THE SIMPLE ART OF MURDER by Raymond Chandler Copyright ...

littered with empty bottles and cans and pieces of paper. It was entirely deserted, however, at this dark hour. I stopped my car and shut
off the ignition, and the lights, and sat there motionless, hands on the wheel.
Behind me I heard no murmur of sound from Henry. I waited possibly five minutes, although it seemed much longer, but nothing
happened. It was very still, very lonely, and I did not feel happy.
Finally there was a faint sound of movement behind me and I looked back to see the pale blur of Henry's face peering at me from
under the rug.
His voice whispered huskily. "Anything stirring, Walter?"
I shook my head at him vigorously and he once more pulled the rug over his face. I heard a faint sound of gurgling.
Fully fifteen minutes passed before I dared to move again. By this time the tensity of waiting had made me stiff. I therefore boldly
unlatched the door of the car and stepped out upon the rough ground. Nothing happened. I walked slowly back and forth with my hands
in my pockets. More and more time dragged by. More than half an hour had now elapsed and I became impatient. I went to the rear
window of the car and spoke softly into the interior.
"Henry, I fear we have been victimized in a very cheap way. I fear very much that this is nothing but a low practical joke on the part of
Mr. Gandesi in retaliation for the way you handled him last night. There is no one here and only one possible way of arriving. It looks to
me like a very unlikely place for the sort of meeting we have been expecting."
"The son of a bitch!" Henry whispered back, and the gurgling sound was repeated in the darkness of the car. Then there was
movement and he appeared free of the rug. The door opened against my body. Henry's head emerged. He looked in all directions his
eyes could command. "Sit down on the running board," he whispered. "I'm getting out, If they got a bead on us from them bushes, they'll
only see one head."
I did what Henry suggested and turned my collar up high and pulled my hat down over my eyes. As noiselessly as a shadow Henry
stepped out of the car and shut the door without sound and stood before me ranging the limited horizon with his eyes. I could see the
dim reflection of light on the gun in his hand. We remained thus for ten more minutes.
Henry then got angry and threw discretion to the winds. "Suckered!" he snarled. "You know what happened, Walter?"
"No, Henry. I do not."
"It was just a tryout, that's what it was. Somewhere along the line these dirty-so-and-so's checked on you to see did you play ball,
and then again they checked on you at that drugstore back there. I bet you a pair of solid platinum bicycle wheels that was a
long-distance call you caught back there."
"Yes, Henry, now that you mention it, I am sure it was," I said sadly.
"There you are, kid. The bums ain't even left town. They are sitting back there beside their plush-lined spittoons giving you the big
razzoo. And tomorrow this guy calls you again on the phone and says O.K. so far, but they had to be careful and they will try again tonight
maybe out in San Fernando Valley and the price will be upped to ten grand, on account of their extra trouble. I oughta go back there and
twist that Gandesi so he would be lookin' up his left pants leg."
"Well, Henry," I said, "after all, I did not do exactly what they told me to, because you insisted on coming with me. And perhaps they
are more clever than you think. So I think the best thing now is to go back to town and hope there will be a chance tomorrow to try again.
And you must promise me faithfully not to interfere."
"Nuts!" Henry said angrily. "Without me along they would take you the way the cat took the canary. You are a sweet guy, Walter, but
you don't know as many answers as Baby Leroy. These guys are thieves and they have a string of marbles that might probably bring
them twenty grand with careful handling. They are out for a quick touch, but they will squeeze all they can just the same. I oughta go back
to that fat wop Gandesi right now. I could do things to that slob that ain't been invented yet."
"Now, Henry, don't get violent," I said.
"Haw," Henry snarled. "Them guys give me an ache in the back of my lap." He raised his bottle to his lips with his left hand and
drank thirstily. His voice came down a few tones and sounded more peaceful. "Better dip the bill, Walter. The party's a flop."
"Perhaps you are right, Henry," I sighed. "I will admit that my stomach has been trembling like an autumn leaf for all of half an hour."
So I stood up boldly beside him and poured a liberal portion of the fiery liquid down my throat. At once my courage revived. I handed
the bottle back to Henry and he placed it carefully down on the running board. He stood beside me dancing the short automatic pistol up
and down on the broad palm of his hand.
"I don't need no tools to handle that bunch. The hell with it." And with a sweep of his arm he hurled the pistol off among the bushes,
where it fell to the ground with a muffled thud. He walked away from the car and stood with his arms akimbo, looking up at the sky.
I moved over beside him and watched his averted face, insofar as I was able to see it in that dim light. A strange melancholy came
over me. In the brief time I had known Henry I had grown very fond of him.
"Well, Henry," I said at last, "what is the next move?"
"Beat it on home, I guess," he said slowly and mournfully. "And get good and drunk." He doubled his hands into fists and shook
them slowly. Then he turned to face me. "Yeah," he said. "Nothing else to do. Beat it on home, kid, is all that is left to us."
"Not quite yet, Henry," I said softly.
I took my right hand out of my pocket. I have large hands. In my right hand nestled the roll of wrapped quarters which I had obtained
at the bank that morning. My hand made a large fist around them.
"Good night, Henry," I said quietly, and swung my fist with all the weight of my arm and body. "You had two strikes on me, Henry," I
said. "The big one is still left."
But Henry was not listening to me. My fist with the wrapped weight of metal inside it had caught him fairly and squarely on the point
of his jaw. His legs became boneless and he pitched straight forward, brushing my sleeve as he fell. I stepped quickly out of his way.
Henry Eichelberger lay motionless on the ground, as limp as a rubber glove.
I looked down at him a little sadly, waiting for him to stir, but he did not move a muscle. He lay inert, completely unconscious. I
dropped the roll of quarters back into my pocket, bent over him, searched him thoroughly, moving him around like a sack of meal, but it
was a long time before I found the pearls. They were twined around his ankle inside his left sock.
"Well, Henry," I said, speaking to him for the last time, although he could not hear me, "you are a gentleman, even if you are a thief.
You could have taken the money a dozen times this afternoon and given me nothing. You could have taken it a little while ago when you
had the gun in your hand, but even that repelled you. You threw the gun away and we were man to man, far from help, far from
interference. And even then you hesitated, Henry. In fact, Henry, I think for a successful thief you hesitated just a little too long. But as a
man of sporting feelings I can only think the more highly of you. Goodbye, Henry, and good luck."
I took my wallet out and withdrew a one-hundred-dollar bill and placed it carefully in the pocket where I had seen Henry put his
money. Then I went back to the car and took a drink out of the whiskey bottle and corked it firmly and laid it beside him, convenient to his
right hand.
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