Crime Always Pays- A Screwball Noir

252 Pages·2016·1.04 MB·English

by  Burke Declan

Crime Always Pays

A Screwball Noir

By

Declan Burke
Copyright © Declan Burke, 2009
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means without permission of the author.

"Crime is but a left-handed form of human endeavour."
W.R. Burnett
For their support and encouragement, and for writing damn fine novels, this
book is dedicated to Adrian McKinty and John McFetridge.

Praise for Declan Burke's THE BIG O:

"Imagine Donald Westlake and his alter ego Richard Stark moving to Ireland
and collaborating on a screwball noir, and you have some idea of Burke's
accomplishment." – Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

"THE BIG O is one of the sharpest, wittiest and most unusual Irish crime
novels of recent years … Declan Burke is ideally poised to make the transition to
a larger international stage." – John Connolly, author of THE LOVERS

"Burke has married hard-boiled crime with noir sensibility and seasoned it with
humour and crackling dialogue … fans of comic noir will find plenty to enjoy
here." – Booklist

"THE BIG O is full of dry Irish humour, a delightful caper revolving around a
terrific cast … If you don't mind the occasional stretch of credulity, the result is
stylish and sly." – The Seattle Times

"Carries on the tradition of Irish noir with its Elmore Leonard-like style ... the
dialogue is as slick as an ice run, the plot is nicely intricate, and the character
drawing is spot on … a high-octane novel that fairly coruscates with tension." –
The Irish Times

"With a deft touch, Burke pulls together a cross-genre plot that's part hard-
boiled caper, part thriller, part classic noir, and flat out fun. From first page to
last, THE BIG O grabs hold and won't let go." – Reed Farrel Coleman: Shamus,
Barry, and Anthony Award-winning Author of THE JAMES DEANS

"Irish thrillers don't get much more hard-boiled than this gritty, violent and
wildly hilarious kidnap caper." – Irish Independent

"Delightful … darkly funny … Burke's style is evocative of Elmore Leonard,
but with an Irish accent and more humour … Here's hoping we see lots more of
Declan Burke soon." – Kansas City Star

"Faster than a stray bullet, wittier than Oscar Wilde and written by a talent
destined for fame." – Irish Examiner

Advance praise for Declan Burke's forthcoming BAD FOR GOOD:

"A genuinely original take on noir, inventive and funny. Imagine, if you can, a
cross between Flann O'Brien and Raymond Chandler." – John Banville, Booker
Prize-winning author of THE SEA

"BAD FOR GOOD is unlike anything else you'll read this year … Laugh-out-
loud funny … This is writing at its dazzling, cleverest zenith. Think John
Fowles, via Paul Auster and Rolling Stone … a feat of extraordinary alchemy." –
Ken Bruen, author of AMERICAN SKIN
"Stop waiting for Godot – he's here. Declan Burke takes the existential dilemma
of characters writing themselves and turns it on its ear, and then some. He gives
it body and soul … an Irish soul." – Reed Farrel Coleman, two-time Shamus
Award-winning author of EMPTY EVER AFTER
"A harrowing and yet hilarious examination of the gradual disintegration of a
writer's personality, as well as a damned fine noir novel … Burke has outdone
himself this time; it's a hell of a read." – Scott Philips, author of THE ICE
HARVEST
WEDNESDAY

Sleeps

It was bad enough Rossi raving how genius isn't supposed to be perfect, it's not
that kind of gig, but then the vet started carping about Sleeps' pride and joy, the
.22, nickel-plated, pearl grip, enough to stop a man and put him down but not
your actual lethal unless you were unlucky. And right now, empty.
Sleeps waggled it in the vet's general direction. 'Less talk,' he said, 'more angel
of mercy. How's that ear coming?'
Not good and not fast, Rossi ducking around like Sugar Ray in a bouncy castle.
Still in shock, bofto on the wowee pills, with these delusions of grandeur – he
was Tony Montana or maybe Tony Manero, Sleeps couldn't say for sure.
It didn't help there was no actual ear. The wolf had tore it clean off, along with
enough skin to top a sizeable tom-tom. Plus the vet was using catgut and what
looked to Sleeps like a needle he'd last seen on the Discovery Channel stuck
horizontal through a cannibal's nose.
In the end Sleeps stepped in and stuck his forefinger in the wound, stirred it
around. Rossi screeched once, high-pitched, then keeled over.
'I'll be wanting,' Sleeps said, wiping his finger on Rossi's pants, 'a bag of
horse tranks. And whatever gun you use for putting down the animals.'
The vet shook his head. 'We don't use those anymore, they're not
humane.'
'Humane? You're a vet, man.'
'We treat them like children,' the vet said, 'not animals.'
'Nice theory.' Sleeps scratched the cattle-prod off his mental list, gestured
at Rossi with the .22. 'But what if they're a little of both?'
Melody

'So if the movie gets made,' Melody said, 'or film I should call it, or the script at
least gets picked up, optioned, then I pay it back, this loan-grant that's not really
a loan or a grant but somewhere in between. At, you're saying, no interest.'
'That's right.'
'But if it doesn't fly, I don't owe anything?'
'The Institute is here to encourage innovation,' the guy said, swiveling
now in his chair behind the desk, fingers steepled on his pot belly. A nice view
of Temple Bar behind him through the tall windows, the cobbled streets that'd
been laid specially for the Michael Collins shoot, they'd left them down after, a
gift to the city. Mel'd nearly broke an ankle on the way in, a kitten heel getting
jammed between cobbles. He smiled now, Tony, the guy with kindly pale blue
eyes behind rimless specs. 'If you're worrying about how you'll pay the money
back,' he said, 'you're not likely to be at your creative best, are you?'
Mel liked those odds.
'I've got it all budgeted out,' she said, extracting the relevant sheaf of
paper from her folder, the front of which bore the legend Beautiful Losers in
gold magic marker. 'We're talking twenty-five and change, for the year. That
includes research and writing, locations, some meet-and-greet funds for the --'
'Locations?'
'Sure, the eye-candy. I'm thinking Amorgos, where they shot The Big
Blue. You've seen it, right? Ohmigod, the scenery's amazing.'
'Amorgos?'
'It's in Greece, yeah. For when Jack and Judy get out to the islands, go to
ground and --'
'I'm just wondering,' the guy said, no longer swiveling, 'if it's Greece you
need specifically. Because if it's just an island, you might want to think about
the Isle of Man, there's nice tax-breaks going. Or the Saltees, just off the coast
of Wexford. Spielberg, when he was making Private Ryan, he was thinking
about using the Saltees at one point.'
'Okay,' Mel said. 'But you're not really getting that Greek quality of light
on the Saltees, are you?'
'That's where your post-production guys earn their money.'
'Sure.' Mel staring the guy out, trying to decide if he was serious. 'But my
movie, I mean film, it's set in Greece. What the story is about, it's what these two
do inGreece, Jack and Judy. They're like Jack and Karen in Out of Sight, only
Judy isn't a cop, they're both blaggers but very cool, very now. It's why Jack's
named for Jack Foley, he's laidback but maybe lethal, you don't know. Or maybe
he's a little older, like that guy from Miller's Crossing …' Perspiring now, Mel
with the distinct impression she was losing the guy, hot flushes breaking out.
She forced a smile. 'Ohmigod, I can never remember that guy's name,
the Miller's Crossing guy.'
'Albert Finney?'
'No, not Albert, the other guy …' Mel had the old familiar feeling now,
mild concussion from banging her head off brick walls. Stomach churning.
'Have youread the script?' she said. 'I mean, the synopsis, the treatment, the
character bible, all that stuff you had me put together, go back and rewrite like
five hundred times before you'd even open that precious door over there … Did
you read any of it? Like, where's there one character in the whole script Albert
Finney could play? Which one of the young, hip, attractive characters could
Albert, fine actor that he is, don't get me wrong, I loved him in Shoot the
Moon but no way he's ever playing fifty again, never mind thirty-something …
Excuse me a sec, okay?' Mel fumbled in her pockets for a Kleenex, then got up
and went to the side of his desk, retched noisily into the wastepaper basket. Then
she went back to the seat and got comfy, wedged herself in, Mel pretty sure it
was the last time for a long time she'd be sitting in it, she might as well get her
money's worth. Tony's eyes looking owlish as he licked his lips. 'Exactly who,'
she said, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with the Kleenex, 'you don't mind
me asking, have you identified as a possible for Albert Finney? Judy?'

Karen

Karen sat on the edge of the bed.
'A cruise,' Ray said, blinking up at her. 'Me and you and a Siberian wolf named
Blue, off cruising the Med.'
'Madge booked it Sunday, before we mentioned about snatching her.'
Anna lifted her massive head and whined. Karen scratched her under the
chin, gazed into the cloudy amber eye. 'It's okay, hon. You're doing fine.'
'What'd the doc say?'
The doc, after he hoked the bullet out of Ray's arm, reckoned Anna was
doing as well as could be expected, the girl shipping a .22 round point-blank.
While admitting he was no expert in gunshot wounds in wolves, the guy
reckoned the plate of bone that was Anna's forehead meant the slug probably
came off worse.
'He said to keep her doped, the last thing you want is a wolf with a
migraine. But, she gets enough rest, she should be fine.'
'That's fantastic,' Ray said, 'a real weight off my mind. He say anything
about me?'
'Sure. It's a clean break, six weeks in a cast. You can still drive, right?
One-armed.'
'Drive where?'
'The Med, Ray. Athens.' Ray was still a little woozy from the shock and
the pills, this after five or six hours of dozing off and on, adrenaline spikes
fritzing him awake. Giving Doyle plenty of time to get Frank out of the woods,
put the news on the wire. 'We'll be needing all sorts of documentation if we want
Anna to fly,' she said. 'And there's quarantine. That means waiting, I dunno,
weeks. Maybe months.'
'You want to smuggle the wolf out of the country.'
Karen shrugged. 'Rossi rats her out at the hospital, how she ripped his ear
off, they'll be looking to put her down.'
'I hear you.' Ray pushed out his slinged arm, looking to Karen like a
stroke victim trying the Funky Chicken. 'But there's no way I'll make it all the
way to Athenslike this.'
'I can drive.'
'You ever driven a van before?'
'There's a first time for everything.'
'Not when you're fugiting from justice there isn't. What about Madge, has
she ever driven a van?'
'Not likely. Besides, she's flying.'
'Bad idea. They'll be watching the airports.'
'Terry's making private arrangements. Says he likes the sound of a cruise,
never took one before.'
'Terry's taking the cruise?'
'Madge told him about plugging Frank. Guy nearly creamed himself.'
'Terry did?'
'Why wouldn't he?'
'She just shot Frank. The woman's a cop magnet, she might as well be
free doughnuts.'
'Maybe that's his buzz. He's torn between two, y'know …'
'He fancies some posh is what it is. He can't make these private
arrangements for Anna?'
'He tried, yeah. No joy. But he has an automatic, a van, out on the lot.
Says all I have to do is point it and drive.'
Ray shook his head, then heaved himself up onto his good elbow, glanced
around. 'Where's the money?'
'It's here.' Karen kicked the bag she'd tucked under the bed. 'Think
Terry'll still want his fifty gees?'
'That was the deal.'
'Yeah, but --'
'I can tell him how the insurance company only paid out two hundred
instead of the full half mill,' Ray said, subsiding onto the pillow again, 'I don't
know, maybe there'll be a miracle. But it was Terry who cut us in, him and Terry
Junior, for a flat fifty. He's owed.'
Which was disappointing, but more or less what Karen'd expected. 'One
more thing,' she said.
'Just the one?'
'I don't have a passport.'
'No?'
'Never been out of the country, Ray. Not with Anna to look after. What
do you think, will that be a problem?'
'I doubt it,' Ray said. 'Terry Swipes is a man of many talents.'

Madge