Henry Farrell

“ Fleetwood started forward, but the struggle within his mind, the straining effort to focus his mind in the direction of reality, did not cease. The pain throbbing in his hand, however, interfered badly. He bit his lip hard to provide a counter irritant. He stopped; the pain disappeared.
"Now, dammit, Dermitt!" he said with final exasperation, "that doesn't even hold water, and you know it. Why would any guy in his right mind just shrug his shoulders and take off with a couple of murderous rats as calmly as though he were on his way to the garden to pick lilacs? ”

“ Fleetwood said. He turned away from Mario and stared at Evelyn, a dumb move, the kind of thing a guy does when he finds out that the angel in his life got her halo from the local tinsmith. "You're wasting yourself, Ev," he said softly. "You didn't have to team up with a rotten slob like that, not a gal like you. It's like pitting platinum buttons on a suit of flannel drawers—" ”

“ He reached out and put his finger to the buzzer.
As he waited, a qualm crossed his mind, the ghost of something he couldn't quite remember. There was a dim, fleeting glimpse of another world, a world made up of a counter, the face of a girl, a magazine.... But it wouldn't focus properly; his memory couldn't make the hurdle. The door opened and Evelyn Anders was standing before him.
"Fleetwood," she said. She held her hand out to him and smiled. "Please come in, won't you?" ”

“ Kitty gritted back at him. "Scat!"
Fleetwood scatted. But not in a mood of docile acquiescence. Fate had handled him quite nastily during the last several minutes and, therefore, deserved to be dealt with in kind. He addressed himself to Fate, using the surname.
"Dermitt," he said between clenched teeth, "now you've gone too far. Far, far too far. I told you to leave Kitty out of this. If you have trouble now you've only got yourself to blame. Remember that."
He retraced his steps through the hallway and back into the living room, where he seated himself solidly on the divan. ”

“ Fleetwood sat up sharply. "No!" He fairly yelled it. "Emphatically no! You leave Kitty out of this. If you so much as put her name on paper I'll...."
Dermitt smiled with a certain formidable satisfaction. "You'll what?" he asked quietly. "I've been thinking how logical it is, that if I have the power to transform a fictional person into a live being, then I must also be able to reverse the process and make a live character into a fictional one." ”

“ Dermitt cried. "So that's the kind of dame you pick out—you, Fleetwood Cassidy, who, thanks to me, has been in constant and close contact with some of the most fascinating females in fiction!"
"Oh, those tomatoes." Fleetwood sighed a jaded sigh. "I'm tired of all those sexy dames. They get so ordinary after a while. When you've seen one of them you've seen them all."
"Ordinary!" Dermitt said, outraged. "All of my women are unique artistic creations! And you're darned lucky to have been in the same stories with them. At least they...." He controlled himself with an effort and forced a smile. ”

“ Fleetwood said firmly. "There's more and it gets more interesting as it goes along. I've just come from being deceived by a woman named Evelyn who has class, alternately pronounced with a hard and soft 'a', slugged behind the ear by a putty-faced gunman named Mario and pitched headfirst into a black abyss. But I decided the whole sequence was too corny, so I got up off the floor, dusted myself off and called you up just to say hello. Does any of that ring a bell with you, Dermitt?" ”

“ The girls at the magazine racks had tuned up conversationally. Chit-chat was their medium, of the sort that, for all its lack of substance, takes on a certain penetration after a time. In the end, Fleetwood found himself slipping, no matter how unwillingly, into the role of the eavesdropper. As it was, though, he couldn't have selected a more illuminating moment in which to fall from grace.
"I've been following him for years," one of the girls said as Fleetwood dialed in full strength. "I watch for him every time he comes out." ”

“ Fleetwood said, shuddering at the thought. "Kitty's eyes, as nearly as I can remember, are more mud colored. Flecked with sand, if they must be flecked with anything. They're astonishing."
"Huh?" Dermitt said, taken aback. "But I'll bet her mouth is something to wire home about, eh? Petulant and full? Soft and warm?"
Fleetwood shook his head. "Narrow as a string," he said reminiscently. "Hard and cool. Kitty is no ordinary girl, you understand."
"Are you sure she's any kind of girl at all?" Dermitt asked hesitantly. "What about her nose? She has a nose, hasn't she?" ”

“ In fact I'm only calling to warn you I'm on my way over to tell you about it right now."
"What?" Grant Dermitt said. "Who is this anyway?"
"Fleetwood Cassidy," Fleetwood said, "that's who. And don't tell me I can't be, because I am."
"Now, just a minute," Grant Dermitt broke in. "Whoever you are, you've got a lousy sense of humor. And if you've got anything important to say, which I dismiss as a serious possibility, you'd better get on with it before I hang up, which I am just about to do."
"Okay," Fleetwood said. "I'll run over the facts, touching lightly on the high spots. ”

“ Keeping his eyes on Fleetwood, Dermitt got up slowly and crossed to the desk in the alcove. "You're mad," he said uncertainly. "You're out of your mind."
"No," Fleetwood said with a wry smile. "I'm out of your mind. Besides, you dwell too much on insanity. That's morbid in a fellow your age." Dermitt said something under his breath, but Fleetwood didn't hear it. "Now just sit down and write the next line as it comes to you. And watch me, too, while you do it. I think we may both learn something interesting."
Dermitt sighed deeply and seated himself before the typewriter. ”

“ He looked to Fleetwood hopefully. "I'll pay you a regular salary, too, so much an hour—retroactive."
Fleetwood shook his head. "Huh-uh. I'm tired, Dermitt. If I have to mix it up with any more gunmen or double-dealing dames I'll have a nervous breakdown. I'm not kidding." His gaze moved to the window and the glittering vista stretching out into the eternal distance of the night. "Besides, I've met a girl...."
"A girl?" Dermitt said, incredulous. "How could you meet a girl? When did you have the chance?"
"This afternoon. In a drug store. But...."
"My God, you work fast, don't you? ”

“ The ensuing moments were characterized by a series of crashes which began in a quiet sort of way but rapidly mounted to a nerve-shredding climax. The first crash was really only a thud occasioned by a collision of bodies as Fleetwood threw himself against Kitty. The second instantly grew out of the first as Kitty toppled to the floor. The third was the natural result of Mario's finger pressing down on the trigger. The rest of it, the screams and random dialogue, was lost to Fleetwood as hot pain licked through his hands and up his arm.
"You've hit him!" Evelyn screamed. "He's bleeding!" ”

“ You're right about the gun; it's the one. I knew you'd find out sooner or later. That's why I wanted you to have it, to put an end to all this rottenness. Take it or leave it, it doesn't really matter so much, only get out of here before Mario gets back."
"Who're you really worried about?" Fleetwood asked. "Mario or me? Or do you know yourself?"
"Why should it matter so long as you stay alive? If you don't go you'll only be engraving your own tombstone. Mario won't give you a chance. He's probably got you spotted from outside right now." ”

“ Her face became a white mask of anger. "I'll kill you, Cassidy!" she shrilled. "You can't push me around and not bleed for it sooner or later. I'll kill you, damn you!"
"You'll try," Fleetwood nodded with a wry smile. "But take a tip, sugar, when you come gunning for me don't wear that negligee. It doesn't give you any place to hide the weapon. In fact it doesn't give you any place to hide anything."
When he sauntered out the door she was still staring at him, her face twisted and mottled in the firelight like an artist's paint rag.
"Gosh!" Kitty said, looking up from the magazine. "Gee!" ”

“ Dermitt said, momentarily overwhelmed. "I suppose I have been a little rough on you, but I...."
"Exactly," Fleetwood cut in. "And never a hint of any sort of compensation or old age retirement. Not that that's the main consideration. If you had made me into one of those gentleman, garden-party type detectives, that would be an entirely different matter. Those boys go to all the best places, rub elbows with the cream of society and live off the fat of the land. ”

“ I'm surprised that a bunch of savage, sadistic-minded brutes like that know how to read."
"It's no good resorting to insults," Dermitt said mildly. "In fact, you had better mind your manners or this Kitty of yours is going to get the surprise of her pallid little life."
For a long moment Fleetwood was silent, weighing the alternatives. "Okay," he said finally, giving in to the inevitable. "Okay, you win. All I ask is that you get it over with as soon as possible."
"Fair enough," Dermitt said with satisfaction. ”

“ Fleetwood yelled. "Hey!" He addressed himself again to the ceiling. "Now, look here, Dermitt, you monster," he said, "you can't go doing this sort of thing. Besides, you're only ruining your own story; the dame already said the maid wasn't here tonight. You can't come running new characters into the thing now. It doesn't make sense!"
"I don't know why I keep that dismal child around," Evelyn said flintily, quite unmindful of any interruption. "For laughs, I suppose, or contrast. A bit of comic relief never hurt anyone." ”

“ There was hardly any lapse between the sound of the buzzer inside the apartment and the echo of rapidly approaching footsteps. The footsteps, however, for all their orderly progression, stopped abruptly just short of the inner side of the door. In the pause that followed, Fleetwood reflected with understanding sympathy that he was not alone in the need to brace himself against the impending interview, and he found courage in this fact. Then the door opened and zero hour had arrived. ”

“ He tensed against whatever was about to happen. Then, in a rush, a small whirring sound descended swiftly behind his ear and his head split with pain. The floor opened into a black abyss in front of him and he plunged toward it headfirst. ”

“ Kitty said. "It never gets us anywhere. What do you want to know about this Grant Dermitt? Not that I can tell you anyway."
"I want to see him," Fleetwood said. "I have to get in touch with him."
"Why don't you call him up on the telephone? He lives somewhere here in town. I heard at the Towers. What do you have to see him about?"
"I really don't know," Fleetwood said, "not for sure."
"You're funny," Kitty said.
"Yeah, I guess I am," Fleetwood reflected. He left the counter and crossed to the phone booths. Picking up the directory he turned to the T's. He looked back at Kitty. ”

“ He swiveled around toward the blonde. "And you'd better get yourself a new playmate, lamb-chop. This one won't even be able to keep you in rompers from now on." He gave Mario one last glance, to warn him to stay down, and legged it for the door. This was the kind of place and the kind of people he loved to leave behind.
She must have pole-vaulted across the room to have made it so fast; he was just reaching for the knob when her perfume pressed in on him from behind. He turned around, left his hand resting on the knob. ”

“ If anything it only grew stronger. He turned aimlessly back toward the Grande Apartments, then started with a gasp of dismay.
The Grande Apartments were gone, and in their place was an establishment called The Handy Drug Store! Fleetwood tried to think clearly, more clearly than he ever had before. It wasn't any good; there wasn't any logical answer. Warily, he approached the store and went inside.
He by-passed the cigarette counter and the magazine racks, noted their contents curiously, and climbed aboard a stool at a long counter. At least it was a place to sit down and rest. ”

“ They have a chance to improve themselves socially and prosper in the bargain. But this other routine, this rowdyism and mucking about with the absolute scum of the earth—well, let me tell you, it takes it out of a man and puts nothing back in return. So you'll understand when I say I'm quitting and getting out."
"Quitting!" Dermitt half rose from his chair, his eyes large enough to almost fill the circles of his enormous glasses. "Do you mean you actually intend—"
"I do," Fleetwood nodded emphatically. ”

“ It expressed an even blend of harassment and vexation.
"Now, look here, Paul," it said, getting right down to brass tacks, "this isn't the time for you to be calling up with your bum jokes, telling the clerk you're Fleetwood Cassidy. I'm in a jam with this yarn and I haven't got time to be cute. Now, what's on your mind?"
"I don't know Paul," Fleetwood said, "so I'm in no position to speak for him. But I'll be very happy to tell you what's on my mind. And that's plenty. ”

“ Never had he dreamed that it was possible for any woman to speak with so little innuendo. He was shaken to the very core. He realized that because of this girl something very important was happening to him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. ”

“ He boosted himself away from the drinking fountain and continued along the hallway with the eerie feeling that he was moving toward some prearranged meeting with Destiny.
He was still a soul adrift, so to speak, when he pushed his way out of the Grande and stood pondering in the afternoon sun. The sidewalk, the street, the traffic, the confused and crowded skyline—all of these things, in turn, presented new problems of identification and orientation, as though he was seeing them all for the first time and didn't know quite what to make of them. And yet.... And yet—what? ”