Lisa Belknap - Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 6, No. 12, December 1961

Dear Readers:

Observe, if you will, and admire, if you please, the aplomb which I display on the cover of this months issue. The French have a word for it... sangfroid... which in beatnik argot is translated as cool, man, cool! The cold perspiration bespangling my brow bears mute witness to my coolness. So cool am I, in fact, that the skeletal hand has turned green in envy of my imperturbability, and of my absorption in the December AHMM. Out of sight, my forefinger is hovering over a row of buttons, and I am silently debating whether to push the panic-button, the burglar-alarm, or the light-switch?

This trifling interruption has broken my train of thought, which accounts for the look of annoyance on my face. I was about to start PUNCH ANY NUMBER, the novelette by Jack Ritchie. There are other excellent stories in this months issue, and it is my earnest hope that you will be so diverted by them that you will take immediate advantage of the Christmas Subscription offer on pages 65 and 66, and bestow AHMM as a gift upon your nearest and dearest, to keep your memory as green as the hand on the cover, throughout the coming year.

AH

I find Cappy Fleers a most appealing character. He has a dog-like devotion to those whom he loves, and a simple, direct approach to the problem of disposing of those who threaten his loved ones.

It wasnt long after Pop died and the bank took the place back, when I hitched a ride on a truck to New Orleans to get some construction work, or maybe ship out on one of those Gulf freighters. I hung around for a while but couldnt find anything unless I had a Union card, which I didnt. So I thought Id go to California and pick fruit, or maybe get in the movies. Billy Jo Cartright, a fellow I met, went with me. We hitched rides as far as San Antonio, then Billy went to work for his uncle, who grew cotton. The uncle said I could stay too, but I kind of had California in my head, so I said no thanks and went on. I had sort of a plan if I couldnt find anything to do in Los Angeles, so after I saw the lines of fellows in front of the employment places, I went to the dime store and bought a hammer and nails and a can of paint, and made a shoeshine box. I spent three dollars for some polish and a couple of brushes and went looking for a building, out on the bus all the way to the Sunset Strip, which I had heard about. Out by La Cienega there was a long row of the kind of buildings I wanted, two story, with maybe twenty offices, and no doormen. I went to the rental agent and asked him if I could go around the offices and shine shoes. He talked to me for a while, then said okay, so I began in the upstairs corner office. Thats how I met Mr. Danny Froken.

He had a big place, with some girls at desks in the outside room. One of the girls looked up at me. Im the shoeshine boy, I said.

Just a minute, she said, and pressed a thing on her desk. Mr. Froken, want your shoes shined? The boys here. Then she told me to go in. There were actors pictures on the wall and a big desk at the end of the room with a little man at it, looking at some papers. I went over by him and sat down on the shoeshine box. He didnt look up, just stuck his foot out. I remember the shoes because they were small, like a boys, and hardly needed a shine at all. When I was through he stuck a hand in a pocket and gave me fifty cents. He looked kind of surprised when I gave it back to him.

Youre my first customer, I said. This ones free.

He had a funny face, all tight and wrinkled and very serious. He looked at me for a moment. I got sort of uncomfortable, then he smiled.

Whats your name? he said.

Cappy, I said. Cappy Fleers.

Thats an odd name.

Not where I come from, Mr. Froken, I told him.

Wheres that?

Seneca, West Virginia.

Youre a long way from home, Cappy.

Yes, sir, I said.

Thanks for the shine.

Youre welcome, Mr. Froken. I started out.

Cappy.

I turned back.

Come every day at ten oclock. He smiled again as I went out. I went through that building like a field of wheat and the next one to it in the afternoon. Made enough to pay my room and had two dollars left for food.

Everything went fine after that. Pretty soon I had a whole string of offices to go to and everybody knew me by name. Mr. Froken was the best to me. Every day, when I did his shoes, wed talk a little. He was interested in the way I lived in Seneca and would ask me questions.

About two weeks after I started the shoeshine business, Miss Faulkner, the lady on the desk outside his office, stopped me when I started to go in.

Hold it a minute, Cappy, she said. Mr. Frokens got a houseful.

I waited while she pressed the key on her desk.

Cappys here, Mr. Froken, she said. All right to send him in?

Mr. Froken said it was okay.

The office was full of people, sitting around on chairs, all talking at once. They were arguing about a movie script, two fellows in the corner pretty excited. Over in the other corner I saw Ray Prestwick, the big actor. Fie just sat there big as life, listening and smoking a cigarette while I did Mr. Frokens shoes. When I finished, Mr. Froken said, This is Cappy Fleers. If you two could write as well as he can shine shoes, we wouldnt be here. Everybody laughed.

Go ahead, Cappy. Shine em up, Mr. Froken said.

I did the writers first, while they got back into their fight, mostly with each other. I never heard such an argument. Finally I got to Mr. Prestwick. He had some nice brown shoes on, English leather. I got a big charge out of doing his shoes. He paid for them all. It was a funny feeling, getting paid by a big star, even for a shoeshine.

Thank you, Mr. Prestwick, I said, and headed for the door.

Mr. Prestwick called after me, Hey, Cappy, he said. You know anything about yard work?

I know some farming, I told him.

This is not exactly farming, he said. Mowing, and things like that

If it grows, I guess it wouldnt be strange to me, I said.

I need a man on my place. Want a job?

Wholl do Mr. Frokens shoes? I asked him. Everybody laughed, even Mr. Froken. I felt kind of bad that he thought it was funny. He smiled at me again, with that nice sort of look, so it was all right.

Take the job, Cappy, he said. Ill send em over.

Next thing I knew I was in the outside office with an address on a piece of paper in my hand. I sat for a long time in the cafeteria on the corner, thinking about it, and Mr. Froken, and how things happened.

The address worried me some when I looked at the map. It was way up in a place called Laurel Hills, in the mountains back of Hollywood, without any bus, I figured Id have to get some kind of car to get there to work each day but with only $73.00 in the box in my room I didnt see how I could work it. I thought about it some when I went back to finish off with my customers.

The next day was Saturday and I was supposed to go to Mr. Prestwicks house in the morning. I got up early and took the bus way out on the Sunset, where Laurel Street cut in. Then I walked the rest of the way. They lived on top of a hill on a street without any sidewalks, all full of houses that looked like castles. I opened the gate and went into the yard. They had a lot of it, all green and big trees and plants around, everything wet and cool looking, sprinklers going, up near a big stone house. There was a lady over at the side. She had a pair of shears in her hand for cutting flowers and an armful of them already cut.