told the waitress to fix her an orangeade.

  Turning to look outside, Harbin saw the green Pontiac parked on the other side of Atlantic. His fingers made a little drumbeat on the counter. “You get around.”

  “Only when it’s necessary.”

  He looked at her. “What’s necessary?”

  “Being here,” she said. “With you.”

  “Unless I’m very much mistaken, I thought that was a dead issue.”

  “You know it isn’t dead.”

  He worked on a little sigh and got it going. “Tell me all about that.”

  Della sat there looking at the orangeade. She said, “I want you to do something for me. I want you to listen very carefully and try to believe what I’m saying. There’s a chance you know already, but if you don’t know, you’ll hear it now. If you refuse to believe it, I can’t do anything about that. It happens there are quite a few things I can’t do anything about. Like turning night into day. Like stopping the rain when it’s raining.” She turned fully to him.

  She said, “The night I met you there in that restaurant it was no accident. It was planned. A solid plan to have me work on you and get the emeralds. Of course you remember what happened the night you made the haul. You remember having a chat with two policemen outside the mansion? You remember that clearly?”

  He nodded. He took a toothpick from a glass container, broke it in two and began to play with the pieces.

  “One of them,” Della said, “you saw was a rather young man. Early thirties. I want to tell you about that party. His name when he functions as a policeman is Charley Hacket. When he functions for the sake of Charley his last name is Finley.” She lifted the glass of orangeade, looked at it as though the color pleased her, then put it down. “This man Charley is out to get the emeralds. Most of the time he’s a shakedown artist and he’s usually satisfied with a cut. I know that because I know the way he operates. I’ve been working with him for a little more than a year. But this time he sees big loot and he wants all of it.”

  Harbin took his eyes away from the toothpick production and he looked at her. He saw Della and nothing more than Della. Not the menace. Not the enemy in the woods. Only Della.

  “This Charley Hacket,” she said, “is very much from brains and when I first met him I could see that right away. And then of course I could see the looks he had and the charm and there was something else I thought he had and even when I found out he didn’t have it I went on trying to believe it was there. When he asked me to work these jobs with him I did it only because it meant being with him. I certainly didn’t need the money. And for sure I’m not the kind of mental case that does it for excitement. I did it because it meant being with him, and I had drilled it into myself that I needed to be with him. The night I changed my mind about that was the night I came across you.”

  Harbin took another toothpick from the container and broke it in half. He put one piece at right angles to the other and then he switched them around. Then he pushed the bits of wood aside. “Why did you wait until now? Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”

  “I was afraid,” she said. “I wanted it to be just you and me, no emeralds, no Charley, no deals and transactions, just you and me. I was trying to work it out in my mind, find a method to slide away from Charley, get that ended so it would be just you and me. In order to do that I needed time. I wanted to tell you, I was dying to tell you. But I was terribly afraid of losing you.”

  “Not afraid of Hacket?”

  “No.” Then she gave a little shrug. “I know the way it is with Hacket. I know I mean more to him than the emeralds. I know I’m his major weakness and he wants me more than he wants life. So what? So if he discovered the way I feel about you he would probably kill me. Or both of us. But I’ve never really been afraid of that. I’ve only been afraid of losing you. Last night in the woods when you walked away I had the notion of killing myself; the idea actually seemed attractive.”

  She picked up the glass of orangeade and took some. She savored it, took some more. “I did a lot of thinking about it, knowing definitely that life is worthwhile only when you have a chance of getting what you want. I told myself if I couldn’t have you it wouldn’t pay to continue. All night long I thought about it and early this morning I was still thinking about it, ripping myself apart thinking about it when the phone rang and it was Hacket calling long distance from here, telling me you were here, wanting to know what went wrong. I told him I didn’t know, I said you had just walked out on me without giving a reason. Hacket told me not to worry about that. He said it would work out much better this way—” She frowned just a little. “I don’t see any reaction. I thought you’d react when I said that Hacket was here in town.”

  He smiled at her. “Most of what you’re telling me, I already know. I know he came here to work on Gladden.”

  She sat there and stared at him. “How did you find out? What put you on the track?”

  “You did. I’ll tell you all about it when we’re old and grey. Maybe sooner.” He played with the toothpicks again. “What did Hacket say on the phone?”

  “He kept patting himself on the back, telling me how clever he was, the way he handled it when you came to her room at the hotel, how he waited in a doorway or someplace until you walked out on the boardwalk, how he followed you to that little dump off Tennessee Avenue.”

  Harbin looked at Della, then at the toothpicks, then at Della again.

  Della said, “I told him I was coming to Atlantic City. He said no, he could handle it alone. I told him he shouldn’t get too hasty and I was coming here and we wouldn’t discuss it further. He said he’d be sitting in his car, parked on Tennessee Avenue, keeping an eye on your hotel. I met him there and said I’d take over. I said he looked beat and it would be a good idea if he went back to his room and got some sleep. We fought about that for a while but finally he gave in. I backed my car up on Tennessee Avenue, waited there, and then I saw you coming out from the side street. Then and there I would have called to you but I saw you going into a barber shop and I knew we couldn’t talk in a barber shop. So I waited. And when you came out, I followed you. And here I am now, I’m here with you, and I want to stay with you, go with you—”

  “Where?”

  “Our place.”

  His head went down, then it came up very slowly, then down again. And he was nodding. And then he trembled suddenly, as though trying to pull himself out of a trance. He tasted metal in his mouth, trembled again, went very deep into himself and said, “It’s got to be figured out.”

  “Let’s figure it.”

  “There’s Hacket.”

  “We’ll get rid of him.”

  Harbin leaned his elbows on the counter. “I guess there’s no other way of getting around it.”

  “No other way,” she said. “It will have to be done.” She took more orangeade. “Anything else?”

  He looked at her. He didn’t say anything.

  She said, “You’re thinking of Gladden.”

  He took his eyes away
from her. He didn’t say anything.

  She said, “Do something for me. Stop thinking of Gladden.”

  It was difficult, but he managed to do that for her. He worked at it, pushed with his mind as though he was heaving against a wall with his shoulder. He felt the resistance, and then strangely and suddenly it melted away but there was something else and he said, “There’s something else.”

  “All right, we’ll face it. What is it?”

  “It’s a situation. Maybe you saw the papers today. Maybe you didn’t.” He gave way to a sigh. “Last night there was some heavy trouble on the Black Horse Pike.”

  He told her of the three policemen who had died from bullets on the Pike, and of how Dohmer had died, and of what was now happening to Baylock, the fear and the worry, the lack of control, Baylock jittery, Baylock more or less immobilized. And he said, “I can’t walk out on Baylock without first telling him about it.”

  “What good will that do?”

  “He needs assurance. He needs instructions. I can’t leave him with the feeling he’s being let down. I’ve got to go back to the room and have a talk with him.”

  “He’ll argue with you.”

  “I’ll meet all his arguments.”

  “He’ll get excited. Maybe you’ll have trouble.”

  “There won’t be any trouble.”

  “He’ll think you’re trying to put something over.”

  “He won’t have any reason to think that,” Harbin said. “I’m letting him have all the emeralds. Then I’m saying goodbye to him. Then I’m coming back here. To you. We’ll get in your car and we’ll start driving. We’ll go to the place on the hill and we’ll stay there together. I know for sure now that’s the only way it can be. Nothing can break this up between you and me. Nothing. It was bound to be this way. We have something here that neither of us can get away from. When I left you there in the woods last night, you were someone else and I was someone else. But last night was a long time ago.”