Pulp Crime

by Jerry eBooks

  Harvey put the lighter back on the table and poured himself a stiff drink. He put it down his throat in one long smooth motion, and glanced at his watch.

  “When he hits the Turnpike hill,” he said, keeping his voice even, “he’ll have to brake hard for the sharp turn there. When he does, the brake cable goes. I took care of the emergency, too.” He poured another drink, rattling the bottle against the glass. “It’s a hundred foot drop through that fence. He won’t feel a thing.”

  She shivered. He took the cigarette from his mouth and went over to her. She came willingly and easily into his arms. He kissed her in a way that Joe Pomfret had never known and would never learn, now. For a moment she lay still in his arms, her breath hot on his face, her eyes closed. The room was very still.

  Harvey put the cigarette back in his mouth and pushed her gently away. “It’s going to be fine, angel. They’ll never suspect a thing.” Her mouth touched his again, jostling the cigarette. She smiled. Her hand searched out across the table, touching the rough etched metal of the lighter, closing around it. She slid her other arm around his neck, pulling his head down to hers, touching the lighter to the end of his cigarette. Her lips brushed his ear.

  “Light, darling?”

  KILL ONE, KILL TWO

  B.J. Benson

  If Danny’s pal had been slain, his killers would pay, bullet for bullet!

  IT WAS four-thirty in the morning and I was sitting in Mrs. Hayes’ living room with a pair of pants over my pajamas and slippers on my feet. Mrs. Hayes sat across from me on the divan wringing her hands. Her face was as gray as slate and her white hair had straggled down over her eyes.

  “Take it easy, Mrs. Hayes,” I said, for the fourth time. “I tell you, nothing’s happened!”

  “But you heard what the police said, Danny. They found his car down by the railroad station.”

  “It doesn’t mean a thing,” I said. “He might have left it there and gone off in somebody’s else’s car.”

  “But he’s never stayed out this late before,” she sobbed. “Ken never did. It’s almost daylight.”

  “He might have had just a wee bit too much to drink. He’s probably sleeping it off somewheres.”

  He never drinks anything stronger than beer,” she protested. “He’s not one to drink heavy.”

  “You’d be surprised what beer can do,” I told her. “Now don’t you worry about your son. He’ll probably turn up before work with a silly grin on his puss.”

  “I know I can trust you,” she whispered. “You grew up with Ken. You work with him over at Seaboard Brands.”

  I reached over and patted her hand.

  “You’ve got to know the rest of it, Danny.” Her fingers clutched at my sleeve. “There’s a girl mixed up in this.”

  “Now, now, Mrs. Hayes. Relax. I know all the girls Ken knows. They’re harmless, every one of them.”

  “Danny, do you know where Ken has been going every Monday night for the past few months?” she asked.

  “No. I never see him Monday nights.”

  “Did you ever hear him speak of a girl named Millie?”

  “No, I never did.”

  “He sees her every Monday night at a place called ‘Alfie’s.’ Do you know where that is?”

  “It’s on the old Bayport road about eight miles out of town,” I said. “It used to be the Gold Coach Grill. But they built that new super highway and the Gold Coach closed up. Alfie’s took the place over a few months ago. The only traffic that goes through there now is heavy stuff—trucks, vans, trailers. They say Alfie’s has good food and it’s cheap. I’ve never been there myself.”

  “That’s where he goes,” she said. “He went there tonight. He told me so before he left.”

  “Then he must have come back,” I said. “His car was down at the railroad station.”

  “It isn’t like Ken,” she said.

  “Why didn’t you tell all this to the police?”

  “He may be in trouble, Danny. You know how Ken is. He’s a little wild sometimes. He and the girl—well, you know.”

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Hayes. Ken’s a pretty level-headed kid under all those shenanigans of his.”

  “You’ll find him for me, Danny,” she pleaded. “If anybody can, you can!”

  “Sure, we’ll find him, Mrs. Hayes. Just don’t you worry.”

  WHEN I got into work a few hours later there was a note on my desk to see Mr. Baxter. I knew what it was about, so I sat down and smoked a cigarette first. After I’d finished it I went out of the credit department and down the corridor to the office that said, “G. R. Baxter, President.”

  I went in and spoke to his secretary. She told me to sit down and wait. But I didn’t sit down. I paced back and forth nervously until she spoke into the phone again. Then she looked over at me and nodded. I opened the huge walnut door and walked in over the deep carpeting.

  Mr. Baxter was sitting behind the big desk unwrapping the cellophane from a long cigar. The morning papers were spread across the desk pad.

  “Have you seen the newspapers, Holden?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “I’ve seen them.”

  “Good! Then you know all about it,” he said. His bald head glinted in the rays of the morning sun.

  “Yes, sir. I was up with his mother since two this morning.”

  He pointed a blunt forefinger at one of the newspaper columns. “Did you also read about one of our trucks disappearing last night?”

  “Yes, sir—the warehouse load from Bayport.”

  “Don’t stand there, Holden,” he said impatiently. “Sit down.”

  I sat down.

  “There was thirty thousand dollars’ worth of merchandise in that load,” he said. “Did you know that?”

  “Yes. I made out the traffic order.”

  “Ken Hayes knew about it, too.”

  “I suppose he did,” I said.

  “The driver of that truck was found lying in the underbrush shortly after ten o’clock last night. He said he ran into a road block on the old Bayport road. When he stopped the truck, two men jumped him and hit him on the head with a blackjack. We’re insured of course, Holden, so that’s not the point. The point is that not only the truck disappeared last night, but also Ken Hayes. Doesn’t that appear strange to you, Holden?”

  “No, it doesn’t,” I told him.

  “Does to me,” he said tersely. “And I mean to find out!”

  “You’ve got it all wrong,” I said. “I know Ken like I know my right hand. We grew up together. We worked here together in the credit department since we got out of the army. That’s a long time. Ken wasn’t mixed up in this hijacking.”

  “Ken was quite the ladies’ man, wasn’t he?” Baxter asked.

  “He liked the girls and the girls liked him. But that doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I’ve got eyes and ears, Holden. The office staff calls him the shop-girl’s Van Johnson. You’re his associate. What do they call you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, smiling. “I got this dent in my nose from the tailboard of a weapons carrier at Avranches in ‘Forty-four. I guess they don’t call me anything.”

  “The idea is that a man who’s partial to the ladies has to spend money,” Baxter said. “Ken’s salary perhaps wasn’t adequate enough for him to carry out the program he wanted.”

  “You’re mistaken there,” I said. “Don’t forget this is the third truck hijacked on the old Bayport road in the past year. The other two weren’t Seaboard.”

  “I don’t give a hang about the other two,” he said angrily. “This one was ours and I don’t like the way it smells! That’ll be all, Holden. I’ll talk to you later.”

  AT NINE o’clock that night I was driving along the old Bayport road listening to the news on my car radio. Same old thing—no news of Ken Hayes or the missing Seaboard truck. Mrs. Hayes was in a state of prostration. State and local police were expending every effort . . .

  I snapped the rad
io off because, just ahead, I saw a neon sign that said “Alfie’s.” I pulled in onto a gravel driveway and behind the only vehicle there—a big moving van. Two truck drivers, toothpicks in their mouths, came out of the building. They got into the van and pulled out.

  I left the car and walked across to the building. I opened the front door and went inside. The place was empty. A short counter ran along one wall, with a swinging door to the kitchen behind it. Small square tables, with checkered red-and-white cloths on them, clustered around a waxed dance floor. Over in a corner were a piano and a juke box.

  There was only one waitress. She came out of the kitchen when I entered. She was young, with soft golden skin, and she wore a Dutch outfit with a tight-laced bodice and a flaring skirt. She had a beautifully curved mouth and blue-black hair. Her eyes were green and her nose was small and straight.

  She came up to me and I saw the stitching on her curving breast pocket. It read “Millie.” I stared at it. Now I knew that I couldn’t blame Ken for running off every Monday night. I wouldn’t have blamed myself.

  She looked me over carelessly and pulled a chair out at one of the tables. I sat down.

  She went over to the counter and brought me back a menu, a glass of water and a cloth napkin.

  “The barbecued pork is very good tonight,” she said.

  “Pork it is,” I said, “and a glass of beer.”

  She nodded. She wore high heels and they clicked over the polished floor as she disappeared into the kitchen.

  A short, husky man came out of the swinging door and stood behind the counter looking at me. He had a ruddy face and thick lips. His nose was square and stubby and his black hair was thin, and graying around the temples. It was hard to tell his age. It could have been anywhere between forty and fifty-five.

  Millie came back with my sandwich and beer. As she set it down she brushed her soft body against mine. Then she turned to me and there was a little smile on her face.

  “Would you care for some music, sir?” she asked.

  The “sir” part sounded a bit like mockery, but I let it go by. I nodded.

  She went over to the juke box and set it in motion. The music was a Strauss waltz. I dipped on the beer and munched on the sandwich. She stood before the juke box and swayed back and forth with the rhythm for a moment. Then she came back and sat down at my table.

  “Have you a cigarette?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said. I fumbled for my pack. “Makes it cosy,” I said, as I held the light for her. “No nickels for the juke box.”

  “It’s free,” she said. Her beautiful legs were carelessly crossed as she let cigarette smoke out of her lips.

  “It’s a good sandwich and good beer,” I said. “Is that Alfie behind the counter?”

  “That’s the boss.”

  “Call him over.”

  MILLIE shrugged her shoulders, turned and motioned with her head. Alfie left the counter and walked over, like a prizefighter coming into a ring.

  “Yeah?” he asked.

  “I want to tell you how good the sandwich is,” I said. “It’s a low price for these days. How do you do it?”

  “I’m not trying to get rich,” he said tonelessly. “I just want to make a living.”

  He walked away, going out the swinging door to the kitchen.

  “He’s shy,” Millie said, looking at me through half-lidded eyes. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Dan. Danny Holden.”

  “I’m Millie.”

  “I know. This year in school they taught me to read.”

  She pealed off into a gale of laughter. “I forgot it was on my blouse! Say, you’re one of these deadpan kidders.”

  “Thanks for the compliment,” I growled.

  “Where you from, Dan? I haven’t seen you before.”

  “I’m from Bayport,” I lied. “Just passing through. I can see what I’ve been missing.”

  She looked at me closely. “I don’t remember seeing you before.”

  “That’s twice you said that,” I said. “I just want to be sure, that’s all. I don’t like to make mistakes.”

  “Everybody makes mistakes sometimes,” I said. “Is all this part of the service?”

  “You mean me sitting here with you?”

  “Yes. Not that I mind.”

  “Friendly service. On Monday and Tuesday nights it’s quiet here. I sit with the people I like.”

  “Thanks. Just sit?”

  “I might dance,” she said, sort of dreamily.

  “And afterward—when you close up?” I insisted.

  “It all depends how much I like the particular person. We’ll see.”

  “Meanwhile, we can dance,” I said.

  “Finish your sandwich, Dan. It’s a long evening.”

  I went back to my sandwich and I was down to the end of it, when I heard a car pull up in front. The door opened and two state troopers came in. The older one, with gray temples visible under his visored cap, wore sergeant’s stripes on his sleeves. The other was a tall, rangy kid, with black boots that shone like patent leather. The sergeant hitched at his gun-belt and looked around.

  “Hello, Millie,” he said.

  “Hi, Sergeant Rider,” she greeted him. “Still looking?”

  “Still looking,” he said.

  He went over to the counter with the young trooper. They sat down on the leather stools and Alfie came out of the kitchen. They exchanged greetings and Alfie drew two cups of coffee from the urn. The young one turned halfway around on the stool and watched Millie as she got up and went over to the juke box.

  I finished my beer about the same time they finished their coffee. They got up, threw some coins on the bar and came over to me.

  “Whose car is that out there?” the sergeant asked.

  “Mine,” I said. “It can’t be speeding. I never could get that hack up over thirty-five miles an hour.”

  Rider grinned, showing deep seams in his tanned face.

  “I didn’t think so, either,” he said. “Your rear license plate is hanging by one screw. You’re liable to lose it.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll take care of it before I leave.”

  He turned and waved to Millie, then he nodded to the young one.

  “Let’s go, Clancy,” he said.

  THEY went out and the door closed.

  I looked out of the front window and watched their white cruiser turn out of the drive and onto the highway.

  Millie came back and stood over me. “What did they want?” she asked lazily.

  “Nothing. Told me my rear license plate was loose.”

  I ordered another beer and she went over to the counter and drew it. She put it on a tray and brought it over to the table. Then she ran her hand slowly over the back of my neck and sat down again.

  The kitchen door opened again and two men came out. One was small, thin and ratty-looking. The other was tall and dark. They helped themselves to beer from the tap, and the tall one watched me over the rim of his glass as he drank. He wiped his hand on his driver’s whip-cords. Then he put the glass down, brushed a hand over a thin mustache and went back into the kitchen.

  The little one drank slowly with his back turned. When he put his glass down he went through the swinging door without looking back.

  Millie reached for a cigarette from my pack on the table. She held it up and I lighted it for her. She took two puffs out of it and got up, mashing the cigarette into the ash tray. She was off in a whirl of her short skirt and over to the juke box.

  I sipped on my beer and looked at the red smudge of her lipstick on the cigarette butt. A moment later a fox trot started up and she came back and held out her arms. I got up and put my arm around her soft waist. The music was slow and we glided back and forth over the shiny floor, with my lips brushing her scented hair. The record went off and another started. We kept on.

  I had her back to the side window when I heard a truck start up out back. I led her closer to the window, an
d my eyes caught headlights as a truck flashed by the side of the building. As it roared out onto the highway I got a quick look at a blue panel and gold letters that said “Seaboard.”

  The record ended and we went back and sat down. Millie patted her hair and took a drink of my beer.

  “What was that truck?” I asked her.

  “What truck?”

  “The truck that just pulled out.”

  “Oh, that,” she laughed. “Our weekly shipment of groceries. You know—canned goods, syrups, shortenings, sugar.”

  “Were those the same drivers as before?”

  “Yes,” she said. Her eyes looked me over slowly. “Why?”

  “Nothing. I thought it looked funny, them helping themselves to the beer.”

  “That’s Nick and Eddie. They’ve been coming around so long that they feel at home. It’s a hard job unloading and Alfie doesn’t mind.”

  I nodded. Reaching over very deliberately, I took a cigarette from the pack. Then I slid it back in. I yawned, and looked at my watch. Getting up, I threw a bill on the table.

  “Keep it, Millie,” I said. “I’m running along.”

  “So soon?”

  “I’m tired. Had a long day.”

  She put the bill into her breast pocket.

  “Too bad,” she said. “We were just getting to know each other.”

  “I’ll be back,” I said.

  “I’ll be expecting you,” she said languidly.

  “I’ll be back soon,” I said, and left.

  OUTSIDE, the night air was cool. A car flashed by on the highway and whined away in the darkness, the two red eyes of the tail lights disappearing quickly. I went over to the car and got in, started the motor and flicked on the lights.

  I rode down the highway about two hundred yards, pulled over to the shoulder and stopped. I turned the lights off and got out. Keeping along the underbrush, I walked back. My eyes were on the green neon sign of Alfie’s.

  When I got to the gravel driveway I jumped quickly into the bushes. A small coupe, without lights, had roared down the highway out of the darkness. It was now skidding into the drive and spitting tiny stones from its tires. It careened by me and out back, where it disappeared into the darker shadows. I heard the motor being shut off.