Nothing More Than Murder

'That's your last word, Joe? You've made up your mind not to do anything?'

'Not a goddam thing.' I nodded. 'You ought to know that by this time. You don't need money, so I don't feel sorry for you. And there's no way I can be forced to pay you more than twenty-five a month.'

'How about yourself, Joe?'

'How do you mean?'

'Don't you think you ought to do the right thing for your own sake?'

'You mean so my conscience won't hurt?' I laughed. 'Don't kid me, Andy.'

'No, that ain't what I mean.' He scowled and got up. 'But I don't reckon there's any use talking to you. You mark my word, Joe Wilmot. You better change your ways or-or-'

He turned and stamped out without finishing.

I went into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee.

Elizabeth was having some coffee, too, and I tried to strike up a conversation with her. Because, after all, we had been married for ten years and we didn't have much time left to spend together.

But she wasn't having any, and I didn't care much. There wasn't anything girlish about her this morning. She looked plain damned old.

I drove into town yawning, wishing that the whole business was over so I could relax and get some rest.

I fished my mail out of the box office and read it in my car. It was the usual stuff. Confirmation of bookings, advertisements, a copy of the Motion Picture Herald. I put the other stuff in my pocket and opened the Herald.

There was a story in it I was following. Some exhibitor out in the western part of the state had filed suit against the major exchanges to compel them to supply him with pictures. That was two years ago and they were still hearing evidence in the case. My personal opinion was that he'd better turn his house into a shooting- gallery.

You just can't win against the exchanges. They've got too many loopholes on their side. Take substitutions, for example.

Every once in a while I'll get a picture I didn't book in place of the one I did. It has to be that way in a business where a highly perishable product has maybe a hundred other buyers.

It happens pretty seldom with me because I stand in well, and I'm an important exhibitor. But if I didn't and wasn't-well, see what I mean? I could get substitutes five times out of five. My advertising money would be wasted. My customers would never know for sure what I was showing.

In any small-city house a large part of the patronage comes from the farmers and surrounding villages. I can stand out in front of my house and count people from half a dozen smaller towns. And it's because I get the pictures ahead of the smaller places.

It's no more than fair because I've got a bigger and better house and I can pay more than the small town-and the exchanges are willing to give me preferred booking. If they weren't I'd probably have to close up. I'd hate to try to operate with every wide place in the road around me getting pictures before I did. Almost as bad as I'd hate to show in court why I was entitled to pull trade away from another showman. Jimmie Nedry showed up around eleven, and we went inside. It was Thursday, and our Friday's product should have been in for screening. But it wasn't. I called home, and it hadn't been dropped off there, either.

I put in a call to the city, and got Jiggs Larrimore on the wire. Jiggs is manager of one of the little exchanges. I don't particularly need him, and he needs me bad.

'I guess there's been a little mix-up, Joe,' he said. 'I'll tell you what you'd better do. You just hold over the picture you've been playing, and we'll take care of anything extra you have to pay on the option.'

'Yeah?' I said. 'Now I'll tell you what you'd better do. You'd better get that picture here to me and get it here pronto.'

'Now, look, Joe-'

'It's for my Friday-Saturday show. You know I've got to have a Western on Friday and Saturday. The yokels won't go for anything else.'

'But it's too late to-'

'Huh-uh. No, it isn't, Jiggs,' I said. 'Craig City's got that picture advertised for today. They've been advertising it here in my home- town paper. You pull their print over to me, Jiggs. It doesn't make any difference in a town that big whether they play horse opera on the week-end or not.'

'Well, now'-I could hear him gulp-'I don't believe we can do that, Joe.'

'Why not? Because it's one of Sol Panzer's houses?'

'Well. After all-'

'Look,' I said. 'How many of those Panz palace houses are you in? Sol gives you a spot whenever he feels like it, and that ain't often. I buy the block. You pull that pic over here, Jiggs. You get it here quick. If you don't I'll set out every one of your dates and sell you a roll of tickets besides.'

Jiggs sighed. 'I hear you talking, Joe. Here it comes.

I hung up, and turned to Jimmie Nedry. 'I guess that'll show Mr. Big Time Panzer something,' I said. 'He'll do a little thinking before he runs any more ads in this town.'

'Yeah,' said Jimmie. 'So what?'

I let it pass, and went on outside. I knew Jimmie was feeling low about his money troubles, and I'd thought it would cheer him up to hear Jiggs Larrimore catch hell. That's one reason I'd cracked down on Jiggs. But Jimmie didn't react like he should have. He couldn't think about anything but his own worries.

The thought flashed through my mind for a second that maybe there was something more to that picture mix-up than Solly Panzer's trying to pull a fast one on me. And crazy as the idea was it made me shiver to think about it.

It was just one of those things that happen. It couldn't be anything else. I had the Barclay in a spot that no one could touch and everyone knew it.

Just the same, though, I couldn't help thinking, Wouldn't that be hell? Wouldn't it just be sweet to mix yourself in a murder and then find out that it hadn't got you anything?

11

I worked my way around the square, shaking hands and slapping backs, and talking about crops and kids until I got to Sim's Pool Hall. Then I went inside and drank a bottle of beer and bought one for Sim. There were a lot of young bucks in there, and it wasn't long before most of them were around me. I'd picked up some new stories on film row. After we'd all had a few laughs and they'd bought me a beer or two I moved on again. Well, I did buy a package of mints, first.

About a block down the street I ran into Reverend Connors, the Christian Church minister. I bought a couple of tickets he was selling to a pie sociable, and wrote him out a pass to the show. I knew he wouldn't use it, and no one else could since I'd put his name on it.

'I'll tell you what, Reverend,' I said. 'If the church ladies would like to set up a table for their stuff in the lobby of the show I'd be glad to have them.'

'Bless you, Brother Wilmot!' he said. 'They'll be delighted to hear that.'

He went away real pleased. I was sort of pleased myself. It would help to draw a crowd, and wherever there's a crowd there's business.

A half hour or so later I ran into Jeffery Higginbotham, the high school principal. He and I don't ever get familiar but we understand each other. He was kind of worried-on my account. The junior class was giving a play next month. They'd picked a Saturday night date to give it. What did I think?

Naturally, I thought it was a hell of a note, but I didn't say so.

'Why, that's swell,' I said. 'I'll let you have the show to put it on in.'

'But we couldn't do that,' he said. 'You couldn't lose your night's business for us, Mr. Wilmot.'

'I couldn't afford to, but I would,' I said, 'if it wasn't for sentiment among the town businessmen. You know, a picture show draws a lot of business to a town. I'm afraid they wouldn't like it if I didn't run on a Saturday night.'

'No, I don't suppose they would,' he said. 'But-'