Роберт Беллем - Pulp Frictions

She was holding it in front of her, its long blue flame aimed straight at the brassy blonde’s flanks. Babe increased her speed. But Bette stayed right with her.

They came racing down the lawn towards him. Then, Bette tripped and stumbled, the torch flying from her hands. And at practically the same instant, Babe collided head-on with the steel flagpole. The impact knocked her senseless. Leaving her to listen to the birdies, Mitch sat down by Bette and drew her onto his lap. Bette threw her arms around him, hugging him frantically.

‘You’re all right, honey? I was so worried about you! You didn’t really think I meant the way I acted, did you?’

‘I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had,’ Mitch said.

‘Well, I didn’t. Of course I was awfully mad at you, but you are my husband. I feel like murdering you myself lots of times, but I’m certainly not going to let anyone else do it!’

‘That’s my girl.’ Mitch kissed her fondly. ‘But—’

‘I thought it was the best thing to do, honey. Just play dumb and then go get some help. Well—’

‘Just a minute,’ Mitch interrupted. ‘Where’s your car?’

‘Over by the ocean,’ Bette pointed, continued. ‘Like I was saying, I found her listening out in the hall. I mean, she ducked away real fast, but I knew she had been listening. So I figured you’d probably be all right for a little while, and I’d better see about her.’

‘Right,’ Mitch nodded. ‘You did exactly right, honey.’

‘Well, she had a room just a few doors away, Mitch. I guess they had to move her nearby because they didn’t have much time. Anyway, she went in and I went right in with her...’

She had asked Babe the score. Babe had told her to go jump, and Bette had gone to work on her, ripping off her clothes in the process. Babe had spilled, after a time. Bette had learned, consequently, that there would be no help for Mitch unless she provided it.

‘So I locked her in and went back to your room. But you were gone, and I guessed you must be all right from the look of things. That guy in the bathtub, I mean.’ Bette burst into giggles, remembering. ‘He looked so funny, Mitch! How in the world do you ever think of those stunts?’

‘Just comes natural, I guess,’ Mitch murmured modestly. ‘Go on, precious.’

‘Well, I went back to her room, and the clerk called and said you were threatening to blow up the place. But she wouldn’t go for it. She said she was going to stay right there, no matter what, and anyway you were just bluffing. Well, I was pretty sure you were, too, but I knew you wanted to get her outside. So I went out in the hall again and dug up that big cigar lighter—’

Mitch chuckled and kissed her again. ‘You did fine, baby. I’m really proud of you. You gave her a good frisk, I suppose? Searched her baggage?’

Bette nodded, biting her lip. ‘Yes, Mitch. She doesn’t have the money.’

‘Don’t look so down about it—’ he gave her a little pat. ‘I didn’t figure she’d keep it with her. She’s ditched it outside somewhere.’

‘But, Mitch, you don’t understand. I talked to her, and—’

‘I know. She’s a very stubborn girl.’ Mitch got to his feet. ‘But I’ll fix that.’

‘But, Mitch — she told me where she put the money. When I was chasing her with the torch.’

‘Told you! Why didn’t you say so? Where is it, for Pete’s sake?’

‘It isn’t,’ Bette said miserably. ‘But it was.’ She pointed towards the hotel. ‘It was up there.’

‘Huh? What are you talking about?’

‘She... she mailed it to herself.’

Sick with self-disgust, Mitch climbed behind the wheel of Bette’s car and turned it onto the highway. Bette studied his dark face. She patted him comfortingly on the knee.

‘Now, don’t take it so hard, honey. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘Whose was it, then? How a guy can be so stupid and live so long! Fifty grand, and I do myself out of it! I do it to myself, that’s what kills me!’

‘But you can’t expect to be perfect, Mitch. No one can be smart all the time.’

‘Nuts!’ Mitch grunted bitterly. ‘When was I ever smart?’

Bette declared stoutly that he had been smart lots of times. Lots and lots of times. ‘You know you have, honey! Just look at all the capers you’ve pulled! Just think of all the people who are trying to find you! I guess they wouldn’t be, would they, if you hadn’t outsmarted them.’

‘Well...’ Mitch’s shoulders straightened a little.

Bette increased her praise.

‘Why, I’ll bet you’re the best hustler that ever was! I’ll bet you could steal the socks off a guy with sore feet, without taking off his shoes!’

‘You-uh-you really mean that, honey?’

‘I most certainly do!’ Bette nodded vigorously. ‘They just don’t make ’em any sneakier than my Mitch. Why... why, I’ll bet you’re the biggest heel in the world!’

Mitch sighed on a note of contentment. Bette snuggled close to him. They rode on through the night, moving, inappropriately enough, towards the City of Angels.

There is no more famous admirer of Jim Thompson’s work today than Stephen King, probably the biggest-selling author in the world. When a group of Thompson’s books were republished in 1990 he wrote an enthusiastic endorsement to encourage new readers: ‘Now, my friend, buckle your seatbelt and grab your gas-mask!’ Although King is often categorised as a horror writer, his fiction has ranged across the spectrum from fantasy to crime and he is known to be a keen reader of hardboiled fiction. But having said this, ‘The Fifth Quarter’ is his only venture into the genre. It was written in 1972 and, interestingly, appeared in the raunchy American men’s magazine Cavalier, under the by-line of ‘John Swithen’. Despite his prolific output, King has regularly used only one pseudonym, Richard Bachman, on a series of five titles published between 1977 and 1984 which an enterprising Washington bookstore clerk exposed after the appearance of the fifth title, Thinner — since when all have reappeared bearing the author’s real name. ‘John Swithen’, on the other hand, has (to date) made only this one appearance, although there has been no attempt at subterfuge by King, who readily allowed ‘The Fifth Quarter’ to be reprinted in the February 1986 issue of Twilight Zone magazine. There it was headlined with a quote that might have come straight from the pages of any Thirties pulp: ‘It’s tough enough for four guys to split the pie. The fifth slice means murder.’

Stephen King (1946-), who was born in Portland, Maine, had a number of jobs including that of janitor, mill-worker and library stacker before becoming a teacher and then a literary phenomenon following the publication of his first novel, Carrie, in 1974. Many of his subsequent books have been filmed — most notably The Shining (1980), Christine (1983), Firestarter (1984) and Pet Sematary (1989) — and it has been estimated that he has already sold more than 100 million books worldwide. All a long way from his first published story with the very pulp title ‘I Was a Teenage Graverobber’ in Comics Review! King’s sole hardboiled story which follows is very much in the Jim Thompson tradition and features a tough ex-convict, Flip Wilson, on the trail of some money from a bank robbery which is owed to a friend — now deceased. Twilight Zone rightly called it a ‘swift, icy story’ and it will surely remain in the reader’s memory long after he has closed the pages of this book.

I parked the heap around the corner from Keenan’s house, sat in the dark for a moment, then turned off the key and got out. When I slammed the door, I could hear rust flaking off the rocker panels and dropping into the street. It wasn’t going to be like that much longer.