The Avenger - Gary Barton - Death's Option

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Back Stories from the pages of the Avenger

Nov 1940

DEATH’S OPTION

by Gary Barton

Jerry Kane couldn’t take his eyes off the girl—and it led to murder!

Next to taking rats apart—human rats—and forgetting to put them back

together again, I like to mingle with people. I like crowds, Iights, gaiety.

That’s how I came to be in Times Square that night. I was off duty. Rather,

I was officially off duty. That was before I saw the girl.

I don’t know why I happened to stroll into Marty’s. Maybe I wanted to sit

down a while after having been chasing out of homicide all day. Maybe I

wanted to have a beer and watch the show.

I know damn well I wasn’t thinking of murder!

But I started thinking about a lot of things when Iamped the girl sitting

in the corner booth; and they all didn’t have anything to do with her

figure. One of those gorgeous Broadway creations—raven-black hair, dark

eyes and that glamorous but cold beauty born in the theater.

But she wasn’t turning on the glamour, now. Her lips trembled; her eyes

were wlde and staring—staring at me! And they were filled with terror.

In a swift glance, I took in the party with her-the young, dark-haired

chap next to her: the heavy-set, middle-aged man at the head of the

table with the long, black cigar in his mouth; the paunchy, bald-headed

guy on the opposite side of the table, obviously on the make for the

hard-Iooking blonde on his right. They all seemed to be having a good

time, chatting among themselves.

All but the raven-tressed girl. I turned back toward her. But with that

fleeting, frightened glance she had looked away. But that was enough.

There was something wrong, here. I knew it! I could feeI it.

I wondered what I was supposed to do about it. I couldn’t just bust

in on that little party. I couldn’t—

I didn’t have to wonder any longer. The man’s blood-cillling scream

snapped me to my feet. I covered the yards to that table in two leaps.

The middle-aged at the head of the group had slumped across the table,

knocking glassware and service clattering to the floor. He lay with one

side of his face up; he clawed convulsively at the table linen. Bubbling,

gurgling sounds escaped from his lips. Then, like a spent balloon, he

spraddled out and lay still.

And tiny wisps of smoke drifted from his mouth!

I stood watching him for a moment, fascinated by those lazy curls of

smoke. Women were screaming, men shouting; everyone was clustering around

the table. The place was suddenly a bedlam! It, shook me out of my daze.

“Who is this guy?” I said to the little paunchy man who was nervously

wringing his hands next to me. It was the fellow who had been making the

play for the blonde. I said, “And who are you?” I bent down to examine

the dead man.

“He’s Lucius Goldswaite. He ... he must have had a heart attack or—”

“Heart attack—hell!” I snapped. I had seen the blue tinge on the otherwise

florid face. Goldswaite’s lips were purple-black; his tongue swollen. He was

dead! I said: “He’s been murdered!”

“M-murdered?” The short fellow seemed about to fold on that one. His jaw

sagged and his watery-blue eyes swam in his head. B-but-”

“Who are you?” I shot at him again.

“M-my name’s Gracey, Marshall Gracey. I’m ... was Mr. Goldswaite’s associate.”

Gracey—Goldswaite. The names clicked in my mind. Goldswaite & Gracey.

Lucius Goldswaite was the biggest theatrical producer on Broadway. It rang

another bell.

“Where’s that girl?” I looked through the mob that crowded the table. “The

babe with the black hair—the one that was sitting here?” I didn’t see her.

Gracey swung his eyes over the room, his mouth worked overtime. “Janet

Marsh? She was ... here a-”

A helluva lot of good that did me. She wasn’t here now! She’d lammed!

“Who is Janet Marsh?” I took a shot in the dark. “Why did she murder

Goldswaite?”

“She didn’t!” It was the darkhaired chap who had been sitting with Janet

Marsh. “She didn’t kill Goldswaite. She . . . she probably got frightened

and ... and-”

I’ll say she got frightened, I thought. She was frightened before the

producer was murdered!

“How do you know she didn’t kill him?” The blonde’s tone could have been

used to advertise frosted foods. “I’d say she had plenty of reason to kill

Goldswaite.”

“Shut up, Lana!” the young chap shouted.

I figured I might have something here.

“Go on,” I said to Lana. “What’s the dope on Goldswaite and Janet Marsh?”

“Well—Goldswaite had Janet under contract,” Lana said, and she reminded me

of a spinster at a Wednesday social. “A couple weeks ago Janet got an offer

from Hollywood. But she’s Goldswaite’s leading lady in his new show, and he

wouldn’t release her. It meant about a thousand a week to Janet.”

“I suppose you hadn’t any reason for wanting to get rid of Goldswaite,’ the

dark-haired fellow said. “You wanted him to release Janet. You wanted her

spot in the show. You were sore—”

That seemed to rub Gracey’s fur the wrong way. He didn’t like the dig at Lana.

“Lana had no reason,” he snapped. “She’s still here. That’s one point that

isn’t in your sister’s favor,” He said: “And being Janet Marsh’s brother,

Wayne, I don’t suppose you’d have anything to do with this I rather recall

your telling Lucius to release Janet from her contract—or else-”

This was getting to be a free-for-all. Not only was there a man dead, but

the guy’s friends were all trying to pin it on each other. But that didn’t

alter the fact that Janet Marsh had scrammed just after Goldswaite had dived

across the table. And she’d had a motive to kill her producer. What a motive!

Keeping an easy grand per week out of the hand of one of these Broadway gals

is a good way for any guy to commit suicide.

The boys from homicide were on the job by then. Someone, probably the

management, had put in the call.

“This how you spend your time off, Kane?”

I turned to look into the rough face of Lieutenant Haley of the homicide

squad. My chief. I ignored the crack. “Lucius Goldswaite, lieutenant.

Murdered—poisoned. He’s the theatrical biggie.” I thought about Janet

Marsh. Then I said, simply: “Better hold these two for material witnesses.”

I motioned to Lana and Gracey. “I have a job to do.”

I turned to Wayne Marsh and shoved him through the gathering onlookers to

the door. “We’re going to find your sister. Where does she live?”

“But Janet wouldn’t have done anything like that. I told you-”

“Well, if you’re so damn sure she didn’t, you have nothing to worry about.

I want to talk to her. And that won’t be as bad as it will when the boys at

Centre Street start to work on her.”

We hopped a hack and started uptown. Wayne gave the driver a Central Park

South address and we swung over Fifty-seventh. Wayne seemed plenty nervous

sitting next to me. What’s more, he wouldn’t open his mouth. Whether he knew

anything or not, he certainly wasn’t going to spill. I tried to pump him

about that “or else” stuff he had pulled on Goldswaite. He was just dumb. I

started to get tough, then saw we were rolling into Central Park South. I

figured I’d get the whole set-up when we reached Janet’s.

It didn’t occur to me that I wouldn’t reach Janet’s!

I leaned over to pull a pack of butts from my trousers pocket. I thought

the top of the cab had caved in; crashed down on my head! I slumped down

off the seat, grabbed for the coat that moved in the blur above me. I

yanked down with one hand; my other diving for my shoulder holster. It

never made it. Again something crashed over my skull, and my head seemed

to leave my shoulders. I don’t remember anything after that; no shooting

stars—nothing. I just went out of this world!

Somebody seemed to be setting off little explosions inside my head. I was

sorry that I had regained consciousness. I was rolling. I wondered where.

I wondered how long I had been out. Then I remembered as my head began to

clear. I was in the bottom of the cab. I pulled myself up to the seat. We

were on the Henry Hudson Parkway.

“Where the hell are you going?” I shouted to the driver.

“Westchester,” he called through the partition. “Your friend said you’d had

too many vanillas an’ passed out. He said to-”

I didn’t hear the rest. I swore my head off. I don’t know whether the blue

smoke was wafted at the cabby or at Wayne Marsh. I didn’t care. I only knew

that I was good and mad for the way I’d let Janet’s brother hang one on me.

And once more I began to think about this “or else” business that Wayne had

put on his sister’s producer. It was logical that he had put me temporarily

out of the way to give his sister a chance to get out of town; that he really

knew she had killed Goldswaite. It was also logical that he had done it to

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摘要：

BackStoriesfromthepagesoftheAvengerNov1940DEATH’SOPTIONbyGaryBartonJerryKanecouldn’ttakehiseyesoffthegirl—anditledtomurder!Nexttotakingratsapart—humanrats—andforgettingtoputthembacktogetheragain,Iliketominglewithpeople.Ilikecrowds,Iights,gaiety.That’showIcametobeinTimesSquarethatnight.Iwasoffduty.Ra...

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