Primal Spillane: Early Stories 1941-1942

Goon With the Wind

“Phooey on you!” said Joe Gooey. “I am a reporter. I positively will not write weather reports any more. As a city editor, Mr. Foof, I think you smell bad.” The C. E. almost swallowed his store teeth on that. He lifted his eyebrows with one hand and pointed at the lame brain at the typewriter with the other.

“Gooey, you’ll do as I say or your waffle brains will be leaking outa your ears. Ever since you put an ‘S’ before Governor Kunk’s name you have been more trouble around here than a bee in my nose. Now you write down if it’s gonna rain or not.”

“How do I know whether it’s gonna rain or snow, apple head?”

“Stick yer dome outa the window and find out!” So saying, Foof went out.

Gooey sat looking out the window, muttering to himself. Three weeks he had been writing “warm and cloudy,” “cloudy and warm” until he’d give his right arm for a hurricane, just to write something different. Way up in the blue, a wormy-looking cloud was skooting around trying to be funny.

“Bah! One scrawny cloud!” That was the only news he had, and who wants to write about a cloud anyhow? Besides, what could he write? “A pretty little cloud with eyes so blue, you sees me and I sees you. Nerts!” He sounded like a lily.

But, if there was one cloud there must be more, and a lot of clouds meant rain — perhaps even that hurricane he was thinking of! What was the matter with that? Just because the city hasn’t had one for fifty years, it doesn’t mean they can’t have one.

He looked at the little cloud again, scared stiff at his own thoughts. Why, that was a hurricane cloud if he ever saw one! (He never stopped to remember that he never did see one.) Bang went the keys. He typed as he never did before, banging out the story of the century!

If he hurried he’d just have time to make the afternoon edition. Page after page went through the machine, and finally he had it done. He laid the finished copy down and looked at it. Shucks, he thought, too bad it wasn’t real. Oh well, it was fun writing it. Now for a drink of water.

Fate is a funny duck. She sent little Archie, the copy boy, in just then and he picked up the stuff. Now, Archie had a nose for news, and when he saw the report he shot down the hall like he had termites in his trousers.

“Stop the press!” he yelled. “Big news!”

Luke Zincus grabbed the sheets. One hurried glance was all he needed, and it went into type.

The news of the impending hurricane hit the town like a ton of bricks. Other papers, not to be outdone, copied the story and the worried citizens began tying down their apartment houses. Policemen cleared the streets and cars were hustled into safe spots. The place soon looked like a ghost town. The mayor stopped work on the new bridge, and airplanes dove for cornfields to get out of the storm.

Someone wired the governor, the governor wired Washington, and Washington wired back. Hurricane? Don’t be silly. Zip! Suddenly everybody had their necks in a rope — or practically.

Foof was going to break Zincus’ neck, but he got it from Archie. Then Foof was going to chop off Archie’s ears, but he got it from Gooey. Foof got mad. He stormed into Gooey’s office with a hunk of lumber in his hand. But poor Gooey saw him coming and ducked behind a desk. He didn’t, know what it was all about, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Gooey, you snake! Hit me in the face when my back’s turned, will ya? What d’ya mean by saying there’s gonna be a hurricane? For that I’m gonna hang your skin on the wall. Your head I’ll use for a lampshade!”

“Now Chiefie—”

“Don’t ‘Chiefie’ me, you Goon, defend yourself!”

At that time, once again Fate stepped in... with the mayor, the police chief and a few hundred wild-eyed citizens.

“Who is responsible for this outrage?” the fat mayor bellowed. “He shall spend the rest of his natural life in the clink!”

Foof pointed to the cringing Gooey. “There is the varmint. I hope he gets hung!”

The chief of police yanked out his handcuffs, and Gooey was practically a dead pigeon. The local citizenry was all for lynching him on the spot, but he was hustled off to the hoosegow without anything more than a few lumps on the noggin.

When they threw Gooey in the cell he was nothing but a bundle of clothes, having lost about twenty pounds in the pie wagon. If he wanted to he could’ve slipped between the bars, but he knew better. At least they kept his would-be assassins out. Shucks, he thought, why was I ever born?

Along about midnight, some faint sounds came from downstairs. For a while he just stopped his pacing to listen, but after a while he climbed up the wall like a monkey to peer out through the bars. Good night shirt! That was a mob down there, and from the looks of things, they were going to lynch him!

Wow! What a situation! And all over a hunk of cloud. Why the dickens didn’t that fuzzy piece of sky play around on the other side of the building where be wouldn’t have seen it? What luck! — and all bad! He took another look outside. Gosh, the gang was bigger than all get-out. A bunch of them brought up a log and they began to ram it against the door.

Crash! BANG! Blooey! They were in! The thundering herd tore up the stairs to the cell block and shook the doors of Gooey’s cell. Joe Gooey just sat back and grinned. “Tough luck, dopes! I’ll wait here if you don’t mind.”

But the mob was determined. Two guys got on each bar and gave a lusty “Heave Ho,” and down they came!

Poor Gooey. They took him by the seat of hit pants and bounced him down the steps. Then they bounced him up again. When they got done, they rolled him down the street like a wagon wheel. Then someone had a bright idea, and the bunch lined up in a double row with belts in their hands. Gooey had to run down that line. WHAM! Slap! Owwch!

The leader held up his hand. “Okay, you guys, enough of that. Let’s get the rope. We’ll show this dimwit he can’t make monkeys outa us!”

Everybody let out a whoop and a holler and they trotted off. A few policemen tried to reclaim the prisoner, but nobody paid any attention to them. The mob hopped into cars and drove to the city park, where stood a tree just made for lynching.

Out they spilled, dragging Gooey with them. In no time at all a rope was around his neck. Gooey thought that if they didn’t hang him soon he’d die of fright. The way his knees were banging, he sounded like a set of trap drums.

Now, along about this time a curious wind sprung up. Nobody noticed it, being too excited over the hanging. It whipped through the trees, blowing branches every which way. Unmentionables that were hanging on clothes lines sailed through the air. One of the men looked up in time to see a roof just miss their heads. His eyes popped!

“Hey!” he yelled. “It... it... it’s a hurricane!”

Gooey looked around. “So it is! So it is!”

Forgotten was the lynching party; in fact, Gooey was the only one left standing under the tree. The rest had dashed madly back to hold down their houses. Everywhere cars lay on their sides, blown over by the wind. Rain started to come down frogs and fishes!

So, being a man of the moment, Joe Gooey removed his rope necktie and started down the street. Fortunately, he reached the office building without being crowned by a garage roof, and he went upstairs for a decent night’s sleep. The only one that saw him was Zincus, who was working late, and he thought he was a ghost, having already set the type about the lynching.

Here’s where Fate came back for a third crack. The goofy citizens had forgotten to take down their hurricane protection when they went to hang Joe Gooey, and nothing much happened to their shacks. The full force of the hurricane spent itself on the boarded up windows and pegged down garages.

The next day, the mayor, the police chief, and several hundred citizens called on the person of Joe Gooey and woke him up from a sound sleep. He was presented with the keys to the city and hailed as a hero. The governor wired congratulations. Mr. Foof pounced in with a big smile and shook hands with Gooey. “I knew you had it in you, Joe ole pal!”

“Phooey on you!” said Gooey.

“How did you know about the hurricane, Gooey?”

“I did what you told me. I stuck my head out the window and found out! Phooey!”