David Goodis: Five Noir Novels of the 1940s and '50s (Library of America) by David Goodis Page A

pocket, studied it for a few moments. He directed the little man to let him off at a street that was one block away from the address on the paper.
    The car made another turn, going left on Post.
    “Do you have the time?” Parry said, forgetting the watch on his wrist.
    The little man glanced at a wrist watch. “Two-thirty.”
    “Too early,” Parry said.
    “Early?”
    “Nothing,” Parry said. “I was just thinking.”
    The little man was looking at him. As the car stopped for another light the little man leaned forward slightly so he could get a better look at Parry’s face. Parry took out the pack, lit another cigarette, sustaining the match and holding his left hand in front of the left side of his face. Glancing sideways, he knew the little man was still looking at him. He had a feeling it was going to happen now, while they were waiting for this light to change. He told himself Post was reasonably empty and he could handle the little man as he had handled Studebaker. The little man was still looking at him and now he had his cigarette going and the match was going to burn his fingers. He blew out the match, his hand came down. The little man was still looking at him. Parry’s teeth clicked, his head turned mechanically, he stared at the little man, his stare went past the eyes of the little man and he was staring at a police squad car parked there beside the little man’s car.
    The light changed. The police squad car went forward.
    “The light changed,” Parry said.
    The little man turned and looked at the light. He made no move to get the car going.
    “The light changed,” Parry said.
    “Yes,” the little man said. “I know.” He made no move to get the car going.
    “What’s the matter?” Parry said.
    The little man looked at him.
    “Can’t we get started?” Parry said.
    The little man was leaning back now, his head was down, he was looking at nothing.
    “Won’t the car go?” Parry said.
    “The car’s all right,” the little man said.
    “Then what’s the matter?” Parry said. “Why are we standing here?”
    The little man looked at Parry. The little man said nothing.
    “I don’t get you,” Parry said. He looked at the rear-view mirror. He put fingers on the door handle. He said, “We can’t stay here in the middle of the street. We’re blocking traffic.”
    “There’s no traffic,” the little man said. It was under a whisper.
    “Well, why don’t we move?” Parry said. He gripped the door handle.
    The little man said nothing. He was leaning back again. His head was down again. He was looking at nothing again.
    “What’s the matter with you?” Parry said. “Are you sick or something?”
    “I’m not sick.” It was way under a whisper.
    “Then what’s the matter? What are you sitting there like that for? What’s wrong with you? What are you doing sitting there like that? What are you doing? Answer me, what are you doing? What are you doing?”
    The little man raised his head slowly and he was gazing straight ahead and still he looked at nothing. Then he said, “I’m thinking.”

10

    T HE LIGHT changed again.
    Parry tried to put pressure on the door handle. He couldn’t collect any pressure.
    The motor stopped.
    Parry wanted to hear the motor going. He said, “Start the car.”
    The little man pressed his foot against the starter. The car jumped forward and stalled. The little man started the motor again, the car inched forward.
    “Don’t go against the light,” Parry said. “Wait for the light to change.”
    The little man crossed his arms on the steering wheel, leaned his head on his arms. Parry got some pressure on the door handle, got the door handle moving, then took his hand away, wondered why he was taking his hand away, wondered why he was staying in the car.
    The light changed.
    “All right,” Parry said. “The light changed. Let’s go.”
    The little man brought his head up, looked at the light, looked at Parry. Then he had the car in first gear