David Goodis: Five Noir Novels of the 1940s and '50s (Library of America) (78 page)

And then they stood at the cellar window and the Captain was looking at Whitey.

“The guns,” the Captain said. “Where are they stashed?”

“On the floor. Near the furnace.”

The Captain turned to the two detectives. “This won’t take long,” he said. “All it needs is a look.”

“You going in alone?” It was Pertnoy.

The Captain nodded very slowly.

“Be careful,” Pertnoy said.

The Captain turned and faced the cellar window. He crouched low and began to climb through. He had a hard time getting through. At first it seemed that his thick body was too wide for the window frame. He twisted and squirmed and got one shoulder through, then squirmed some more and got stuck and they watched him reaching up above his head, trying to get a hold on something for leverage. He found it and went on squirming his way in. Altogether it took him more than a minute to get in. They could hear him moving around in there and they saw the reflected glow of his flashlight pouring out in tiny splashes of bright yellow. It went on that way for some moments and then there was no light at all, and Whitey knew that the Captain was on the other side of the coal bin.

He heard Pertnoy saying, “How do you feel?”

“Me?” He faced Pertnoy. “I feel all right.”

“You’re not worried?”

“No,” Whitey said.

“And you?” Pertnoy said to Taggert.

Taggert didn’t say anything. His lips were clamped tightly and he was staring at the cellar window.

Pertnoy said, “You look plenty worried, Lieutenant.”

“Leave me alone,” Taggert said. He sounded as though he were talking to himself.

“You wanna spill it?” Pertnoy murmured.

Taggert glanced at Pertnoy and then at Whitey. He blinked a few times and let out a cough and followed it with a louder cough.

“You trying something?” Pertnoy asked gently, somewhat sadly.
Then, with a gesture toward the house, “You’ll need more noise than that to tip them off.”

Whitey looked at the face of Detective Lieutenant Taggert. The eyes were glazed and it seemed the skin was stretched to the cracking point. He wondered if Taggert was really cracking up and in the next moment he was sure of it because he saw Taggert going for the shoulder holster.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Pertnoy said wearily.

Taggert had the revolver in his hand and it was pointed at Pertnoy’s chest.

“You freak bastard,” Taggert said, and Whitey knew it was sick talk, it was persecution stuff, the way they talk to the attendants and the visitors when they’re very sick. “I won’t let you laugh at me.”

“I only laugh when it’s funny,” Pertnoy said. There was real pity in his voice.

But it didn’t reach Taggert. It seemed that nothing could reach Taggert now. He began to sob like a child, and what came out of his mouth was a kindergarten complaint. “You—you’re always picking on me. Just—just because I get my shaves in barbershops. And get my suits custom-made. And wear expensive shoes. What’s—what’s wrong with that?”

Pertnoy didn’t reply. It was as though he realized he couldn’t make contact with Taggert.

“And,” Taggert choked on it, “that mirror I put up on the wall. In the office. That tickled you, didn’t it? You had a lot of fun with that mirror. You thought it was so comical I like to look at myself.”

“You need that mirror now,” Pertnoy said. His voice was like a dash of cold water, trying to bring Taggert out of it. “You ought to see yourself now.”

“I—” Taggert blinked several times. He turned his head slowly and looked at the house. He said very quietly, “How’d you know I was in with them?”

“Just a notion I had,” Pertnoy said. “I guess it was growing on me. A lot of little things, but I couldn’t put them together. You listening?”

Taggert nodded solemnly. He came a step closer to Pertnoy and he had the gun just a few inches away from Pertnoy’s chest.

Pertnoy wasn’t looking at the gun. He was saying, “In the car, when we were driving here. When you called me a pervert. As if you just had to get it out. As if you’d been holding it back for a long time and you had that one last chance to get it out.”

“But it didn’t hurt you.” Taggert was sobbing again. “It didn’t even move you.”

Pertnoy shrugged. He looked at Whitey and shrugged again.

“I wonder—” Taggert blubbered. “I wonder if this can move you,” and he pulled the trigger.

P
ERTNOY WENT
down with a bullet in his lung and before he hit the ground another bullet went into his abdomen. Taggert walked toward him to shoot him again and Whitey came in from the side and made a grab for Taggert’s wrist. Taggert turned and shot at Whitey and missed. Then Taggert aimed again at Whitey but just then a bullet came from the cellar window and went into Taggert’s shoulder.

Whitey had thrown himself to the ground, and as he rolled over he caught a glimpse of the cellar window. He saw Captain Kinnard pointing the gun at Taggert. He heard the Captain saying, “Here I am, Taggert. Right here.”

But as the Captain said it, a light was switched on in the cellar, and someone was shooting at the Captain. Then the Captain wasn’t there at the window and Whitey heard a lot of shooting going on in the cellar. He told himself to forget the cellar and concentrate on Taggert. As he turned his head, he saw Taggert clutching the injured shoulder with the arm hanging limply, the hand straining to hold onto the gun. Taggert was backing away from Pertnoy, who had pulled himself up to a sitting position and taken out his revolver. Pertnoy was biting hard on his lip, biting so hard that blood came seeping out. It was bright blood and it mixed with the frothy blood that welled up from his throat and gushed out of his mouth. The front of Pertnoy’s jacket was covered with blood pouring down from the wound in his chest, and from his punctured middle the blood spurted and streamed over his trousers. But the revolver in Pertnoy’s hand was fairly steady and he had it aimed at Taggert. Whitey saw Taggert lifting the bad arm and aiming at Pertnoy’s stomach. He heard Pertnoy saying, “This is silly.”

Taggert shot first, but before the bullet went in, Pertnoy was able to pull the trigger. A red-black hole showed on Taggert’s forehead and he was instantly dead. Pertnoy was sitting there and then sagging sideways, finally resting face down.

Whitey moved toward Pertnoy to see if he could do something
for him. He knew it was a stupid thought, there really wasn’t anything he could do. As he knelt beside Pertnoy, he heard the sound of the back door. He turned and saw them coming out. It was Chop and Bertha and Gerardo. They came out running. Whitey saw a gun in Chop’s hand. Chop took a shot at Whitey and the bullet went into Pertnoy’s face. Whitey reached for Pertnoy’s revolver, telling himself he’d never handled one before, and wondering what he could do with it. He saw Chop taking aim at him and he decided the only thing to do with a gun was pull the trigger. He pulled it and the bullet went past Chop and past Bertha and hit Gerardo in the thigh. He pulled it again and saw Chop dropping the gun and hopping around, holding onto his hand.

Bertha went for the gun and Whitey shot at her and missed and caught Gerardo in the knee. Gerardo was sitting with his legs crossed and he was screeching. Chop was running back into the house. Bertha stood there frowning down at Chop’s gun on the ground. Then she frowned at Whitey, and then at the gun again. She was trying to make up her mind.
Whitey aimed at her immense bulk and said, “You move and you’re dead.”

She looked at him and said quietly, “You mean you’d hit a lady?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. He saw her walking toward him. He told himself it was a female and he didn’t like the idea of hurting a female. He said to himself: How stupid can you get? She walked in closer and he knew it would be very stupid if he didn’t shoot her. Of course, both of them were acting stupid. The only thing that wasn’t stupid was the gun. It felt solid and capable in his hand and he told himself to use it. Now Bertha was in very close and he begged himself to shoot her. He shot at her and missed and knew he’d missed purposely.

“Sucker,” she said, and swung her right arm with all her weight behind it. Her big fist put the impact of more than three hundred pounds against his jaw. A few stars came down and flared in his eyes and through his eyes and then he was out of it.

*

In the station house the clock on the roll-room wall showed ten mi
nutes past five. The roll room was crowded with policemen. The wino who’d been sleeping on the bench was still asleep. On the same bench Whitey sat leaning back with his head against the wall. He had an ice bag pressed to his jaw. He told himself the cops were very considerate to let him use the ice bag. It sure helped. But a drink would help more. He wished he had a drink in front of him.

“How you doing?”

He looked up. It was Captain Kinnard.

“I guess I’ll make it,” Whitey said. He took the ice bag away from his swollen jaw. He touched his jaw and winced slightly. Then he shrugged and placed the ice bag on the bench beside him.

“You wanna go now?” the Captain asked.

“Is it all right?”

The Captain nodded. “You’re clear. We got a confession from your friend Gerardo.”

Whitey stood up. For some moments he was quiet. And then, not looking at the Captain, “Only Gerardo?”

“The others got away.”

“What?”

“I said they got away. They had a car and they got away.”

“Oh,” Whitey said. He was staring at the floor.

“What’s the matter?” the Captain said.

He shook his head slowly. “Nothing.”

“Well, anyway,” the Captain said, “we put them out of business. There won’t be no more riots, that’s for sure.”

Whitey wasn’t listening. He was thinking about her. In his mind he could see the gray-green eyes and the lighter-than-bronze hair, and he said to himself: You didn’t even get a chance to talk to her. And if you’d had the chance? What then? What could be said? Not a damn thing more than hello again and good-by again. Because she’d never leave Sharkey. She can’t leave Sharkey. If she tries to leave him, he puts the hook on her and drags her back. She knows she can’t skip out on him. So that’s the way it is. She’s hooked, that’s all. Maybe she wants to be hooked, whether she knows it or not. After all, that’s the only life she knows, and without it she’s nowhere. Like
you’re nowhere without a drink. And sure as hell you need one now. All right, stop carrying on. At least you had another look at her. You had that, anyway. So you ought to be satisfied. All right, you’re satisfied. You feel great. But where can I get a drink?

He heard the Captain saying, “You look knocked out. If you want to, you can sleep here.”

“No,” he said. “But I could use a bracer. I’m kinda thirsty.”

The Captain nodded toward the corridor. “Go in my office. It’s on the desk. Take it with you.”

Whitey smiled. “Thanks, Captain.”

“No,” the Captain said. He didn’t smile. “I’m saying thanks. Thanks a million, mister.”

Whitey walked across the roll room and down the corridor and into the Captain’s office. It was there on the desk, the whisky bottle three quarters full. He picked it up and held it under his coat as he walked out the side door of the station house.

It was very cold outside and he walked fast to get some circulation in his legs. After a while he stopped and uncapped the bottle and drank, and a few minutes later he drank again. It felt fine going down. On River Street, headed north toward Skid Row, he stopped and took a big drink. Then he looked at the bottle. It was about half filled. He wondered where he could find Bones and Phillips. They ought to be somewhere around.

Then he was on Skid Row and he found them in the all-night eatery across the street from the flophouse. They were seated at the counter near the window. Of course, they weren’t eating anything; the hash house never handed out free meals. They were just sitting there at the counter.

Whitey tapped on the window. Bones and Phillips looked up. They came hurrying out of the hash house and Phillips said loudly, “We been worried to death. Where the hell you been?”

“I took a walk,” Whitey said.

“He took a walk,” Bones told Phillips. “He keeps us sitting up all night and he says he just took a walk.”

“Look at his face,” Phillips said. “He’s all banged up.”

Whitey shrugged and didn’t say anything. Bones came in close to
Whitey and sniffed a few times. Then Bones looked sideways at Phillips and said quietly, “I’ll be a sonofabitch, he scored for the booze.”

Whitey smiled and reached under his coat and took out the bottle.

The three of them walked across the street. They sat down on the pavement with their backs against the wall of the flophouse. The pavement was terribly cold and the wet wind from the river came blasting into their faces. But it didn’t bother them. They sat there passing the bottle around, and there was nothing that could bother them, nothing at all.

1917

Born David Loeb Goodis in Philadelphia on March 2, the oldest child of William Goodis, co-owner of a news dealership on the southeast corner of 2nd and Chestnut Streets, and Mollie (Halpern) Goodis. (William Goodis was born in Russia in 1882, emigrating with his mother, Rebecca, around 1890. He will later become a cotton yarn salesman, working for Globe Dye Works and the William Goodis Co. Mollie was born in Pennsylvania in 1895 of Russian émigré parents.) At time of Goodis’s birth, family resides with William’s mother at 870 North 6th Street, but will live for most of his childhood and adolescence at 4758 North 10th Street, in the middle-class Logan neighborhood.

1920

Brother Jerome Goodis born (exact date of birth unknown). He will die from meningitis around age three.

1923

Brother Herbert Goodis born.

1923–29

Attends General David Bell Birney Elementary School.

1929–31

Attends Jay Cooke Jr. Middle School, where he meets Paul Garabedian, who will remain a lifelong friend.

1935

Graduates from Simon Gratz High School in Philadelphia, where he edits the student newspaper,
Spotlight
, joins the track and swimming teams, and serves as President of Gratz Student Association. Gives valedictorian speech, “Youth Looks at Peace.”

1938

Graduates from Temple University with degree in Journalism, and works briefly for a Philadelphia advertising agency. At Temple, Goodis writes for student paper,
News
, and contributes cartoons to student magazine,
The Owl
. (Will later claim he worked during this period on an unpublished, lost novel,
The Ignited
, though existence of this book may be one of the deadpan fabrications in which Goodis occasionally indulged in interviews or author notes: “The title was prophetic. Eventually I threw it in the furnace.”)

1939

First novel
Retreat from Oblivion
is published by Dutton
.
Goodis moves to New York City, where he lives in Greenwich Village and the Upper West Side. Starts to write for pulp magazines, including
Wings, Battle Birds, Fighting Aces, The Lone Eagle, Gangland Detective Stories, True Gangster Stories, Detective Fiction Weekly, 10 Story Western, Air War, New Detective Magazine, Double-Action Detective, Popular Sports Magazine, Sinister Stories, Thrilling Western, Dime Western, Captain Combat, G-Men Detective,
and
Dime Detective
, among others. His stories appear under his own name (or rarely as Dave Goodis) and probably also under various pseudonyms, including Lance Kermit, Logan C. Claybourne, Ray. P. Shotwell, and David Crewe. (In keeping with standard pulp publishing practices, these pseudonyms likely served additionally as recurrent “house pseudonyms” for other writers in the magazines where Goodis’s stories frequently appeared, the pseudonyms in some cases pre-dating his own initial appearances, making a thorough accounting of his magazine writing impossible. Goodis will continue to publish in pulp magazines at least into 1947, and perhaps through the early-to-mid-1950s. Goodis maintained that he published writing under seven names, and estimated that in the early 1940s he wrote over five million words in five years.)

1940–45

In New York Goodis also writes for radio programs including “House of Mystery,” “Superman,” and “Hop Harrigan,” for the latter of which he is ultimately Script Editor and an associate producer. When in Philadelphia, Goodis maintains an association with the Neighborhood Players, where he works alongside actress Grayson Hall (Shirley Grossman), who will remain his close friend for many years. Philadelphia and New Jersey friends include Paul Garabedian, Frank Ford (also known as Ed Felbin), Jane Melgin (later Jane Fried), Irving “Bud” Fried, Joe Schor, Monroe Schwartz, Leonard Cobrin, Dick Levy, Stanton Cooper, Ruth Burnat (later Ruth Norkin and Ruth Wendkos), Dick Levy, Phyllis Schulman, Marvin and Omi Yollin, and Herb Gross.

1942

During a short stay in Los Angeles, Goodis works on treatment, “Destination Unknown,” for Universal. Visits Mexico, and is particularly enamored by the bullfights in Tijuana.

1943

On October 17, Goodis marries Elaine Astor (1917–1986),
formerly of Philadelphia, at the Ohev Shalom Congregation, in Los Angeles.

1945

In December Warner Brothers acquires film rights to his novel
Dark Passage
for $25,000. Elaine Astor Goodis files for divorce in Philadelphia.

1946

Following serialization in
The Saturday Evening Post, Dark Passage
is published by Julian Messner. Warner Brothers signs Goodis to a term contract for an initial year plus five options for renewal. His starting salary is $750.00 a week, with 5 step-increases that ultimately would raise his salary to $2,000 a week. Contract specifies a six-month annual working period at Warner Brothers, with six months off to write fiction, and Goodis will spend part of each year in Los Angeles and Philadelphia. Publishes story, “Caravan to Tarim,” in
Colliers
(October 26). Goodis and wife divorce.

1947

Release of Warner Brothers film of
Dark Passage
, directed and written by Delmer Daves, and starring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. Publication of novels
Nightfall
(Julian Messner) and
Behold This Woman
(Appleton). With James Gunn, writes screenplay for Warner Brothers film
The Unfaithful
, based on W. Somerset Maugham story “The Letter,” directed by Vincent Sherman. At Warner Brothers Goodis also works on story treatments and scripts, “Within These Gates,” “Somewhere in the City,” “The Fall of Valor,” “The Persian Cat,” and “Up Till Now.” Comments on “Black Dahlia” murder case for
Los Angeles Evening Herald Express
(February 6). In early April, visits Boston with Delmer Daves, producer Jerry Wald, and art director Leo Kuter, scouting locations at historic sites for “Up Till Now,” supposedly completing the film treatment on the train from Hollywood to Boston. (“Up Till Now,” Daves remarks, “is aimed at giving people a look at themselves and their heritage. We want to show people what the Founding Fathers gave us to live up to and we want to analyze the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution in terms of personal problems today.” The film will not be made, but Goodis will recast elements of the work for his 1954 novel,
The Blonde on the Street Corner
.) Goodis directs “amateur theatricals” in Los Angeles for the Vermont Players of the Sinai Young Peoples’ League, including productions of Noel Coward’s
Fumed Oak
and Walter MacQuade’s
Exclusive Model
at the Sinai Temple at West 4th Street and New Hampshire. During
his periods in Hollywood, Goodis variously sleeps on the sofas of friends (including lawyer Allan Norkin, to whom he pays $4.00 a week), resides at the rundown Oban Hotel, or rents an apartment at the elegant Hollywood Tower Apartments. Norkin recalled Goodis receiving phone calls from Ann Sheridan, Lizabeth Scott, and Lauren Bacall. Goodis becomes friendly with screenwriter Samuel Fuller, who many years later will adapt and direct a film based on his 1954 novel
Street of No Return
. When in Philadelphia, Goodis lives with his parents and brother. In Hollywood, Goodis develops a reputation for personal eccentricity and practical jokes.

1948

Works on story treatment “Of Missing Persons” for Warner Brothers, which grants him rights to publish the work as a novel. His Warner Brothers activities conclude in June.

1949–50

Goodis is hired by producer Monte Proser to adapt Jon Edgar Webb’s prison novel,
Four Steps to the Wall
, for a film, and in writing the screenplay he apparently retains only the original names of characters, creating his own story. While working on the script, Goodis lives at the Crown Hill Hotel, a Los Angeles flophouse, although he apparently is earning $1,000 a week from Proser. Disappointed by Goodis’s reshaping of his novel, Webb takes over adaptation of
Four Steps to the Wall
. Goodis stops dividing his year between Los Angeles and Philadelphia, and returns to Philadelphia to reside with his parents and brother, now living (since the early 1940s) at 6305 North 11th Street in the East Oak Lane neighborhood. Gallimard publishes first French translation of Goodis,
Cauchemar
(
Dark Passage
), in the Série Blême. (His writing will attract growing interest among European aficionados of crime fiction.) Philadelphia haunts over the coming years will include Club Harlem, the Blue Note, the Blue Horizon (for boxing matches), and Superior Billiards. Because of
Dark Passage
and his stint in Hollywood, Goodis would remain something of a Philadelphia semi-celebrity, and the occasional subject of newspaper gossip columns (“David Goodis, author of “Dark Passage,” out funning Club Harlem-way, squiring fine-framed and ‘tractive sepia misses.”)

1950

Publishes novel
Of Missing Persons.
Broadcast of
Sure As Fate
(CBS), television production of
Nightfall
, directed by Yul Brynner.

1951

Gold Medal publishes novel
Cassidy’s Girl
; it is a paperback original, like all of his subsequent novels. Broadcast of
Studio One
(CBS) television production of
Nightfall
, directed by John Peyser. Around this time Goodis starts relationship with artist Selma Hortense Burke, which will last until 1956.

1952

Publishes novels
Street of the Lost
(Gold Medal) and
Of Tender Sin
(Gold Medal). Broadcast of
Lux Video Theater
(CBS) episode, “Ceylon Treasure,” based on forthcoming Goodis story “The Blue Sweetheart,” directed by Buzz Kulik, with Ronald Long, Audrey Meadows, and Edmond O’Brien.

1953

Publishes novels
The Moon in the Gutter
(Gold Medal) and
The Burglar
(Lion). Publishes stories in
Manhunt
, “The Blue Sweetheart” (April), “Professional Man” (October), and “Black Pudding” (December).

1954

Publishes novels
The Blonde on the Street Corner
(Lion),
Black Friday
(Lion), and
Street of No Return
(Gold Medal).

1955

Publishes novel
The Wounded and the Slain
(Gold Medal), the Jamaican setting reflecting Goodis’s trip there. Writes screenplay for film version of
The Burglar
, directed by Paul Wendkos and featuring Dan Duryea, Jayne Mansfield, Martha Vickers, Stewart Bradley, Peter Capell, and Mickey Shaughnessy; the film is shot on location in Philadelphia during the summer, but release is delayed. Release of
Seccion Desparecidos
or
Section des disparus
, Argentinian/French film based on
Of Missing Persons
, directed by Pierre Chenal.

1956

Publishes novel
Down There
(Gold Medal). Broadcast of
Lux Video Theater
episode, “The Unfaithful,” based on 1947 Warner Brothers film written by Goodis and James Gunn, directed by Earl Eby, with Jan Sterling.

1957

Publishes novel
Fire in the Flesh
(Gold Medal). Release of
Nightfall
, film directed by Jacques Tourneur, with Aldo Ray, Brian Keith, Anne Bancroft, Jocelyn Brando, Frank Albertson, and Rudy Bond; and of
The Burglar
, following Jayne Mansfield’s success in
The Girl Can’t Help It
and
The Wayward Bus
.

1958

Publishes story “The Plunge” in
Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine
(October).

1960

Release of
Tirez sur le pianist (Shoot the Piano Player)
, film directed by François Truffaut based on
Down There
, with Charles Aznavour, Marie Dubois, and Nicole Berger. Goodis meets Truffaut in New York. Grove Press reissues the novel under the title
Shoot the Piano Player
, with an enthusiastic blurb by Henry Miller: “Truffaut’s film was so good I had doubts the book could equal it. I have just read the novel and I think it is even better than the film.” Broadcast of episode of
Bourbon Street Beat
(ABC), “False Identity,” based on
Of Missing Persons
, directed by William J. Hole, Jr. Dick Carroll, Goodis’s editor at Gold Medal, dies, and Carroll’s successor, Knox Burger, is less hospitable to his fiction.

1961

Publishes novel
Night Squad
(Gold Medal), the last book to be published during Goodis’s lifetime.

1963

Writes teleplay, “An Out for Oscar,” based on a novel by Henry Kane, for
The Alfred Hitchcock Hour
. Goodis’s father dies. Herbert Goodis is confined to Norristown State Hospital for severe psychiatric problems.

1965

Publishes story, “The Sweet Taste,” in
Manhunt
(January). Goodis initiates lawsuit against United Artists Television, Inc. and ABC claiming that the television show “The Fugitive” (1963–1967) infringed on copyright of his novel
Dark Passage
.

1966

Goodis’s mother dies, and he is briefly hospitalized at the Philadelphia Psychiatric Center (later known as the Belmont Center for Comprehensive Treatment). According to his friend Monroe Schwartz, Goodis is mugged leaving Linton’s Restaurant on North Broad Street, and hit on the head when he refuses to surrender his wallet, the episode leaving him weak, frail, and with a chronically bloodshot right eye. Goodis also informs members of his family that he has a “coronary condition.” Between illnesses he gives two depositions in New York for lawsuit involving “The Fugitive” and
Dark Passage
. (In 1970 Federal District Court will dismiss complaint about “The Fugitive” against United Artists Television, Inc. on grounds that since Goodis had published installments of
Dark Passage
in
The Saturday Evening Post
without a copyright notice appearing in the magazine, the work was in the public domain. Goodis Estate appeals, and Court of Appeals reverses lower court
decision, remanding case for trial. In 1972 Goodis Estate accepts $12,000 in full settlement of lawsuit against United Artists Television.) Jean-Luc Godard includes character named David Goodis (played by Yves Afonso) in
Made in U.S.A.