Masters of Noir: Volume Two Read online

  "A bit of chocolates,” I said to him. “Sent from San Diego, California, to the Vandam Nursing Home. Just an innocent box of chocolates."

  The words hit him like a physical blow. I could read the look of doom in his suddenly transformed face.

  For a moment he stood rigid, the muscles pulling his face out of shape, and then he spun away from me toward a kitchenette at the rear. He had the bread knife out before I could grab him. He brandished it aloft, like a hammer in his fist.

  Grace's hands flew to her mouth, plugging up the scream which was forcing itself out.

  I backed slowly away, talking to him.

  "A box of chocolates,” I said. “You sent them to Mrs. Larsen, spiked with arsenic."

  He didn't speak. His eyes were live coals, searing with hate. He stood motionless, the long steel saw-toothed blade glittering under the light.

  "California has a community property law,” I said. “Each spouse is entitled to half the property. You knew that Grace was planning to get a divorce, and you poisoned her aunt so she would inherit without delay. But Vandam crossed you up. He kept the death a secret."

  Charles Denney moved then. He sprang forward and the knife made a flashing arc that would have laid me open like a side of beef.

  I threw myself sideways and felt a burning flame along my arm. I stumbled and fell and rolled over on my back. Denney was over me now, breathing hoarsely, nothing human in his eyes. He raised the blade for a final thrust. But he waited a second too long.

  My feet caught him at the pit of the stomach, with all the leverage of the powerful muscles a man has in his thighs.

  Denney went up in the air and flew backward, crashing against the wall. I scrambled to my feet and reached him in a single jump. His eyes were glazed and I picked one up from the basement and threw it at him with all the strength I had. I never threw anything harder.

  It nailed him along the side of his jaw and he toppled over with a grunt and lay still.

  I kicked the knife away. “It's all over,” I told Grace. “Take it easy."

  But she had no intention of fainting. “Shall I call the police?"

  "If you please."

  It took almost an hour to set them straight on the story. When they finally released us, I took Grace's arm and led her out to the elevator.

  "Have I earned a fee?"

  "You certainly have,” she said emphatically.

  "Okay. I'm taking you home to collect."

  I felt pretty good. I didn't even get mad when I found a cop downstairs writing out a parking ticket for my Buick.

  I merely asked him to hurry.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  SOMEBODY'S GOING TO DIE by TALMAGE POWELL

  I'm afraid to go home tonight.

  I'll go, of course. To a modern, lovely house on Coquina Beach overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. The beach is not the habitat of paupers.

  A singularly beautiful and devoted woman waits for me there. Doreen. My wife.

  We are ringleaders in a smart cocktail set. We get special service whenever we go into a beach restaurant. Everything has worked perfectly. No one on the beach suspects how we came into our money.

  To an outsider I might well be a person to envy. Yet I would give five years of my life if I could escape going home tonight.

  Doreen was unaware of the jam I was in when we went on that hunting trip together six months back. We had been married only a few weeks at the time, after getting acquainted during a business trip I took to Atlanta.

  She was still pretty much of a stranger to me, and she was such an intense person I didn't know how she would take the news.

  We'd had a wonderful time on the trip. Few women would have taken the dark, tangled swamp, the south Georgia heat as Doreen had. Snakes, alligators, they didn't faze her. Neither had the panther.

  We were in Okeefanokee hunting deer. I'd struck the panther's spoor in late afternoon. I'd wanted Doreen to turn back, but she'd looked at me strangely.

  "Enos,” she said, “I never suspected you'd be afraid of anything. You're big, ugly, direct, blunt, hardheaded, cruel—or is that only a front?” She finished with a short laugh, but there was a seriousness beneath her words.

  "I'm not afraid for myself,” I said.

  "Then never be afraid for me,” she said excitedly. “Come on, Enos, I want to see you get this cat."

  I jumped the cat twenty minutes later. As it came out of a clump of palmetto and saw grass I put a 30-30 slug in her. My aim was a trifle high. The panther screamed, pinwheeled in the air, and came at me, a crazed mass of fury and hatred.

  Doreen stood her ground and waited for me to shoot the cat. When the beast lay still and prone, it was I who had to wipe sweat from my face.

  Doreen walked to the cat slowly. Blood on the animal's hide was already beginning to draw flies and gnats.

  "See, Enos,” Doreen said, “some of it is still pumping out of her, the hot, red life. Wasn't she beautiful in death?"

  I shivered. “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah. Let's get back to camp."

  We returned to camp and Doreen cooked our supper. Rabbit on a wooden spit and sourdough biscuits.

  When we had eaten, we retired to our tent behind mosquito netting. Around us the swamp was coming to life. Its music was a symphony with tones ranging from the shrill of crickets to the basso of the frogs. The swamp rustled and sighed and screamed occasionally.

  Doreen slipped into my arms. “You were wonderful with the cat today, Enos."

  Thinking of it, her breath quickened and I could feel her heart beating against me.

  "I've shot ‘em before,” I said.

  She pulled my chin around with her thumb and forefinger. “I don't interest you a bit at the moment, Enos,” she stated. “What's bothering you?"

  "A business detail. Nothing for you to worry about."

  "I'm your wife,” she said. “Tell me."

  "All right,” I said looking directly into her eyes. They were large and dark. In the dim light of the lantern her pupils were dilated and as black as the glossy midnight color of her hair.

  "I'm in trouble,” I added after a moment. “Serious trouble. I might even be yanked into prison."

  "Why?"

  "I've taken some money that doesn't belong to me."

  "From whom?"

  "Sam Fickens."

  "Your business partner,” she said.

  "That's right. You know we've been spending at a heavy clip, Doreen. The house was costly. A good buy, you don't find many old colonials on an estate any more. But costly."

  "You're sorry, Enos?"

  "I'm not sorry for a thing,” I said. “Except that money ran short. Sam and I had this deal with the Birmingham company coming up. My share would cover the shortage. But the deal blew up. And Sam discovered the shortage the day before you and I left on this trip. He told me to go ahead and take the trip—and use it to figure out whether I want to make him sole owner of the company or spend a few years in prison."

  "Why, the dirty snake,” Doreen said, not without a degree of admiration in her voice. “It's nothing short of blackmail."

  "True."

  "You're not going to let him get away with it, are you?"

  "What can I do?"

  She looked at me oddly. “You're asking me. You, a man, asking a woman?"

  I colored a little. “I told you not to worry your head with it. I'll figure something out."

  She lay back on her cot. I smoked a cigarette. I was lighting a second from it when she said, “Enos?"

  "Yes?"

  "If anything happened to Sam what would happen to the business?"

  "I'd get his share. It's not an unusual partnership arrangement."

  "Well, you didn't hesitate when that cat was coming after you this afternoon, did you?"

  I went cold under the muggy sweat on my body. “You mean kill Sam."

  "You've killed before, haven't you?"

  "That was war."

  "This is too. What's the differ
ence? A stranger with a yellow skin is out to kill you in a jungle. You kill him first. Everybody says wonderful, good guy, well done. Now a man is hunting you in a jungle of sorts—and with dirty weapons. You owe it to both of us to protect yourself."

  "The difference is in a little thing called the law, Doreen."

  She threw back her head and laughed, raised on her elbows and sat looking at me until I glanced away.

  Then she turned on her side away from me. “I really thought I'd married a man with guts, Enos.” She sounded genuinely hurt, disappointed. And I'd been afraid of how she would react to the news that I'd embezzled some money.

  I turned in, but I didn't sleep. I lay there listening to the swamp, aware of her an arm's length away.

  Finally I said, “How would you go about it?"

  "How'd you know I wasn't asleep, Enos?"

  "I could tell. I asked you a question."

  "Well, I'd do it with witnesses. Then I'd call the law, hand over the gun, and stand trial. That way, when you walk out of the courtroom, a free man, there can never be any kickbacks."

  "Just like that, huh? I'm going to confess to a murder and get off scot free?"

  She sat up and turned to face me. Her face had changed. It was as if the angles and bones had shifted to form new shadows. She laughed, soft and low.

  "'Who said anything about murder, Enos? You know your people here in south Georgia. You know their code, the way they live, their outlook. Do you think a jury of such men will condemn another man for protecting the sanctity of his home?"

  I wanted to tell her to stop talking right now. I didn't want to think about killing Sam. He was a hard, greedy cookie without much mercy in his makeup, but he ... Well, he had me in a corner.

  He would use any weapon at hand. He'd proved that.

  I'd worked hard. My part of the business was worth plenty. Sam was a swine, grabbing his chance to take it all.

  It was really his fault. He was leaving me no out. He knew I wouldn't face prison.

  He'd asked for it....

  He wasn't in the office the day I got back to Mulberry. It was four o'clock before he came in. I heard him in the outer office talking to Miss Sims, our secretary, and then the door of our private office opened to admit him.

  "Hello, Enos. Sims said you were back."

  He was a big, florid, meaty man. Meaty lips, hands, nose. His brows and hair were pale red. Sims had said he'd been out to the turpentine fields all day inspecting a new lease.

  "How does the lease look?” I asked.

  He gave me a smug grin. “You think the lease really concerns you, Enos?"

  I studied his face. All I could see was a man gloating. “I'd hoped you'd softened your attitude, Sam."

  His laugh was his reply.

  "You know I can make that few thousand up in a matter of weeks, Sam. We've been in business ... “

  "And business is business, Enos.” A sneer came into his eyes. “You should have thought of that. I needed a partner when we started this company."

  "And you don't now?"

  "Not a stinking crook. No, I don't need that kind of partner.” He sat down behind his desk. “What'll it be, Enos? Sign the papers? Or go to jail?"

  "I don't hanker to be locked up, Sam."

  "No,” he said acidly. “I was sure you wouldn't. You're too great a lover of life for that, too much the gladhanded popularity guy."

  It struck me that he hated me, had always hated me. To him, in this case, business was going to be a pleasure.

  "I'll make one last appeal, Sam ... “

  "Save it. I've said all I'm going to."

  "But I'll say it anyhow. You know what my portion of the company is worth. Many times the few thousand I borrowed ... “

  "Stole, Enos, that's the word."

  I drew in a breath while he sat and watched me and enjoyed himself.

  "Well,” I said. “Surely you could pay a few thousand more ... “

  "You've had every dime you're going to get for your share, Enos. That's it. Now make up your mind. We either have the papers signed before noon tomorrow or I'm swearing out a warrant."

  I sat and looked at him for a minute. But I didn't need to make a decision. It had been made all ready. It was seething in my blood and flashing hotly across my brain.

  "Have you mentioned any of this to another living soul?” I asked.

  "No."

  "If I make this sacrifice,” I said, “I'll be doing it to keep my name absolutely clean."

  "I know that,” he said. “I know it's my lever, my weapon, Enos. Made up your mind?"

  I stood and nodded. “Come out to the house tonight. About eight. I have an errand to do, but Doreen will be there. You can chin with her if I'm late. Have a drink, if you like. I guess we might as well settle this with as little rancor as possible."

  "That's sensible talk, Enos. I'm glad you're taking it this well."

  "What can I do?"

  "Not a damn thing,” he said in huge enjoyment. “Don't worry. I'll be there. Waiting for you."

  Early that evening I drove over to Macon to see a cousin who had been ill for some time. He was surprised and glad to see me. We made small talk for an hour or so. Business. My marriage. The weather. I left with a promise that I'd bring Doreen and we'd have a real old-fashioned Georgia watermelon cutting sometime soon.

  I was back in Mulberry by nine-thirty. Driving through the elm and maple-lined back streets in the darkness I felt tension building in me. There was a thickness in my throat and a tingling in the tips of my fingers. The large, old houses, set beyond wide lawns, were peaceful, serene.

  At the edge of town I turned left, picked up the sideroad that ran to The Willows, the fine old place I'd bought for Doreen.

  I drove down the dark tunnel with weeping willows on either side. Then my headlights picked up the house, the wide veranda, the white columns. A portion of the downstairs was lighted.

  I parked in the driveway beside the house, cut the lights, opened the glove compartment, and transferred the .38 revolver to the side pocket of my coat.

  I found Sam and Doreen in the front parlor of the house. A pig about everything, Sam had partaken well of the brandy from the bottle on the sideboard.

  His eyes were heavy-lidded, his face reddish purple with blood. He looked up at me and grinned. “You took long enough, Enos."

  "But I'm here now,” I said. “Everything all set, I suppose.” Doreen had risen to stand behind Sam. She nodded. Sam said everything was set. His words meant nothing. Her nod was what interested me.

  Only minutes of life remained to Sam now. I tried to keep from thinking about it. My knees were weak, and my mouth was so dry I wondered if I could get the next words out.

  "Okay,” I said. “Come on and we'll get it over with."

  Doreen started from the room. Her eyes were glinting as if sheened with satin.

  Sam sat a moment, shrugged, and got up.

  We went down a corridor. Doreen opened a door on a dark room.

  We entered and I heeled the door closed. I palmed the gun and pulled it out of my pocket.

  Doreen switched on the light.

  Sam started. “Hell, this isn't an office or a den—it's a bedroom!"

  I heard Doreen breathing. “That's right, Sam,” she said softly.

  He turned to look at her, and I let him have it. Another five seconds and the last of my nerve would have been gone. I had to do it then.

  The bullet hit him in the left temple, ranged upward, and left a hole the size of a half dollar when it came out of his skull.

  And yet he didn't die immediately. He lived for perhaps five seconds. He twitched, the breath rattled in his throat. He half-turned himself on the carpet where he lay. Then he was dead.

  Doreen had watched every bit of it. She was half-kneeling, to watch the final flick of light fade from his face. She rose, and in her face and eyes was a rapt expression.

  I felt like shaking at her, yelling at her.

  She tur
ned her face toward me, her eyes trying to focus through the fever in them. She didn't seem to know where she was for a moment. Then she started laughing, low and soft.

  "Cut it out!” I said. “Doreen—stop it!"

  She brushed her glossy hair away from her temples with both hands. “Hello, Enos. Dear Enos. I feel higher than the proverbial Georgia pine right now. Did you see it, the way death came creeping over him? He fought, Enos. Every cell of him wanted to live. But we had that power over him, didn't we? The power to smash the life out of him ... “

  This was the worst moment yet. I felt sweat running down the sides of my face.

  I grabbed her by the shoulder and slapped her across the cheek. She didn't seem to feel the blow, but her eyes cleared a little.

  "There's still a lot to be done,” I said. “We haven't much time."

  I ripped her blouse across the shoulder and struck her again so that my finger marks were on her cheek. Doreen said nothing.

  "I've got to make the phone call now,” I said. “Sure you're okay?"

  She nodded. “Give me a cigarette."

  I gave her a cigarette. “Come on,” I said.

  She was still looking at Sam over her shoulder as I pulled her from the room.

  In the front parlor, I steadied myself and dialed Dolph Crowder's number.

  The sheriff answered on the second ring.

  "Dolph,” I said, “this is Enos Mavery. I think you better come out to The Willows right away."

  "What's the trouble, Enos?"

  "I've just shot and killed Sam Fickens."

  I heard him take an explosive breath. Then he said in a tight but quiet tone, “I'll be there in five minutes."

  He was as good as his word. In five minutes he was pounding on the front door. I had used the time to burn and flush into non-existence the papers Sam had brought with him tonight, the papers giving him full control of the company.

  I gave Doreen a glance. Her eyes were clear now, her face composed.

  I opened the front door just as Dolph started to knock again. He was a thin, long-faced man. Ice blue eyes. Long, sharp nose, razor keen jaw.

  "Where is he, Enos?"

  "In my wife's bedroom,” I said. “Here's the gun."

  I handed him the revolver. He looked at it, sniffed at it, dropped it in his pocket and stepped into the hallway. He nodded a greeting to Doreen, not missing the finger marks on her face, the tear in her blouse.