Nothing More Than Murder

by Jim Thompson

  I broke off, remembering.

  “Go ahead and say it, Joe,” said Appleton. “It’s things like that that make criminals.”

  “Okay,” I said, “you’re doing the talking.”

  “Do I look like a criminal?” He leaned back grinning, his hands clasped behind his head.

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “I was in, too. Exactly the same number of years that you were.”

  “The hell!” I said.

  “That’s right. Borrowed a car for a joy ride, and the cops caught me. My old man wasn’t very fond of me, anyhow, so I went right on over the road. No, things like that don’t need to mean any more than we let ’em.”

  “But you said your company—”

  “It’s a fact they have to consider, certainly. It’s tough, but that’s the way it is.” He sat brushing at his knee, looking down. “I’m sorry, Joe. I know pretty well how you feel. Can’t you think of some logical explanation—some explanation that would be acceptable to the company—for the fire?”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “The motor was in good condition? There wasn’t any possibility of a short?”

  “Not a chance. If there had been any I’d have had it repaired.”

  “Sure. Naturally.”

  “It isn’t the money so much,” I said. “I’d just like to get things settled.”

  “Sure you would.” He nodded sympathetically, studying me. “I’ll tell you something, Joe, if you’ll keep your mouth shut. I’ve been stringing you along a little. I’ve recommended payment on this case. I’m just waiting to mail my report.”

  “Waiting?”

  “Orders.” He smiled out of the corner of his mouth. “You’re running in hard luck, Joe. You remember that missing dame I told you about?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, there’s the rub. I’ve got to turn her up, and as long as I’m here and it isn’t costing them anything extra the company’s having me keep your case open. At least they think they are. As far as I’m concerned it’s already closed. As soon as I find this woman I’ll put a date on the report and shoot it in.”

  “Well,” I said, “that’s something.” I wished I had been outside so that I could have taken a deep breath. Or let out a yell. Just of pure relief.

  I didn’t care if I never got the money. I was going to have plenty without it.

  We talked until midnight about show business, and the war, and things in general. Finally I figured it was time for me to go.

  We shook hands. “Got any leads on the woman yet?” I said.

  “Oh, one or two, Joe. I’m expecting a break in the case any minute.”

  “Well, luck to you,” I said.

  “And to you, Joe. And, Joe—”

  “Yeah?” I said. He’d opened the door and I was standing halfway out in the hall.

  “Do yourself a favor. Do a little deep thinking about some of the stuff we’ve discussed here tonight. It may make you feel bad for a time, but you’ll profit by it in the long run. It’ll make it a hell of a lot easier for you to get along with yourself.”

  “You’re not telling me much,” I said.

  “It’s something you’ll have to see, Joe. Good night, and take it easy.”

  “I’ll do that,” I said.

  24

  The front of the building was dark, but I could see a faint light in the back. I tapped on the window and rattled the doorknob. And in a couple of minutes Andy Taylor came shuffling around from behind the screen that separates his so-called office from his living-quarters.

  I don’t know whether he’d been in bed or not. He still had his clothes on, but I’d always had the idea he slept with them on most of the time.

  “Kinda took your time about gettin’ here, didn’t you?” he said. “Come on in.”

  I followed him back to the rear of the building, and he put the coal-oil lamp he’d been carrying down on a packing-box. He didn’t have any real furniture. Just a cot and some boxes and a little monkey stove. I sat down on the cot.

  “So you decided to take me up,” he said. “Well, well.”

  He moved a dirty pie plate and a coffee cup off of one of the boxes and sat down across from me. The light from the lamp made his beard seem redder than usual. He looked like the devil with a hat on.

  “Not so fast,” I said. “Take you up on what?”

  “I don’t know, Joe. I don’t know.”

  “I got a burn on my hand,” I said, “that’s all. Anyone that works around electricity as much as I do is bound to get burned.”

  “Sure they are.”

  “Well?” I said.

  “You were willing to cancel the lease on the Bower.”

  “I was willing to do that, anyway. I’ve been thinking for a long time that I hadn’t treated you right on that lease.”

  “Yeah. I bet you did.”

  He rubbed his chin, looking straight into the flame from the lamp. For a minute I was afraid that I’d been too independent, that he wasn’t going to walk into the trap.

  Then he laughed, just with his mouth, and I knew everything was all right.

  All he needed was a little steering.

  “All right, Joe,” he said. “I ain’t got a thing on you. Not a thing. Why don’t you just get up and walk out of here?”

  “Okay,” I said. “I will.”

  I got up slow, brushing at my clothes, and turned toward the door. He watched me, the grin on his wrinkled old face getting wider and wider.

  “O’ course,” he said. “You know I’m going to tell Appleton about that burn.”

  “What for?” I said. “Why do you want to do that, Andy?”

  “What do you care? As long as it don’t mean nothing.”

  I shrugged and took a step toward the door. Then I let my face fall and I sank back down on the cot.

  I heaved a sigh. “Okay, Andy. You win.”

  He nodded, his eyes puzzled. “Thought I would,” he said. “Wonder why, though?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “That motor was in good condition. Elizabeth wouldn’t have been foolin’ around with it if it wasn’t. Not Elizabeth.”

  “No,” I said.

  “And we know the fire wasn’t set. There’s proof positive of that.”

  “No,” I said, “it wasn’t set.”

  “And you were in the city when it happened.”

  “That’s right. I was in the city.”

  “But there was something wrong, mighty wrong. So wrong that you’re willin’ to give me—how much are you willin’ to give me, Joe?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Make me an offer.”

  “Well, I’m short of cash right now. But I could give you part of the money from the insurance.”

  “Not part, Joe. All.”

  “But, Jesus,” I said. “All right, goddamnit. All!”

  He cackled and shook his head. “Huh-uh, Joe. I wouldn’t touch that money. How would it look for me to plunk twenty-five thousand in the bank after a deal like this? Huh-uh! I just wanted to get some idea of what it was worth to you for me to keep quiet. Some basis for tradin’.”

  “Well, now you’ve got it.”

  “Yeah, now I’ve got it. And you know what I’m goin’ to do with it, Joe? Somethin’ I’ve been wanting to do for years.”

  “Spit it out,” I said. “For God’s sake, you know I’ve got to come across. What is it you want?”

  “Nothing more than what you owe me, Joe. I had a good thing once, and you ruined it for me. Now I’m handin’ you back the ruins and takin’ your good thing.”

  I looked blank. “What the hell are you driving at?”

  “I’m makin’ you a swap, Joe. I’m going to give you the Bower for the Barclay.”

  You know, it was a funny thing. It was what I’d expected and wanted. It was what I’d been edging him toward from the start. But now that he’d fallen for it I didn’t have to pretend to be sore or surprised.


  It burned me up just as much as when I’d heard about Panzer moving in. It’s funny; maybe I can’t explain. But that show—that show—

  No, I can’t explain.

  I came to my senses after a minute, but I kept on cursing and arguing awhile to make it look good.

  “That’s not reasonable, Andy,” I said. “The Barclay’s a first-class house. The Bower’s just a rattrap.”

  “It wasn’t always a rattrap. Maybe you can build it back up again.”

  “Like hell. I see myself building the Bower up with the Barclay as competition.”

  “Oh, I ain’t no hog, Joe. I won’t shut you out. Prob’ly wouldn’t know how even if I wanted to.”

  “Why not do this, Andy,” I said. “We’ll be partners. I’ll run the business, and we’ll—”

  He let out another cackle.

  “Oh, no, we won’t, Joe! I’ve had a little experience running things on shares with you. The first thing I knowed I’d be out in the cold.”

  “But how’s it going to look,” I said, “to make a trade like that? I ain’t got any reputation for being crazy. People will know there’s something screwy about the deal.”

  “Now, you’re smarter’n that, Joe.” He shook his head. “They won’t know a thing more’n we tell ’em—and I reckon neither you or I is going to talk. We’ll make it a trade, plus other valuable considerations. Just like ninety-nine per cent of all real estate deals is made.”

  “But Appleton—”

  “Appleton’ll be gone from here when I take over. Like I said, Joe, I ain’t operatin’ no kind of business with you. You go ahead and operate the Barclay until the end of the season. I’ll take it then.”

  “Andy, can’t we—”

  “Yes or no, Joe?”

  “Oh, hell,” I said. “Yes!”

  He went up to the front and brought back some legal forms and his rickety old typewriter, and we finished the business then and there. We drew up a contract agreement to a transfer of deeds at the end of the season, and he gave me a check for a dollar and I gave him one, each carrying a notation as to what it was for.

  That made the deal airtight, even without witnesses. There was no way either of us could back out.

  I offered to shake hands as I was leaving, but he didn’t seem to notice. I let it pass. He’d feel a lot less like shaking hands when the end of the season came.

  It was about one in the morning, now. I debated going home and decided against it. It would save arguing and explaining, and, anyway, there wasn’t much time for sleep. I wanted to be in the city when the business offices opened in the morning.

  I went over to the show, got the clock out of the projection booth, and set the alarm for two hours away. I sat down in one of the loges, put the clock under the seat, and leaned back. The next thing I knew I was back as far as my memory went.

  With my mother, or the woman I guess was my mother. I was living it all over again.

  The big hand of the clock was pointing to twelve and the little one to six, and she was coming up the stairs, slow—slowly—like she always came; like she wasn’t sure where the top was. Then a key scratched against the lock, and finally it turned, and the door opened. And she tottered over to the bed and lay down and began to snore.

  She’d brought something in a sack with her, and she was half lying on it, and I had to squeeze and tug to get it. It was a piece of jelly roll and a hamburger, all squashed together, and I hogged it down. After that I felt through her pockets until I found the crisp green pieces of paper she always brought me; and I hid them in the bureau drawer with the others.

  Then it was morning, and she was gone again. I filled my tin cup with cornflakes and canned milk, and ate it. And I played with the green pieces of paper and looked out the window; and I ate a little more of the cornflakes and milk.

  The big hand of the clock pointed to twelve and the little one to six. It pointed to them, and passed them. I laughed about it, holding my hand over my mouth so no one would hear me.

  I was still laughing when I went to sleep.

  She was gone in the morning, but she was always gone in the morning. I ate some of the cornflakes and milk, and played with the green pieces of paper and looked out the window. And the big hand of the clock pointed to twelve and the little one to six, and—and—

  It was like a dream inside of a dream. I was chewing the wrapper inside the cornflakes box, and the tip of my tongue was cut where I’d tried to stick it through the little hole in the milk can, and the water pitcher was red from my licking. I wasn’t looking out the window any more. I was on the bed. I had been on the bed for a very long time, and the green pieces of paper were scattered all around me.

  Then, and then, it was another room, and a big fat woman with crossed eyes was holding me in her arms and rocking me.

  “Mommy? Sure, now, an’ we’ll get you a whole raft of ’em! I’ll be your mommy meself.”

  “My money! I got to have my money!”

  “An’ ain’t I the one to know it, now? Bring his bundle in, Mike— That mess of whisky labels…”

  The alarm clock went off, and I woke up. I went into the men’s lavatory and washed and headed for the city.

  25

  Sol Panzer didn’t make nearly as much fuss as you might have thought he would. He was on the spot and we both knew it, and he wasn’t the kind to cry.

  I was in his office at nine. By eleven, it was all over and I was on my way home.

  I got into Stoneville about dusk, stopped at the show, and ran up to the booth. Hap wasn’t there. Jimmie Nedry was running the machines.

  “How’s it going, Jimmie?” I said. “Giving Mr. Chance a relief?”

  “I guess so,” he said, not looking at me.

  “How soon will he be back, do you know?”

  “He ain’t coming back,” Jimmie said. “He’s taking the night off.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Well, I appreciate your working for him, Jimmie.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  He got kind of red in the face and moved over between the projectors. I could understand his being embarrassed. Unless he was a lot dumber than I thought he was, he probably knew that I knew what he’d been up to.

  I told him good night, just like we were the best pals in the world, and drove over to Hap’s hotel. He wasn’t there, either. I went on home.

  There was a big new black coupe standing in the yard. Hap’s, of course. I was plenty glad I’d swung that deal with Panzer. Hap had finished waiting.

  He was flopped down on the living-room lounge, a glass and a bottle of whisky at his side; and he had his shoes up on one of Elizabeth’s crocheted pillows. The ash tray was full and running over. There was a big circle of ashes and butts on the carpet.

  I looked at the mess, and then looked at him. He sat up slowly, grinning.

  “Well, laddie,” he said. “I get the impression that you’ve pulled a plum from the pudding—or, shall we say, a phoenix from the fire? Have a drink and tell me about it.”

  I forced a smile. “Sure, Hap. Where’s Carol?”

  “In her chambers, I believe. She doesn’t seem to be frightfully keen for my company.”

  “I wonder why?” I said.

  I went into the kitchen and brought back a glass and an old newspaper. I spread the paper under the ash tray and set the bottle on it after I’d poured our drinks.

  “Clever,” Hap nodded. “Too bad you’re not married. But give me the news, laddie, I’m all ears.”

  “You want it right from the beginning?”

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  “Well, right from the start,” I said, “I heard that Sol wanted my lot. As soon as I learned that he was moving in, I heard that he was going to take me over. At the exchanges. From you. Everywhere I went. Then, yesterday, just to clinch matters, he drove out here to see me and offered five grand for the lot. He told me he’d give me five to clear out at the end of the season, or I could be stubborn and he’d run me out.”


  I paused to sip my drink. Hap began to frown.

  “He can do it, laddie. Little Sol can take your shirt and charge you interest for wearing it.”

  “Sure he could.”

  “So this is the old build-up, eh? The easy letdown. All you’ve got is a measly five grand.”

  “Nothing like it,” I said. “I didn’t sell. Sol doesn’t want my lot.”

  “You said he offered you five yards for it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But he doesn’t want it?”

  “Of course, he doesn’t.”

  Chance leaned back on the lounge again. He tapped his forehead. “Feeble, laddie. Humor me.”

  “What would Panzer want with my lot?”

  “What would he want with it? Well, fantastic as the idea seems I suppose he’d erect a house on it. There’s nothing like the site of an old show for a new one. People are used to the location, and—”

  “And,” I said, “it’s one hundred and three feet from the sidewalk to the alley. No matter how you work it, you can’t get much more than a ninety-foot shot from the projection booth to the screen.”

  Hap blinked. “Lord lummie!” he whispered. “Comes the dawn— But wait a minute! Maybe he intends to pitch his floor in reverse and put the projectors below the screen.”

  “That still wouldn’t give him enough room. Not for a million bucks’ worth of house. A million that’s got to look like two million.”

  “But, laddie”—Hap waved his hands—“it’s fantastic!”

  “Call it anything you want, that’s the way it is. There’s width and to spare, but not depth. You see how it was, Hap? Sol was using the old magician’s trick of misdirection. When I was told that he wanted my lot, over and over, I and everyone else assumed that he did. It never occurred to me to question the fact. Or if I had any idea that it was a little screwy, I brushed it aside. Sol knew what he was doing. He had to know.

  “But he got a little too anxious. Too anxious in one way and not enough in another. When he thought that I was convinced, when he believed I was ready to take the five grand, he agreed to let the deal hang fire. I knew, then, that he didn’t want my lot. He was misdirecting me. He was doing it because he didn’t have the lot sewed up that he did want.”