Fredric Brown - Homicide Sanitarium

I reached across the bar to shake hands with Mike. I said, "Glad to know you, Mike."

"Likewise, Mr. Dixon."

He put ice in the mixer glass and three jiggers of gin. He said, "Always wanted to kill mine, Mr. Dixon. How'd you do it?"

"With a gun," I said. "You've got a nice place here, Mike. I live only five or six blocks away. How come I never discovered it?"

"Dunno. Been here three years. But then there are a lot of bars in a radius of five or six blocks in New York. Yeah, we run a nice place. Quiet tonight, though."

"Way I like it," I told him. "And if you start that juke box I'll shoot you."

He looked back at it and frowned. "Me? No. Got to have one for the customers who want it, but me, I never touch the thing. I like music. Say, there's one good record on there, though, if you get in the mood. An early Harry James, before he went commercial."

"Later, maybe. Which one?"

"That one he plays straight trumpet solo and blue as they come. Sleepy Time Gal ."

Something twisted inside me; I hadn't been set for it. It had been Lola's favorite tune. I could still hear her humming it in that low throaty voice. Mike put the glasses in front of us and filled them from the mixer. He'd guessed short, but that didn't matter because he filled his own last and a bartender always drinks them short.

He said, "Here's to crime."

I wanted to down mine at a gulp, but I took only a sip. I had to stay sober. I thought, one or two more--that's my limit.

Adrian Carr said, "Mike, you've met Mrs. Dixon, Wayne's wife. Been here with me--ah--two or three months ago. Remem-ber, I introduced her to you as the former Lola Harcourt, used to be with Billy Rose. Blonde and svelte--you can translate that as gracefully slender, Mike--and still fairly sober. . . ."

"Sure," Mike said. "Sure I remember her. She's the best looker ever was in here. No kidding, Mr. Dixon, is that really your wife?"

"She was," I said.

"Oh. Divorced?"

I said flatly, "Dead. I killed her tonight. Remember?"

He grinned. "Oh, sure."

Carr glanced at me. "Did Lola mention running into me that night, Wayne?

First time I'd seen her in a year or so. I was sitting in my car waiting for a green light, to cross Fifth Avenue, and she saw me from the sidewalk and came over and got in beside me. I bought her a couple of drinks here and then dropped her off at your place. She said you weren't home so I didn't drop up."

I laughed a little. "That sounds like a lot of explanation for something so innocent, Adrian. But yes, as a matter of fact she did mention it. That's when I first heard about the Bluebeard play. It was later that she borrowed a copy of the script from Taggert. How's he doing, by the way?"

"Not too well, I'm afraid. He was so head over heels in the hole that the advance I gave him on this play didn't do him too much good. Of course if it goes over, he'll be all right. But you know how that is. One play out of ten really makes any money. And even if this one has a fairly good run, I have a hunch it won't ever hit the movies. The theme, you know. The movies don't like to be flippant about murder."

"Having read it," I said, "I think you're right, Adrian. It'll run a few months, though. And it'll mean a lot of prestige to the actors with the fat roles."

He nodded thoughtfully. He said, "Wayne, I've just been thinking, seriously. I want to talk to you. Let's go over and sit in a booth, eh?"

"About Lola or about the role?"

"Both."

"Okay," I said.

We crossed over and Adrian Carr hung his opera cape and top hat beside one of the booths and we sat down across from one another. Under the cape, Adrian was in impeccable full dress; his shirt front gleamed immaculately white, adorned by chastely small star sapphire studs.

He called out "Mike!" and I caught Mike's eyes as he looked toward us. "Just one, Mike," I said. "I'll skip this round."

Then I looked across at Adrian. I said, "Let me talk first, will you? Let me say for you what you were going to say about Lola. If I say it for you--well, that's going to be different than if you do. Can you understand what I mean, Adrian?"

"I can, Wayne. Maybe it's better that way."

"You were going to tell me I should leave Lola, divorce her. That she's no good for me. That her thoughtlessness and her extravagance and her drinking and running around have held me down, have spoiled my chances on the stage--or anywhere else."

He nodded slowly, not quite looking at me.

I said, "You were going to tell me she is both petty and vicious."

"And, Wayne, I don't know which is the worse of those two."

"I do," I said. "I know now. I used to wonder."

I stopped talking as Mike brought Adrian Carr's martini. Adrian said, "You're sure you won't have another, Wayne?" and when I said I was sure, Mike went away.

I said, "You were also going to tell me that she isn't faithful to me. Maybe you were going to tell me she's in love with some-one else. Were you?"

"I'm not sure of that last, Wayne. Her being in love with some-one else. But--"

"Let's skip it, Adrian. I've said it all for you and saved you from being a Dutch uncle. And there are two things wrong with it. First, I know it all already and I loved her anyway. Call it chemistry or call it insanity or call it what you like, but I loved her in spite of all that."

"Loved?"

"She's dead, Adrian. I killed her tonight, remember? That's the other thing that's wrong with all the things you were going to say--the tenses. I used the present tense because I was quoting you, what you would have said. You still don't believe that I killed her, do you?"

"Damn it, boy, I wish you'd quit that line. You're beginning to give me the creeps. Keep it up much longer and I'm going to phone Lola and ask her to join us, just to be sure."

He stared at me for a long moment. He asked quietly, "You are acting, aren't you. It is a gag, isn't it?"

I laughed and I could see the tension go out of his face. I said, "I did make you wonder, Adrian."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You did, at that. Just made me wonder. You didn't convince me."

"I don't want to convince you," I told him. "This is only the second act, for one thing. And for another--well, skip that. I didn't really want to convince you."

"You talk strangely tonight, Wayne. How much have you been drinking today?"

"Two highballs this afternoon, hours ago. And two martinis with you, just now. That's all. I'm sober. I think I'm soberer than I've ever been in my life. Maybe that's why I'm talking too much. . . .You're still wondering a little, aren't you, Adrian?"

He chuckled. "I guess I am, a little. You wore me down. The old Nazi and Communist technique--tell a lie often enough and people will begin to believe it, no matter how obvious a lie it is. Tell me about ten more times and I'll probably call the police."

"Would you, really?"

"I don't . . . know. Look, boy, if by any one chance out of ten million you were telling the truth, you're being a damn fool. You shouldn't sit around telling people you did it and waiting for the police to come and get you. Look, boy, if you did and it is a--what's the phrase I want?--a rap you can't beat, you'd better get out of town fast. Head for--well I wouldn't suggest where and I wouldn't want to know where. And if you're broke, I've got a little over two hundred dollars with me. You're welcome to it and you can send it back some day, if and when."

I leaned across the table and tapped his arm. I said, "Adrian, you're a good joe. But I don't want or need any money. Tell me, do you really think by now that I killed Lola?"

"Of course not. But on the thousandth chance --"