Masters of Noir: Volume 2

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 difference? 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 turned 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.

“Which way?” he asked.

“I’ll show you,” I said. Doreen started with us. “You stay here,” I told her.

“Enos, I...”

“Stay here!” I didn’t know exactly why. But I didn’t want her to look at the dead man again. More precisely, I feared, for some reason, having Dolph see her if she should look at him.

Dolph and I went back to the bedroom.

Dolph stood looking down at Sam for several seconds. “You did one hell of a complete and messy job, Enos.”

“I meant to — at the time. When I came in here and saw what he was trying to do I didn’t think of but one thing, Dolph. The same thing you and any other man around here would think of.”

“I see,” he said softly. “Better tell me the rest of it.”

“There isn’t much to tell,” I said. “Sam knew I was going to Macon tonight. He came here in my absence on a pretext he wanted to talk to me about business. He was already pretty well boiled. My wife let him in — after all, he was my business partner. He had a brandy in the front parlor, she told me. Then he began to want to get cozy. When she ordered him out, he got pretty vile and coarse with his talk. To escape him, she came back here. She couldn’t get the door locked, he was too close behind her, telling her what a fool she was for marrying a homely mug like me, how much more he could do for her, how many nights he’d lain awake just thinking about her.”

I paused for breath. Dolph waited patiently.

“You ought to be able to piece the rest of it together,” I said. “I heard her scream. She was trying to get away from Sam when I came in the room. I tell you, Dolph, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I heard him laughing at her, telling her to be nice, to be sweet to him... that kind of stuff.”

“I went for him. To tell you the truth, I meant to strangle him. He shoved me to one side. I was off balance and stumbled against the bureau. I don’t remember getting the gun... it was in the bureau drawer. I don’t even remember shooting him, but I did. One minute he was there; then he was on the floor and I was standing over him cussing him for everything I could lay my tongue to. Then I saw he was dead and that knocked me back into kilter. I phoned you — and that’s it.”

“You have any trouble with Sam before this?” Dolph Crowder asked.

“No. I never liked him much as a person. But who did?”

Dolph nodded. “The town thought of him as a pig. A greedy one at that. A sort of smug, self-sufficient man who figured anything he wanted was his just because he was Sam Fickens.”

“I know all that, Dolph. But I never let him get under my skin before. We had a growing company. We were making money. I didn’t care too much what he was like.”

“He ever come around here before when you were gone?”

“Once or twice,” I said. “Doreen told me. She didn’t like him. Said he gave her the willies.”

“How about when you were here?”

“Come to think of it, he’s been a lot more sociable since I got married... But I don’t think he’d have pulled this act tonight if he hadn’t been drunk. I swear, Dolph, I’m sorry now I did it. I should have just beat him up and thrown him out. But for a few seconds there I didn’t know what I was doing... coming home... hearing her scream... walking in to see him...”

“Don’t dwell on it,” Dolph said. “I’ll have to take you into town.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Your wife will have to make a statement, of course.”

“I know you’re just doing your job, Dolph.”

I had a private cell in the local pokey that night. Dolph’s wife brought me a fine breakfast next morning, country ham, redeye gravy, grits swimming in butter, eggs, hot biscuits, steaming coffee.

That breakfast did more than fill my stomach. It fed my mental state. It told me the whole town was buzzing — with the talk in my favor.

I was charged with manslaughter and out on bail before noon. Folks in town did their best to talk and act as if I had no charge hanging over me. Doreen was relaxed, in good spirits, contented as a cat that’s had a big bowl of warm milk.

I went on trial in circuit court the fifth day of the following month. When the trial opened, I had my lawyer ask the judge if I could make a statement to the court. The request was granted.

I got to my feet, conscious of the packed courtroom. I walked quietly to the stand, the same Enos Mavery they’d known all my life, the Enos who paused to crack a joke or a fruit jar of corn. The Enos who could talk to a dirt farmer as well as a fellow member of our country club.

I was sworn in and sat down in the witness chair.

“Folks,” I said, “I don’t see much point in dragging this thing out. We’re all taxpayers and every hour this court sits costs us money.

“Clay Rogers is a fine prosecutor. I ought to know. I went to school with him. He’s going to tell you that I shot Sam Fickens. Now old Clay ain’t givin’ to lying, and I don’t deny it. I sure did shoot him — and I guess I might do it again under the same circumstances. I came home that night and found the dirty skunk using his brute strength on my wife. I went as crazy as a loon, got my hands on a gun, and pulled the trigger. I didn’t try to hide a thing, and I’m not trying to now. I got Dolph Crowder on the phone soon as I saw what I had done, and I’m here now to tell you I did it. The man entered my home under a pretext, followed my wife when she tried to get away, forced himself into the bedroom — and I’m just thankful I got there when I did. If that makes me a criminal, then justice in the state of Georgia ain’t what I’ve always thought it to be... I thank you.”

There was more testimony. From Dolph, Doc Joyner, who is coroner in his spare time, from several people who had known Sam. And from Doreen. She simply backed up what I had said. She was dressed as always, attractively, making no pretense that she wasn’t a beautiful woman.

The jury was out for an hour.

I walked out of the courtroom a free and rich man.

Doreen and I sold out a few weeks later. She was restless, and I had no real desire to live in Mulberry longer.

We toured Florida and decided on the Coquina Beach place. For awhile it appeared life might settle to normal, but when we were through the decorating, the hundred and one things in establishing a new residence that kept us busy, Doreen became restless again.

I tried everything. Cocktail parties — they were too vapid. Another hunting trip — but a bleeding animal held no more interest for her.

Doreen hired a yard man last week and fixed up quarters over the garage for him. But we don’t really need a full-time yard man. I looked into his background. A bum. From the downtown waterfront and wino jungles. Comes from nowhere.

But I suspect where he is going. It’s been building in Doreen for quite awhile now. And I don’t know what to do. If I warned the yard man, somebody else would be marked.

Somebody’s going to die — to provide a thrill for Doreen. Nothing less will calm that mounting restlessness.

I certainly am afraid to go home tonight.