David Goodis: Five Noir Novels of the 1940s and '50s (Library of America) (10 page)

The pain was fierce. It was a burning pain and there was something above the pain that felt very heavy on his face. He opened his eyes. He looked up at Coley.

“All over,” Coley said.

The taxi driver was standing beside Coley working on a new cigar.

Coley had his arms folded and he looked down at Parry and said, “Stay there for a while. Don’t try to talk. Don’t move your mouth. I’ve got you all taped up. I’ve left a small space in front of your mouth so you’ll be able to take nourishment. You’ll use a glass straw and you can have anything liquid. If you want to smoke you can use a cigarette holder. But I don’t want you to move your mouth and I don’t want you to try talking. The bandages can come off after five days. When the bandages come off you’ll look in the mirror and you’ll see a new face. It’ll be all healed by then and you can shave.”

Parry’s eyes talked to Coley.

Coley said, “There won’t be any scars. I did a sensational job on you. I think it’s the best job I’ve ever done. And I’ve done a lot of exciting things to people’s faces. I’ve got it down pat, hiding those scars.”

The pain was digging and tugging and digging. It was burning there in Parry’s face and gradually he began to feel it in his arms. He looked at Coley. His eyes asked another question.

Coley answered, “I took off your coat and rolled up your shirtsleeves. I worked on your arms. The upper part of the underarm. Up near the armpit, where you can spare the flesh. I used that flesh on your face. Now I’m going to ask you a question and if the answer is yes I want you to nod very slowly. Do you have a place to stay?”

Parry nodded slowly.

“Do you have someone to help you?”

Parry nodded again.

“All right,” Coley said. “When you get there you can talk to that person with paper and pencil. Now here’s the ticket. You’re to sleep flat on your back. Have this person tie your hands to something so you won’t be able to turn over. During the day I want you to take it easy. Sit in one place most of the time and read or listen to the radio or play solitaire. Keep your mind off your face and above all keep your hands away from your face. In another day or so it’s going to start itching but no matter how bad it is I want you to keep your hands off those bandages. I guess you can get up now.”

Parry sat up. He took himself off the chair. His shirt was open a few buttons down from the collar and his sleeves were rolled up high. The upper parts of his arms were bandaged. He looked at his arms, he looked at Coley and Coley nodded. Parry rolled his sleeves down and buttoned them. He buttoned up his shirt and put on his necktie and got into his coat. Then he walked over to the mirror and took a look at himself.

He saw his eyes and his nose and a small hole in front of his mouth. He saw most of his forehead and his ears and his hair. The rest was all white bandage, the white gauze padded thickly on his face, the criss-cross of adhesive going back along with the bandage around the back of his head. The bandage went under his chin and around his jaws and slanted down around his neck.

Coley came over and stood beside him. He said, “There’s a lot of wax and goo under that bandage. It’s hard now but in a couple of days it’ll be soft and part of it will become part of your new face.”

Parry glanced at his wrist watch. It said 4:31. He looked at Coley.

Coley said, “Ninety minutes. Just like I told you.”

The taxi driver said, “We better get moving.”

Parry was looking at Coley and holding out his hand. Coley took the hand. Coley said, “Maybe you did it and maybe you didn’t. I don’t know. Sam claims you didn’t do it and I’ve known Sam a long time. I have a lot of faith in his ideas about things. That’s the main reason I took this job. If I thought you were a professional killer I wouldn’t have any part of it. But the way it is now I’ve given you a new face and you’ve given me two
hundred dollars and that’s as far as it goes. I never keep records of my patients and I never make an effort to remember names. When you walk out of here you’re through with me and I’m through with you.”

Parry looked at the taxi driver. The taxi driver walked to the door, opened it, went to the other door, opened it and stood there looking up and down the hall. Then he turned and beckoned to Parry, and Parry went out there with him and they went down the hall and down the stairs. They were out in the alley and down a second alley that led to a small side street. The taxi was parked there. They got in and the two doors closed and the motor started.

The taxi driver used side streets, used them deftly, making good time without too much speed. Parry leaned back and closed his eyes. He was very tired. He was very thankful he had a place to go to and a friend to help him. The pain kept digging into his face and banging away at his arms but now he didn’t mind. He had a place to stay. He had Fellsinger. He had a new face. Now he really had something that amounted to a chance.

The taxi came to a stop.

Parry looked out the window. They were home.

The taxi driver turned and looked at him and said, “How is it?”

Parry nodded.

“Think you can make it alone?”

Parry nodded again. He took bills from his pocket, picked out a fifty dollar bill and handed it to the driver. The driver looked at the bill and then offered it back. Parry shook his head.

The taxi driver said, “I’m not doing this on a cash basis.”

Parry nodded. The taxi driver made another attempt to return the bill. Parry shook his head.

The taxi driver said, “Now you’re sure you can make it?”

Parry nodded. He started to open the door. The taxi driver touched his wrist. He said, “You don’t know me. I don’t know you. You’ll never see me again. I’ll never see you again. You don’t know the name of the men who fixed your face. Or put it this way. You always had the face you have now. You were never in a courtroom. You were never in San Quentin. You were
never married. And you don’t know me and I don’t know you. How does that sound?”

Parry nodded.

The taxi driver said, “Thanks for the tip, mister.”

Parry stepped out of the taxi. The taxi went into first gear and went on down the street. Parry walked up to the door of the apartment house, went in, and from his coat pocket he took the key that Fellsinger had given him. He opened the inner door.

In the elevator he wondered if Fellsinger had a cigarette holder up there. He was in great need of a cigarette. The elevator climbed four floors and came to a stop. Parry walked down the hall. He wondered if Fellsinger had a glass straw in there. He wondered how it would be to take rum through a glass straw. He wished Fellsinger had some gin around. He wanted gin and he wanted a cigarette. He had a feeling that falling asleep tonight would be hard work. He was at the door of Fellsinger’s apartment and he put the key in the door and turned it and opened the door and went in.

It was dark in there, but light from the hall showed Parry the switch on the wall near the door. He flicked the switch and closed the door, facing the door as he closed it and then turning slowly and facing the room. He looked at Fellsinger.

Fellsinger was on the floor with his head caved in.

T
HERE WAS
blood all over Fellsinger, blood all over the floor. There were pools of it and ribbons of it. There were blotches of it, big blotches of it near Fellsinger, smaller blotches getting even smaller in progression away from the body. There were flecks of it on the furniture and suggestions of it on a wall. There was the cardinal luster of it and the smell of it and the feeling of it coming up from Fellsinger’s busted skull and dancing around and settling down wherever it pleased. It was dark blood where it clotted in the skull cavities. It was luminous pale blood where it stained the horn of the trumpet that rested beside the body. The horn of the trumpet was slightly dented. The pearl buttons of the trumpet valves were pink from the spray of blood.

Fellsinger was belly down on the floor, but his face was twisted sideways. His eyes were opened wide, the pupils up high with a lot of white underneath. It was as if he was trying to look back. Either he wanted to see how badly he was hurt or he wanted to see who was banging on his skull with the trumpet. His mouth was halfway open and the tip of his tongue flapped over the side of his mouth.

Without sound, Parry said, “Hello, George.”

Without sound, Fellsinger said, “Hello, Vince.”

“Are you dead, George?”

“Yes, I’m dead.”

“Why are you dead, George?”

“I can’t tell you, Vince. I wish I could tell you but I can’t.”

“Who did it, George?”

“I can’t tell you, Vince. Look at me. Look what happened to me. Isn’t it awful?”

“George, I didn’t do it. You know that.”

“Of course, Vince. Of course you didn’t do it.”

“George, you don’t really believe I did it.”

“I know you didn’t do it.”

“I wasn’t here, George. I couldn’t have done it. Why would I want to kill you, George? You were my friend.”

“Yes, Vince. I was your friend.”

“
George, you were my best friend. You were always a real friend.”

“You were my only friend, Vince. My only friend.”

“I know that, George. And I know I didn’t kill you. I know it I know it I know it I know it I know it.”

“Don’t carry on like that, Vince.”

“George, you’re not really dead, are you?”

“Yes, Vince. I’m dead. And it’s real, Vince, it’s real. I’m really dead. I never thought I’d be important. But now I’m very important. They’ll have me in all the papers.”

“They’ll say I killed you.”

“Yes, Vince. That’s what they’ll say.”

“But I didn’t do it, George.”

“I know, Vince. I know you didn’t do it. I know who did it but I can’t tell you because I’m dead.”

“George, can I do anything for you?”

“No. You can’t do a thing for me. I’m dead. Your friend George Fellsinger is dead.”

“George, who do you think did it?”

“I tell you I know who did it. But I can’t say.”

“Give me a hint. Give me an idea.”

“Vince, I can’t give you anything. I’m dead.”

“
Maybe if I look around I’ll find something.”

“Don’t do that, Vince. Don’t move from where you are now. If you step in the blood you’re going to make footprints.”

“Footprints won’t make any difference one way or another. As soon as they find you here they’ll say I did it.”

“Yes, Vince. That’s what they’ll say. You can’t do anything about that. But if you give them footprints you’ll be throwing everything away. What I mean is, if they have the footprints they’ll have more than a conclusion. They’ll have you, because they have means of tracing footprints, tracing right through to the store where the shoes were bought. When they get that they’ll get her. And if they get her they’ll get you, because you can’t operate without her.”

“George, I can’t go back to her.”

“What do you mean, you can’t go back? You’ve got to go back. You can’t go anyplace else. Where else could you go?”

“I don’t know, George. I don’t know. But I can’t go back to her.”

“
Jesus Christ.”

“I can’t help it, George. I can’t go back to her. I can’t bring her back into it now.”

“But she wants to help you, Vince.”

“Why, George? How do you make it out? Why does she want to help me?”

“She feels sorry for you.”

“There’s more to it than that. There’s much more. What is it?”

“I don’t know, Vince.”

“I can’t go back to her.”

“You’ve got to go back. You’ve got to stay there for five days. You need someone to take care of you until those bandages come off. Then when you go away you can really go away. You’ll have a new face. You’ll have a new life. You always talked about travel. Places you wanted to see. I remember the things you said. How grand it would be to get away. From everybody. From everything. How I felt bad about it when you said that, because I figured our friendship was one of those very valuable things that don’t happen very often between plain guys like you and me. How I hoped you’d include me in your plans to go away. You knew that. You knew how I felt. And I had an idea that when you finally went away you would take me with you. To that beach town in Spain. Or that place in Peru. Was it Patavilca?”

“Yes, George. It was Patavilca.”

“Patavilca in Peru. Jumping out of our cages in an investment security house. Jumping out of our cages in dried-up apartment houses. Going away, going away from it, all of it, going to Patavilca, in Peru. With nothing to do down there except get the sun and sleep on the beach. They showed that beach in the travel folder. It was a lovely beach. And they showed us the streets and the houses. The little streets and the little houses under the sun. I was waiting for you to say the word. I was waiting for you to say let’s pack up and go.”

“Why didn’t you say the word, George? Why didn’t you take the bull by the horns? There wouldn’t have been any trial. This trouble would have never happened.”

“You know why I didn’t say the word. You know me. Guys like me come a dime a dozen. No fire. No backbone. Dead weight
waiting to be pulled around and taken to places where we want to go but can’t go alone. Because we’re afraid to go alone. Because we’re afraid to be alone. Because we can’t face people and we can’t talk to people. Because we don’t know how. Because we can’t handle life and don’t know the first thing about taking a bite out of life. Because we’re afraid and we don’t know what we’re afraid of and still we’re afraid. Guys like me.”

“You had ideas, George.”

“I had ideas that I thought were great. But I was always afraid to let them loose. Once you were up here and I put my entire attitude toward life into a trumpet riff. You told me it was cosmic-ray stuff. Something from a billion miles away, bouncing off the moon, coming down and into my brain and coming out of my trumpet. You told me I should do something with ideas like that. And I agreed with you but I never did anything because I was afraid. And now I’m dead.”

“I think I better be going now.”

“Yes, Vince. You go now. You go to her.”

“George, I’m afraid.”

“You go to her. Stay there five days. Then go to Patavilca, in Peru. Stay there the rest of your life.”

“I can’t see myself going away.”

“You’ve got to see that. You’ve got to do that. You’ve got to go far away and stay there.”

“I wish I knew who killed you.”

“It doesn’t make any difference. I’m dead now.”

“And that’s why it makes a difference. Because you’re dead. And they’ll say I killed you, just as they said I killed her. And I said I didn’t kill her. I said it was an accident. All along I said it was an accident and that’s what I believed. I always believed she fell down and hit her head on that ash tray. I don’t believe that any more. I know someone killed her and that same someone killed you.”

“You’re curious, Vince. And you’re getting angry. That won’t do. You can’t be curious and you can’t be angry. You’ve got to think in terms of getting away, and only that. And now you better go.”

“Good-by, George.”

Parry switched off the light. He stepped out of the apartment
and closed the door slowly. There was a stiffness in his legs as he walked down the corridor. In the elevator he had a feeling he was going to faint. He sagged against the wall of the elevator and he was going to the floor and as his knees gave way he put his hands on the wall and braced himself and made himself stay up.

On the street he tried to walk fast but his legs were very stiff and he couldn’t get any go into them. The pain in his face mixed with the pain in his arms and he wanted to get down on the pavement and sleep. He kept walking. He looked at his wrist watch and it said a few minutes past five and he looked up and saw the beginnings of morning sifting through the black sieve. He walked down the empty quiet streets.

He walked a mile and knew he had another mile to go. He didn’t think he could make it. A taxi came down the street and he turned and saw the driver looking at him. He was tempted to take the taxi. But he knew he couldn’t take a taxi. Not now. Not at this stage. The taxi slowed down and the driver was waiting for him to make a move. He kept walking. He faced straight ahead, knowing that the taxi driver was regarding his bandaged head with increasing curiosity. He kept walking. The taxi picked up speed and went down the street and made a turn.

A glow came onto the pavement, dripping from the grey light getting through the black sky. Parry walked past a cheap hotel and stopped and looked back at the sign. He was tempted to go in and take a room. He was so tired. The pain was so bad. He was so very, very tired.

He kept walking. Now he was going faster and he knew he was racing the morning. He knew he couldn’t keep it up like this, and if he didn’t get there soon he was going to go out cold. He knew he couldn’t afford to go out cold and he kept walking fast. He was getting there. He was almost there. He measured the streets. He told himself it was three blocks. He knew it was more than three, more on the order of six or seven. He didn’t think he could last out seven blocks. They were long blocks. The morning was getting a lead on him. He tried to walk faster. He tried to run and his legs became cotton fluff under him and he went to the pavement. He stayed there on his knees, feeling a wetness flowing all over his body, and for a few
moments he thought it was the blood from his face getting out through the split flesh and pouring down under the bandage and down through his collar and going all over him. He put his hand to the under-edge of the bandage. His hand came away moist. He looked at his hand. It glistened with perspiration. He stood up and started to walk. He asked the blocks to come toward him, slide toward him and go away behind him. He kept walking. Then he could see it, the apartment house. He started to open his mouth to let out a cry and a dreadful pain spread out from his lips and went up to his eyes and came down to his lips again. He closed his mouth, and his eyes were jammed with tears. He looked at the apartment house coming toward him as he went toward it. He was about sixty steps away from the apartment house. He didn’t think he could cover those sixty steps. He covered five of them and ten of them and thirty of them. He was ahead of the morning now and he was going to make it and he knew it. And as he knew that he knew it he saw something on the other side of the street, almost at the end of the block, parked there and waiting there and it was the Studebaker.