Black Mask (Vol. 33, No. 3 — September 1949)

Back Door to Hell by James Hall

Pleasure-hunting Reba got tired of waiting for week-ends to see Joe — and went looking for another soft-touch.

It began one of those warm evenings in early May. I was at the bar of The Club Click and had just picked up my old-fashioned. Then I stopped with the glass half-way to my mouth. Across the bar Reba was staring at me. No doubt about it... it was Reba! The same honey-colored hair, swept into a casual looseness, framing her round face. The same blue eyes, narrowed and calculating, with that one eyebrow raised questioningly. The same full lips, slightly parted and slightly scornful.

The years rolled away quickly and I was right back where I had been when she walked out of my life.

“I’ve got no time for small potatoes, Joe,” she had said with her hand on the door. “I’m going places.”

“Have a good time, baby,” I’d told her.

I didn’t think she would go, but she did. In the three years that had passed I thought I’d gotten over Reba. Now, as I set my glass carefully on the bar, I knew that I hadn’t.

I rose, slowly. “George, excuse me a minute.”

George Preston’s handsome face broke into a wide grin and his dark head nodded. “I saw her, too.”

“Sure, but I saw her first!”

If it hadn’t been for George I wouldn’t have been at The Club Click. It just isn’t the kind of place you walk into unless you have some dough to toss around, even if you can still dress the part. George and I had known each other a long time. But George had gotten some breaks that I hadn’t. Or maybe he’d made some breaks that I hadn’t.

Beneath that soft, playboy exterior he was as hard as nails. He knew what he wanted — and got it. What he’d wanted wasn’t quite as green as grass, but it could buy a lot more. Now he was head of the tri-state Preston Trucking Company.

I edged my way over to the other side of the bar. “Hello,” I said.

“Well, Joe Adams!”

“Good to see you again, Reba.”

I climbed on the stool beside her as she drained her glass. “Buy you a drink?”

She turned her eyes full on me.

“For old time’s sake,” I said.

She shrugged. “Why not?”

When the fresh drinks were in front of us I tried again. “I hear you married money, Reba.”

That funny eyebrow went a little higher. “Things get around.”

“Don’t they though. Is your husband with you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Sometimes, Joe, it’s just as boring being married to money as it is to tag along with a guy that’ll never have any.

“Especially,” she continued, “if you can’t get your hands on any of it.”

“Oh? Who is he?”

“Charles Jaxon.”

Uh-oh! Old Charlie Jaxon, of Jaxon and Durant, king of the baby food industry. “Should I say congratulations, Mrs. Jaxon?”

“Don’t bother!”

I let it go. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Anybody that isn’t old enough to be my father and doesn’t have arthritis could help.”

You should have decided that before, baby, I thought. “The description fits me,” I said.

She glanced at me out of the corners of her eyes. “You mean that?”

“Sure.”

“I thought you might be sore?”

“About walking out on me? That was yesterday. This is tonight.”

She tossed off her highball as though it were water. “My car’s outside.” One tapered, nylon-smooth leg stretched out as she turned to slid off the stool.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Miles away from town she turned down a short dirt road and halted the car. The lights of the city were spread below us like so many winking fireflies. In the distance could be heard the crashing roar of the surf. Reba edged away from the wheel, toward me.

Her face glowed momentarily in the shadow as she drew on her cigarette. “I like seeing you again, Joe.”

I nestled her against me. “Reba, don’t leave me again.”

I twisted her shoulders until I could look into her eyes, lazy now and half-open. “You hear me?”

“I hear you, Joe.”

“When am I going to see you?”

“I — don’t — know.” She straightened slowly.

“Let’s make it soon.”

She flicked her cigarette through the open window and her voice was bitter. “You don’t know what it’s been like, Joe, being married to him. All bent over, the way he is. Why sometimes I have to help him or he couldn’t get around at all. He’s never without his cane anymore.

“And nag — he’s always nagging me! ‘Where have you been, Reba? What did you spend that for, Reba? Why don’t you stay with me, Reba. I can’t stand you being away from me, Reba. No, Reba, I can’t afford to give you anymore money — I’m an old man — I can’t tell when I’ll need my money.’ And he’s got plenty, Joe! Plenty!

“He still owns half that business. He’s got a stack of bonds a mile high and a bankful of cash. Yet he treats me as though he hadn’t a dime. He won’t even move out of that business-woman’s-club section where we live. The old fool! I wish he was dead!”

“And what if he was dead?” I asked softly.

She flung herself against me. “Oh, Joe, if he was, I’d have everything, I’ve always wanted. I’d—” She gazed up at me. “Then there’d be just you and me, Joe. Nobody else in the whole wide world, but you — and me.”

I’m not sure how long she’d been thinking about murder or how long she’d been looking for a sucker; but that night when I walked back into her life, I was it!...

The next morning I was awakened by the ringing telephone.

“Hello,” I said.

“Joe? George Preston. You said something about looking for a good spot.”

I had, but not the way he put it. I’d hit George for a job.

“That’s right,” I said.

“Well, I think I know just the spot for you. I can take care of it — if you’ll give me the name and phone number of the gal you walked out of The Click with last night.”

“Hey, wait a minute, that’s blackmail.”

“Well?”

“Sorry, George, I’ve known this one a long, long time.”

“So it’s that way?” He laughed. “Okay, Joe, you stop over at the office today sometime and we’ll talk about that job.”

I hung up the phone and crawled out of bed. By the time I’d finished dressing the phone rang again. This time it was Reba.

“I don’t think I can make it tonight?”

I swallowed my disappointment. “Try, baby.”

“I will, but it doesn’t look like it. He’d raise the roof if I took the car out again tonight. How about tomorrow night?”

“I might not be around that long.”

“Not running out on your hotel bill are you?”

“No, that’s paid.”

“Not running out on me, are you?”

“Nothing like that. George Preston, a fellow I know, might have a job for me. If he doesn’t, I can’t afford to hang around.”

“Oh.” She paused so long I thought she’d hung up. “Maybe I can make it tonight, Joe. Where will it be?”

“How about here?”

“Why not? About eight?”

“Suits me,” I answered.

“Did you get the job?” she asked, when she arrived.

“I did, and a company car to go with it.”

“That’s swell, Joe. Now you can stick around.”

I laughed ruefully. “I don’t know. What I mean is — I won’t be in town very much.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You see, the new job is sales representative for Preston Trucking Company. I cover the whole state, contacting clients, routing trucks and things like that. So I’ll only be here Wednesdays and over the week-end.”

“Well, at least, you’ll be here?”

“That’s right.”

“And we can get together once in awhile.”

“Every day I’m here, baby, if you can make it.”

She rose. “Which reminds me, I’d better be getting back.”

“So soon?”

“Sorry, darling. Next time we’ll plan to spend the entire evening together.”

I drove Reba out to a neat, white house on Sherman Drive. I watched her start up the steps and I drove away. When I reentered my hotel room, the phone was ringing.

“Hello.”

“Joe?” It was Reba and her voice was low, viberating with urgency.

“Yeah.”

“Joe! Listen to me! Something’s happened.”

“What... what’s wrong?”

“It’s Charles. He fell down the stairs while I was out. He — he’s dead! If anyone should happen to ask you, I wasn’t with you this evening.”

“No?”

“It might not look so good.”

“Why should anyone ask me?”

“Because I want you to come out here right away. I’m going to call the doctor now. But the way I’ll tell it — I called the doctor first, then you. You’re an old friend of mine.”

“But—”

“It’s natural that I’d call someone!”

“How about the neighbors?”

“I don’t know any of them well enough. I’d call a friend — I called you!”

The receiver clicked sharply in my ear. I turned slowly, my mind a jumble of confusion. I didn’t like it, but Reba wanted me right away! Hurriedly I descended the two flights of stairs and strode out to the parking lot.

It took me ten minutes to return to the white house on Sherman drive. The windows were blazing with lights now. Reba opened the door and I paused on the threshold. Charles Jaxon’s twisted body lay face down at the foot of the stairs.

“Are you sure he’s dead?”

“I’m sure.”

I stared at her. “You found him just like that when you came in?”

“Just like that.”

“Didn’t you touch him?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know he’s dead?”

Her gaze moved from mine to the body of her husband and bade again. “He looks dead!”

“Turn him over.”

She stood woodenly.

“Turn him over! Regardless of how you might feel, it would look damned funny if you just walked in here, saw him like that, and called a doctor.”

“But I didn’t walk in here. I haven’t been out of the house.”

“All the more reason. You hear him fall, run in here, try to help him, turn him over, then call for help.”

Quickly she moved forward to drop on her knees. She lifted the dead man’s thin shoulders and rolled him face up. She glanced at me and I nodded. As she rose she dug a finger nail into her stocking. A beautiful run spread over her knee.

“His cane!” I exclaimed.

“What?”

“You told me he was never without his cane anymore. Where’s his cane?”

The eyebrow twitched and her eyes bored into mine. “Oh, that’s right,” she said slowly, deliberately. “He should have his cane.”

And now I knew! Of course, I should have known before, but this time she didn’t even pretend. I heard her rapid steps mounting the stairs and crossing the hall. I heard the cane hit the top step and clatter down to rest against Charles Jaxon’s legs. I heard a car door slam out in the street.

Reba opened the door for the doctor. I helped him carry the body to the living room sofa.

He made a brief, thorough examination, then I called a prominent undertaking firm. By 11 o’clock we were alone in the, hallway.

“Joe.” Her eyes were wide and pleading.

“Yes?”

“I... I— Are you going?”

“I can’t stay here.”

“No.” She hesitated. “You’ll see me through this, won’t you?”

“Sure.” A choking nausea hung in my throat.

“It was an accident. You know that don’t you?”

I didn’t even try to answer that one.

“I swear it was! When I came in he was just lying there. Maybe it didn’t look that way to you, but that’s the way it was.”

I could be wrong. It could have been an accident. “I’d better go. Reba.”

She clung to my arm. “You’ve got to believe me! It might just be the break we’ve been waiting for — if everything works out.”

But things didn’t work out.

First, there was a guy named Chambers. I opened the door when he knocked. He was middle-aged, well-groomed and very polite.

“Mr. Adams?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to talk to you a few minutes.”

I hesitated.

“I’m from police headquarters.”

“Oh.” I stepped aside.

He dropped into my only chair and removed his hat. “Sure hot.”

“Yes, it is.” I perched on the edge of the bed.

“We’ve been trying to see you for a couple of days, Mr. Adams, but you were always out.”

“I’ve been down state. I’m a sales representative for Preston Trucking Company.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Is — anything wrong?”

“Well, no. We’re just trying to clean up some old files.” He smiled blandly.

“I see.” But I didn’t.

He pulled out a notebook and leafed through it casually. “Oh, here it is — the accident on Charles Jaxon.”

My heart nose-dived to my stomach.

“You don’t mind answering a few routine questions, do you?”

“No indeed.”

“All right.” He glanced at the notebook again. “You were the first one to arrive after the accident. I believe.”

“Yes, after Reba—” I almost stopped there, “Mrs. Jaxon called.”

“And she called you because you were a close friend?”

“Yes.”

“Yet you’ve only been in town four days.”

“I don’t believe she had any friends here. I’ve known her for a long time — before she was married.”

“Quite natural,” he nodded. “Now would you describe the scene for me.”

“The scene?”

“Yes, the position of the body and so on.”

“Oh. Well, I went in and he was lying at the foot of the stairs.”

“How?”

“How. Why sort of on his back — face up.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Oh, his cane was beside him.”

“Beside him, Mr. Adams?”

“Now that you mention it, no. It was resting against his legs.” And it shouldn’t have been! It should have been under him or beyond, anyplace but where it was.

“I see. You have a good eye for detail.”

I didn’t say anything. I’d said too much already.

“Can you describe Mrs. Jaxon’s appearance, Mr. Adams?”

“You mean how she was dressed?”

“Well, partly. Was she overwrought?”

“No,” I answered slowly.

“Didn’t that strike you as strange?”

“Well, she was white and sort of tense, but I think she was expecting something like that to happen.”

“Really.”

“Not in that way, of course.” Everything I said seemed to be wrong.

“I see. You mentioned the way she was dressed. Anything odd about it?”

“No. Except she had a large runner in one stocking.”

“Ah. Wonder what caused that?”

“I... I don’t know?”

“Possibly when she ran in to help her husband, she dropped quickly to the floor, and the strain—”

“Possibly.”

“Can you tell me how she was dressed, Mr. Adams?”

“Why she was fully dressed.”

“Yes, of course. Like she’d been out or was going out?”

“Well — I suppose so.”

“Do you remember any details of her clothing?”

I didn’t. I tried, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember what she had been wearing. “No,” I said, realizing numbly that nothing I’d said would help Reba’s case any.

“No? You’re sure?” He closed the notebook. “Funny the things a man will notice at a time like that — the things that stick in his memory.” He rose. “Well, thanks, Mr. Adams. We wouldn’t have bothered you except we like to get the views of an outsider — a disinterested party, like yourself.”

I watched him go down the hall, but he left a gnawing fear behind him as he went.

Reba told me about the second thing that didn’t work out. That was Charles Jaxon’s will.

“You mean he cut you out entirely?”

“He might as well have. I am to receive five hundred dollars to take care of expenses.”

“Then who—?”

“The business was incorporated. I can’t touch it. Everything else he had goes to a cousin in some tank town in Maryland.”

“But you have dower rights.”

“Only in real property.”

“Well?”

“There isn’t any. Even the house was rented.”

“Can’t you contest the will?”

“I’ve seen a lawyer. There isn’t a chance of breaking it — not in this state.”

“How about insurance?”

“Charles didn’t believe in that. He had one small policy, just enough to cover his funeral expenses.”

“So you get nothing.”

“Nothing except the car, that was in my name, and my clothes.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll have to start over — somewhere.”

I swung her around to face me. “Reba, we could get married.”

“Joe!”

“I mean it.”

“Oh, Joe.”

“After this all blows over.”

“What do you mean — blows over?”

I told her about Chambers.

“So?” she said. “There is nothing he can pin on me.”

“No,” I answered, my earlier suspicions fading away. Besides they say love is blind. “I guess not.”

“Anyway, I don’t even have a motive.”

Maybe that’s the reason Chambers never came back to see me — because the way the will read Reba didn’t have a motive.

The third reason that things didn’t work out took longer to show.

We figured that six months would be a decent interval to wait before getting married. In the meantime Reba moved into my hotel. That way it was easier for us to be together when I was in town.

Saturday morning, seven weeks after I started working for Preston Trucking Company, George called me into his office. He congratulated me on doing a good job and he gave me a nice raise. He also invited me to his home for dinner. I asked him if I could bring a friend — which was a mistake.

The dinner was excellent. George was a friendly, charming host and Reba was — well, she was just Reba.

“He’s awfully nice,” she told me on the way home.

“Yeah. George is a good guy. He came right up from the bottom. And he won’t rest on his present laurels either. He’ll keep going up. Someday George Preston will be a millionaire.”

I guess that started her thinking.

Tuesday night I got in from the road a little earlier than usual. By the time I’d showered and changed it was only 11 o’clock. I thought maybe Reba would like to go out for a drink. I called her room, but she didn’t answer.

As long as I was dressed, I decided to pick up a quick one anyway. I headed for the corner tap room and half-way down the street George Preston drove by. I saw him and it didn’t mean a thing. I had a double scotch, then went back to the hotel. For want of something better to do I called Reba’s room again. This time she answered.

“Oh, hello, Joe. Did you call before?”

“Yeah.”

“I was asleep.”

“All right if I come down?”

“Oh, Joe. Not tonight. I’m dead.”

“Okay, honey. How about lunch tomorrow?”

“Fine.”

“I’ll call you from the office.”

But when I called, Reba had a headache and didn’t feel like going out. I postponed my own lunch to finish okaying some invoices, and when I did go out, I decided to try a new place on the next block. In the entrance way I halted... and I never got any further. I suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore.

Reba was there in a secluded booth. A man was with her and they were snuggled up closer than quarter after three. I couldn’t see who the guy was and I didn’t try. I just wanted to get the hell out of there!

I didn’t say anything to her that night because I didn’t know what to say, but I made it a point to get in early Friday evening. As soon as I reached my room, I dialed her number. No answer. I smoked a lot of cigarettes and tried again about every fifteen minutes. At 11:30, she answered.

“Where have you been?” I demanded.

“To a movie. What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been trying to get you for hours.”

“I’m sorry, Joe. If I’d known you’d be in early—”

“I’m coming down. I want to see you.”

“Look, Joe, I’m beat.”

I slapped the receiver against her ear and hot-footed it to her room. I didn’t have to see the evening dress to know she was lying like a taxi meter.

“So you been to the movies! Was it formal?”

Her eyes were narrow and her lips had that scornful twist. “So I wasn’t at the movies.”

“Where were you then?”

“Out.” Her voice was flat, final.

“Now listen to me, Reba—”

“You listen to me! A gentleman invites me out. I go out. I have a nice time. Then I have to come back to this. What do you expect me to do — just sit around and bite my nails, waiting for Wednesday and Saturday nights? You don’t have any ball and chain on me.”

“Maybe not, baby, but I’ve got plenty on you without that.”

“Like what?”

“Like pushing an old man downstairs!”

She stared. “You don’t think you could get away with it, do you?”

“I might, if I gave the cops the full story.”

“And what would that make you?”

Now it was my turn to stare.

“An accessory, Joe! An accessory on a murder charge!” She cocked that eyebrow and her lips twitched. “I might even be able to convince a jury that you handled the whole job!”

And she might! If a face and figure would sway a jury, Reba could do it.

“You’d better go back to your room, Joe, and think it over.”

That’s the way everything was at 5 o’clock Tuesday afternoon. It was then that I was tipped-off that all the truck drivers were going on strike at noon the next day.

I tried to get George Preston at home, but he didn’t answer. I was downstate, but I made it back to town in three hours. I drove right out to George’s place. With one foot on the sidewalk, I paused. Reba’s car was in the driveway!

I dressed carefully the next morning and ate a leisurely breakfast. On my way to see Reba, I made a quick stop at my own room. A few minutes later I was tapping on her door.

“Oh, Joe. Come in.”

She was seated in front of the mirror, brushing that long honey-colored hair. I looked at her, and I didn’t feel a thing. I was all dead inside — just as dead as she was going to be.

“You didn’t call me last night.”

“You weren’t in, anyway, were you?”

“No.”

“Movies again?”

“Look, Joe, our arrangement doesn’t seem to be working out.”

“Have you worked out a better one?”

She kept on brushing.

“With Preston?”

“So now you know?”

“Yeah, now I know.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

Maybe I wouldn’t actually have done anything. Maybe I would have lost my nerve. But she had to keep talking!

“I told you once before I didn’t have time for small potatoes. I’m leaving you again, Joe, and this time it’s for good. Of course, if I ever need another sucker—” And she laughed!

I moved forward one step, snaking the .32 out of my coat pocket. I placed the barrel against the back of her head and closed my eyes. Then I pulled the trigger.