The Duane Rimel Noir Crime Megapack by Duane Rimel

Author:Duane Rimel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, hardboiled, detective, crime, noir
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2015-05-01T16:00:00+00:00

THE CURSE OF CAIN [Part 1]

Copyright © 1945 by David McCay Company.

DEDICATION

For Francis T. Laney

CHAPTER 1

“Say, you got pretty quiet all of a sudden, Carl. What’s eating you?” Jack Green asked me. “What’s the matter, don’t you hear?”

“Oh, I was just thinking,” I replied, fingering my cocktail glass, pushing it in circles on the varnished bar.

“About what?”

I hardly heard his question. My mind was grappling with the puzzle of a strange phone call I had received a few days before. I had been in Joe’s, my favorite hangout, enjoying my first day home. I was startled when I was called to the telephone.

“Is this Carl South?” that voice had inquired. It had sounded muffled and far away, but oddly familiar.

“Yes,” I said, “and who are you?” I was wondering who’d know so soon that I had been back in town.

“Never mind who I am, South, just take my advice and get out of town, as fast as you can. If you don’t, somebody is going to put you away.”

I had tried to answer, but the line had gone dead. There had been bitter venom in those strange, whispered words. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead, I was furious. Who in hell…? A fine welcome after two months away!

That voice had sounded familiar… I thought I knew whose it was. How did he know where to find me? Maybe it was just a lucky guess on his part.

So, Arthur did not want me around. Threatening me, going to “put me away,” eh? The dirty bastard.

“Say, what are you thinking about?” Green repeated.

“Those brothers of mine,” I said.

My friend stared at me a moment and polished off his glass of beer. Jack’s pale blue eyes looked big behind his spectacles. He coughed and lit a cigarette.

“You better take a drink and forget it all—”

“Oh, hell, sometimes I feel like murdering those snakes,” I grated. Gulping down the last of my cocktail, I kept pushing the glass around in circles. The liquor warmed my throat, but it didn’t thaw the cold lump in my guts. Maybe nothing ever would. Hate can do strange things to a man.

“You’re sure on a morbid jag, Carl. Pull in your lower lip and let’s take a run out to the Barn. It’s getting on past ten-thirty. Ought to be a crowd there by this time.”

I started to get up, and suddenly the strain in my fingers gave way. There was a brittle snap, something gouged my thumb, and glass tinkled on the bar. Half way out of my seat, I watched the broken cocktail glass roll around. The pieces fell off the edge and hit the floor with a sharp little crash.

I stood up, fighting to get control of myself. Jack Green rose slowly, a thin smile on his lips. The proprietor had a startled look on his face.

“How much for the glass?” I snapped.

“Nothing to you, South. Cut your hand any?”

I hadn’t noticed. After that tension I felt numb all over, Maybe there was a scratch or two, but it didn’t matter.

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