A Face in the Crowd

BEFORE DICK TRACY

The bar had no sign on the door to indicate its name. Some of the more romantic members of the city’s criminal element had therefore taken to calling it "The Bar with No Name". Most people just called it "Joe’s", after the round-faced bartender. No one was sure if Joe was actually the owner of the place, and he was typically cagey when asked about it.

“You want to drink or you want to ask a bunch of dumb questions?” was his usual response.

The bar’s existence was widely known in the underworld, and its rules were held to very strictly - No Fighting, No Credit, and No Real Names. Dr. Beau Tox wedged himself onto a stool at the bar next to a slim man with dark hair and promptly broke Rule Number Three.

“Will Carver! Fancy seeing you in a place like this!” Tox said with a wide grin.

Carver turned his head slightly and eyed the newcomer with disdain.

“Keep your voice down, will you?” Carver said. “How do you know who I am?”

“Really? You don’t recognize me?” Tox seemed slightly hurt, but recovered his smile. “I’m Dr. Beauregard Tox. We met at that cosmetic surgeons’ convention in Beverly Hills last year. I told you about my new practice here in the city, and you wished me good luck.”

“I didn’t mean it.” Carver said bluntly.

“Oh. Well. Regardless, here we both are.”

“Why ARE you here, anyway?” Carver asked.

“Just trying to make a few connections.” Tox signaled to Joe. “Barman! Another of whatever the good doctor here is having. And I’ll have… Let’s see… Do you have any white wines?”

“I got beer and liquor, mac.” Joe said as he set down a glass of dark liquid in front of Carver.

“Of course. Just a beer then, please. You pick. Cost is no object.” Tox smiled, but Joe did not reciprocate.

“Your practice must be doing well.” Carver said, slightly ruefully.

“It’s a bunch of old women getting chin tucks and liposuction, mostly.” Tox sighed. “Nothing exciting. Occasionally I’ll get an aspiring actress seeking to increase her, um, visual appeal. Or some young trophy wife trying to maintain her husband’s interest. But those are few and far between.”

“Well, here’s to the wealthy and boring.” Carver down his drink in one gulp and grimaced.

“That’s actually why I followed you here, Carver.” Tox leaned in conspiratorially.

“You did what?” Carver’s voice was harsh.

“From your office. I’d heard that you rarely go straight home, so I followed you, hoping to get a word with you.”

“You could have made an appointment, for crying out loud.” Carver complained.

Tox’s eyes narrowed. “Well, you see, I didn’t want anyone to know that we’d spoken…”

Tox stiffened on his stool as Joe set down a foamy beer in front of him. Tox set some bills on the bar. “Keep it!” he said.

“Calm down, will you?” Carver scolded. “You’re attracting attention.”

“Right. Sorry.” Tox leaned on one elbow, trying to look casual. “You see, I’d heard rumors that you had some connections to the criminal element here in the city. Now, seeing you here, I get the impression that those rumors have something behind them.”

“Maybe. Maybe I just like to drink away from prying eyes.” Carver kept his face forward.

“Fair enough.” Tox took a sip of his beer. “The thing is, I have a problem. And I don’t think it can be solved by conventional means. My receptionist and I, we’ve been… Seeing each other after work.”

“Uh-huh.” Carver fiddled with the wedding band on his finger.

“It’s nothing serious, of course. Just a bit of fun. I never intended it to go very far.” Tox’s voice became hushed. “But, she wasn’t careful like I told her to be. And now she’s in trouble.”

Carver remained quiet.

“The problem is that she refuses to be reasonable. I told her that I would pay to take of things. I’d even set her up in another city so she could put all this behind her. But she won’t. She says she’s old-fashioned.” Tox’s voice had become strained. Carver chuckled.

“Yeah, she sounds like a real old-fashioned girl.” Carver said with a sardonic edge in his voice.

“The thing that I don’t want is a scandal. Or, frankly, the responsibility.” Tox took another sip. “So, I need to find someone who can take care of a situation like this for me.”

“You got some nerve, pal.” Carver said. “You follow me, ambush me at my favorite watering hole, and now you ask me to put you in touch with a torpedo? Like we’re old pals or something?”

“Torp-? Oh, I get it.” Tox’s smile returned. “See, that’s what I want, William. I want to know who the torpedoes are around town. Or the… what do you call them – Second-Story Men. The grifters and the con artists and the like.”

“A grifter and a con artist are the same thing,” explained Carver.

“OK, good. Thank you. All I want is for you to help me with some connections. After all, we might be professional rivals, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“If you want to be my friend, then get my name right.” Carver said. “It’s Willis, not William.”

“Oh.” Tox looked perturbed. “At the convention, your name tag-“

“Said what I wanted it to.” Carver wheeled around on his stool and looked Tox in his wide face. “Here’s the thing, Tox. I don’t know you, and based on what I do know, I don’t like you.”

Tox’s face fell.

“But, your timing is good.” Carver went on. “I’m trying to distance myself from these… Types. They’re a bunch of psychos and freaks. After the Haf-And-Haf job, I don’t need the exposure any more. As it happens, I’ve just been contacted by the state to do another reconstruction job on a convicted felon. I turned them down, but if you like, I’ll put them in touch with you. If you want to go to work on the guy and then pump him for information, that’s your own business.”

Tox beamed. “That’s all I need! Thank you, that sounds just right!”

“Yeah, great.” Carver sighed. “Here’s the big question- How are you with ears?”

***

                Tox entered the diner and sat at the counter next to the man in the grey coveralls. The man turned and raised an eyebrow.

                “You want something, bud?” He asked.

                “Is that your truck parked out front?” Tox asked.

                “It’s the company’s truck, but yeah. What about it?” A hint of menace entered the working man’s voice.

                “I just want to make sure I’m talking to the correct person. You’re Mr. Weeks, aren’t you? Lincoln Weeks?”

                Weeks’ eyes narrowed. “Yeah…”

                “And I understand that some people know you as ‘Linky’.” Tox kept his voice even.

                “What’s this all about?” Weeks asked, getting agitated.

                “Nothing. Relax. Calm down.” Tox smiled at him. “I’m a friend of a friend, and I’d like to help you.”

                Tox’s discerning eye looked over Weeks’ features. He clucked his tongue.

                “My word, that’s a face that’s seen a lot of action, isn’t it?” Tox said.

                “You come in here just to insult me, jerk?” Demanded Weeks.

                “Not at all. Quite the contrary.” Tox picked up a laminated menu and looked over the lunch specials. A waitress approached.

                “You ready, hon?” She asked.

                “Yes, thank you. I’ll have the steak and eggs, medium-rare please, and some orange juice.” He turned to Weeks. “Would you like anything else? A slice of pie, perhaps?”

                “I got to get back to my route soon.” Weeks said.

                “I see. Just that, then.” Tox grinned at the waitress.  She left the two men alone.

                “Let me explain what I’m here about.” Tox leaned in conspiratorially. “A few weeks ago, I made the acquaintance of a Mr. Leonard Finny.”

                “LittleFace?” Weeks looked surprised. “I thought he was doing a long stretch.”

                “He is, but I volunteered to perform a procedure on him that replaced the ears that he had lost to frostbite.” Weeks looked confused. Tox continued. “That’s what I do. I’m a cosmetic surgeon.”

                “Oh.” Weeks seemed to understand. “You know a guy named Carver?”

                “In fact, I do. But, that’s not the point right now. You see, Little Face referred me to a man named Mussel, who referred me to you. He claims that you used to work for the Shoulders mob, and some of the other bosses in the city.”

                “For a while.” Weeks shrugged. “Small-time stuff. Nothing serious. I did my time, and now I put all that behind me. I got a legit job now. My parole officer set me up.”

                “Yes, that’s why I asked about the truck.” Tox swiveled on his stool and look out of the diner’s large front window. “You’re delivering mattresses, I see.”

                “It’s honest work.” Weeks explained. “And I sleep good at night.”

                Tox chuckled. Weeks’ eyes flared.

                “What’s so damned funny about that?” Weeks demanded.

                “It’s just… You sleep good at night.” Tox was still smiling. “And you deliver mattresses.”

                Weeks face did not show understanding.

                “It’s not important.” Tox turned back to face the counter. “But I have to wonder if you miss the excitement of your old life.”

                “I don’t.” Weeks paused. “Not really.”

                “Hmm.” Tox drummed his fingers idly on the counter-top. “Because, you see, there’s a reason I tracked you down, Mr. Weeks. I need a job done. It’s a dirty job, but I’m prepared to pay handsomely. And there are other benefits as well.”

                Tox paused as the waitress set a steaming plate of food down in front of him. He began to cut his meat.

                “I’m listening.” Weeks prompted.

                “You don’t have to get to your work?” Tox asked.

                “Maybe I’m not so worried about keeping my job.” Weeks explained. Tox smiled broadly and took a bite of steak. 

***

               

               Tox was roused by a pounding at his door. He pulled on his robe and made his way to the front room. He planned to open the door a crack, but as soon as he turned the handle, the door was flung wide. Tox stumbled back as Mussel entered.

                “All right, where is he?” Mussel demanded.

                Tox took a moment to regain his composure, then smiled. “Mr. Mussel! If I’d known you were coming I’d been better prepared.”

                “Cut the sweet talk, Tox.” Mussel grabbed the lapel of Tox’s robe and pulled him close. “Nobody’s seen Linky in a week and half, and you were the last guy what was asking after him. I’m bettin’ you know something, and I’m here to find out what’s what.” 

                “Yes, of course, calm down.” Tox tried to extract himself from the larger man’s grip, but without success. “Why don’t you have a seat? Can I pour you a drink?”

                Mussel eyed Tox suspiciously. “I’ll pour it myself.”

                “The bar’s right over there.” Tox gestured to a well-stocked bar in a room off the foyer. Mussel dragged him into the other room and threw the paunchy man into a soft chair. He then stalked over to the bar and began examining the bottles.

                “If you want ice, there’s a freezer in the cabinet.” Tox offered. Mussel snorted derisively, and poured a large quantity of straight bourbon into a glass. He then turned back to Tox.

                “So. Linky. What’s the story?” Mussel asked, then took a gulp.

                “I have to say, I’m surprised.” Tox was smoothing out his robe and making himself comfortable. “I didn’t realize that you knew where I live.”

                “I can find stuff out when I want to.” Mussel explained. “Linky.” He re-iterated.

                “Yes, I’ve been meaning to thank you for putting me in contact with Mr. Weeks.  He did some work for me and I’m most satisfied with the outcome.” Tox smiled. “Of course, I’ve had to find a new receptionist, but that’s exciting in its own way as well.”

                Mussel’s brow knit in confusion. “What the Hell are you talking about?”

                “Look, Linky anticipated that something like this might happen. So, he left a few letters for you and some of the old gang just to set your minds at ease. They’re over there in the desk drawer, actually.”

                Tox stood and approached his desk. He reached to open a drawer when Mussel’s heavy hand clasped his wrist.

                “Sit back down. I’ll find ‘em.” Mussel said. Tox did as he was told.

                The larger man opened the drawer and found a series of sealed envelopes, each with names written on them. He flipped though them until he found one made out to him. He tore it open.

                “I think you’ll recognize Linky’s handwriting…” Tox offered.

                Mussel read the letter carefully, looking over at Tox incredulously from time to time. He took another drink.

                “Is this for real?” Mussel asked. “Linky did a job for you, so you gave him a new face and a bunch of money and he skipped town?”

                “Absolutely.” Tox assured him. “He earned every penny.”

                Mussel sighed. “Well, how about that. I’m gonna miss that little cheat…”

                “I’m sure.” Tox stood and approached the bar. Mussel did not move to prevent him, so he poured himself a glass. “But, I want you to know that I’m grateful to you as well, Mussel. Linky got me out of a tight spot. And the whole situation has been quite exhilarating.”

                “Is that so?” Mussel’s face took on a less grim appearance.

                “Yes. And now, that we know we can trust each other, maybe we can continue our association.”

                “Like how?” Mussel asked.

                “I’m sure you know plenty of people who’d like their faces changed. And I’ve been thinking about various other - Well, I guess ‘capers’ would be the word for it – that I’d like to try.” Tox approached Mussel and clinked their glasses together. “Here’s to crime!”

                AFTER DICK TRACY

                The State Women’s Correctional  Facility was a large, featureless building surrounded by high fences topped with razor wire. There was no crowd at the Visitors’ Entrance, which made it easy for Tox to spot his target as the man emerged through the gate.

                “You there! Bates!” Tox called from inside his car.

                BroadwayBates looked over in the direction where he’d heard his name. He saw a late-model sedan with a man behind the wheel, waving at him. Bates approached the car cautiously.

                “Yes, what do you- Ye Gods!” Bates gasped when he saw the face of the man in the car. His eyes went wide, and his monocle fell.

                “Yes, yes. Get in, I’ve got the air conditioning on.” Tox urged.

                “Who are you?” Bates demanded, not moving to enter the vehicle.

                “I’m a friend. I jumped through a lot of hoops to find out when you’d be here, now get in. I don’t want anyone seeing us together.”

                “Why should I get in a car with you? I don’t even know you.” Bates scoffed.

                “I’ve got cold water and some hot sandwiches. Just ride with me out to the main road. I have a proposition for you.” Tox paused. “Unless you’d rather walk?”

                Broadway Bates thought for a moment, then straightened, screwed his monocle back into place and got into the back seat.

                “There. Happy?” Bates sneered. “Now who are you? What’s this all about?”

                Tox put the car in gear and started down the side road to the highway. Keeping one eye on the road, he looked at his passenger in the rear-view mirror with the other eye.

                “My name is Dr. Beau Tox. We have an enemy in common.” Tox explained.

                “Dick Tracy.” Bates deduced.

                “Indeed. I’ve recently suffered some serious reversals at Tracy’s hands, and I want to re-establish myself in a new locale.”

                “I see. What’s this got to do with me?” Bates demanded.

                “I learned that you were planning to come and visit your young lady friend.” Said Tox. “You traveled quite a ways to be here.”

                “Yes, she still has a bit of time on her sentence.” Bates sighed. “It’s been hard on her, the poor girl.”

                “A murder charge can be so stressful, I know.” Tox offered. “So, how were you planning to get back to your brother’s city? Flying? Taking the train?”

                “I’ve had bad luck on trains.” Bates said. “And a flight is too expensive. I’ve been reduced to traveling by bus, if you must know.”

                “No shame in that.” Tox soothed. “But, if you’re willing, I’d be happy to drive you to your brother’s place. Like I said, I have food, and I think you’ll find my car is a fair bit more comfortable than a bus.”

                “I’ll grant you that.” Bates replied. “What’s the catch?”

                “I just want to talk.” Tox explained. “And perhaps when we get there, you’ll agree to introduce me to your brother?”

***

                Broadway Bates rapped his umbrella handle against the heavy steel door. A panel in the door slid open.

                “Open up, Bruno, it’s me!” Bates demanded.

                The sound of heavy locks being unbolted came through the door, and it swung open noisily. A thick, muscular man in a suit and bow tie blocked the entrance.

                “Who’s he?” The man asked, gesturing behind Bates.

                “A friend. Mind your own business.” Bates pushed Bruno aside and made his way in. Tox followed close after. He and Bruno eyed each other suspiciously.

                Bates led Dr. Tox down a hall past several doors. Tox could detect various scents as he passed – food, perfume, chemicals, bleach. Finally, they rounded a corner and Bates knocked on an ornate wooden door.

                “Oswald! It’s me! I need to see you!” No sound came through the door. Tox and Bates waited for a moment until it finally creaked open. Oswald, Bates’ brother, poked his long nose out.

                “You’re back early.” Oswald quacked. “I wasn’t expecting you for hours.”

                “Fortune smiled on me.” Bates explained. “I made a new friend, and he was good enough to transport me back to your protective custody. He wants to meet you.”

                Oswald made a noise that Tox couldn’t quite place. It seemed like a laugh, but with a derisive barking quality. It was also extremely nasal. It was at this point that Oswald took notice of Tox.

                “Hmph.” Oswald did not seem put off by Tox’s appearance, which surprised the doctor. “Interesting. Go get a drink and a change of clothes, I’ll have a word with your new friend here.”

                “As you say.” Bates said deferentially. He stood aside and let Tox enter Oswald’s office. He put his hand on Tox’s shoulder. “If I see you again, I think you’ll agree that I do NOT owe you any favors…”

                “No. Thanks.” Tox said. Bates inclined his head slightly and waddled off.

                “Shut the door!” Oswald demanded.

                Tox did as he was told, then took in his surroundings. The office was decorated tastefully, with antiques and a variety of stuffed birds. The chairs were leather, and the rug was ornate (probably Persian). There were no windows.

                Oswald settled himself down behind his desk before addressing Tox. “So, you made friends with my brother just so you could meet me, huh? I’m a bit flattered. Not much though. What’s your angle?”

                “Well, you see, I was fairly well-connected in Broadway’s city, but I’ve recently been… Uprooted, and I was seeking to re-establish myself somewhere new.” Tox explained.

                “And you came here?” Oswald scoffed. “Are you ugly AND stupid? Maybe you haven’t heard, but we have a very serious problem with a nocturnal vigilante around here.”

                “Yes, I’m aware.” Tox said. “But I understand that he has a certain aversion to firearms? Dick Tracy does not have any such compunction.”

                “So I’ve heard, so I’ve heard.” Oswald scowled at Tox. “Well, sit down, man. You make me nervous hovering there like a ghost.”

                “I’m sorry.” Tox made his way to a seat and leaned forward. “Anyway, I understand that there’s another criminal, like me, who left Tracy’s city and settled here. And he also has a similar… Let’s say modus operandi to one of YOUR co-horts.”

                Oswald thought for a moment. “Oh, you mean that Putty Puss fellow? Yes, Clayface was most perturbed when he started pulling jobs here. In fact, there’s a standing reward out on the bounder. Clayface only wants him alive, though, so I don’t envy the poor bas-“

                “No, not him!” Tox sounded desperate. “I meant Haf-and-Haf! All of the chatter I came across said that he’d come here, to your city, and was trading on the reputation of someone else.”

                Oswald seemed momentarily annoyed at being interrupted. He considered Tox’s words, then rubbed his chin.

                “Yes. Yes, I do know who you mean. He’s been keeping a lower profile, but I can see why you want to get in touch with him. Looking to join forces, perhaps? Comrades in arms because of the whole…” Oswald indicated to one side of his face. Tox scowled.

                “No, no not all. What I want to do is find Tulza Tuzon and kill him. Then I would be the new Haf-and-Haf, and I would leave your friend to his own devices.”

                “Hmm.” Oswald considered this.

                “I can pay for the information.” Tox reached into his coat and pulled out a significant bundle of bills. “Just tell me where to find Haf-and-Haf. I’ll take care of the rest myself.”

                Oswald’s eyebrows raised and a sneer came over his face. “You’re really not very good at this, are you?” He asked.

                Tox was nonplussed.

                “Why should I tell you anything?” Oswald went on. “Why shouldn’t I just kill you, take your money, and let the freaks settle their own matters?”

                Tox stood, but Oswald drew a gun on him.

                “I’ve killed three people and got away with it.” Tox blurted.

                “I’ve killed more and I’m sitting right here. So I’ll ask again,” Oswald said coolly. “Why shouldn’t I kill you?”

                Tox considered the question. He looked down.

                “Because…” He began. “Because you wouldn’t want to get blood on this lovely rug?”

                Oswald stared at him blankly for a moment. Then, abruptly, he burst out with his loud, quacking laugh.

                “By George, I like that.” Oswald set the gun down. “My goodness, you should see your face!” he said, between laughs. “Or, maybe you shouldn’t. You’re really quite hideous, old fellow.”

Oswald stood and made his way around the desk. He plucked the money from the stunned Tox’s hand. He fanned it, taking in the amount.

“Yes, this will do, I suppose.” Oswald said. “I’ll also want the keys to the vehicle you came here in.”

“It’s stolen.” Tox explained as he fished the keys from his pocket.

“Of course it is.” Oswald snatched the keys from Tox. “Still, good for parts and all. You can keep what’s in your wallet- Identification, library cards, the like. I know how difficult those things are to replace.”

Oswald scuttled back around his desk and wrote on a scrap of paper.

“Now then. This is an address,” he explained. “According to sources I trust, your man Tuzon can probably be found there. I haven’t told my friend about it because he hasn’t asked. I prefer not to involve myself in his affairs if I can avoid it.”

“I understand.” Tox took the paper and crammed it into a pocket.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do have other matters that need my attention.” Oswald said, dismissively.

“Of course.” Tox turned to go,

“I hope you’ll understand,” Oswald called after him. “That while I appreciate you helping my brother, I do consider our brief association to be at an end.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” Tox assured Oswald.

“Do you?” Oswald asked. “I don’t want there to be any confusion. I’m saying don’t come back here. Don’t contact Brooklyn or Broadway or Brownstone or whatever he’s calling himself. If I see you again, I’ll kill you.”

“You won’t. I promise.” Tox waited to see if Oswald would speak again, then he turned to go.

“One other thing!” Oswald called after him. Tox turned back. “It wouldn’t hurt you to smile now and then, you know. Might make you easier to look at!”

Oswald laughed some more as Tox scowled and left. He shut the door behind him without being prompted.

“Poor dumb fool…” Oswald muttered. “Last thing we need around here is more of those types…” He picked up his telephone receiver and began dialing.

***

                It took Dr. Beau Tox some time to find the address in the unfamiliar city. When he did, he was surprised at the poor condition of the ramshackle building. The rumors he had heard led him to believe that the man he was seeking had been more successful, which Tox assumed would lead him to seek better accommodations.

                The lock on the main door was broken and Tox entered. He had a pistol, one of the few things on his person that Oswald hadn’t taken from him. He drew it and made his way up the stairs. Half of the overhead lights were burnt out or smashed.  The floor boards creaked under his weight, and several doors slammed shut as he went past.

                Tox reached the apartment number that matched the address Oswald had given him. To his surprise, the door was slightly ajar. No lights were on inside.

                This could be a trap. Tox thought. But, I came here for a reason. No turning back now…

                Tox pushed the door open slightly. He poked his face - the good side – through the opening far enough to get a look around. The room was too dark to see. Resigned, Tox opened the door and entered the room.

                A light came on. Seated in a recliner in front of the door was Tulza Tuzon, also known as Haf-and-Haf. Tuzon’s left hand held the chain from the table lamp he had just turned on. His right hand held an automatic pistol that was trained on Tox. Tox froze.

                “I hear you’ve been looking for me.” Tuzon said. His voice was cold and even.

                “Yes.” Tox took another step in, his gun in his hand at his side.

                “Well, you found me.” Tuzon seemed remarkably calm. “Is there a reward out for me back in the city?”

                “That’s not why I’m here.” Tox explained.

                Tuzon took a good look at the intruder. “No. You don’t seem like the bounty hunter type. So what do you want?”

                “I want to make a deal.” Tox explained. He held up his gun, holding the handle between his forefinger and thumb. “I’m not a threat to you, see? I have a plan.”

                “Yeah, what’s that?” Tuzon’s gun did not lower.

                “Look, you’ve been pulling jobs here posing as Two-Face, right?” Tox’s voice revealed his excitement. “That’s brilliant! No one’s looking for Tulza Tuzon, and anything you do will get blamed on him!”

                “It’s been working so far.” Tuzon acknowledged.

                “So, I want to get added into the mix!” Tox urged. “Nobody knows who I am! I could rob banks, pull extortion jobs, kidnappings, anything! And it’s just one more Two-Face running around, muddying the waters! No one would know who did what and we’d all reap the benefits.”

                “Hmm.” Tulza Tuzon’s eyes narrowed. “And, in exchange for my agreeing to all this, you’d give me a cut of whatever you make, right?”

                “Of course!” Tox agreed.

                “Until you decide to kill me.” Tuzon added.

                “What? No, I-“

                “Shut up.” Tuzon barked. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m Tulza Tuzon. Haf. And. Haf. I have a name and a reputation and I’m damned proud of it.”

                Tuzon stood.

                “The only reason I started pulling jobs in this town was to prove that I’m better at it than Two-Face.” Tuzon explained. “And I am. ‘Cause I haven’t been caught. When the time comes, I intend to get the FULL credit for everything I’ve done, and ONLY that. Got me?”

                Tuzon leveled his gun at Tox’s forehead.

                “There is only room for ONE Haf-and-Haf. In this city, in the world.”

                A shot rang out. Tox’s eyes went wide. He looked down at his chest and saw the spreading blood on his shirt. He barely managed to turn his head to look behind him before he crumpled to the ground.

                Standing in the doorway was a man wearing a two-toned suit. Half of his face was heavily scarred. In his left hand, he held a silver dollar. His right hand held a gun, which was smoking.

                “Funny,” the new arrival said, “I was thinking the same thing.”

END