Out In The British 1950s Film Noir Night- The Shadow Man

 

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

Nobody could figure out why the Lamo Kid did it, why he wasted the best friend he ever had, male or female, Delores Rios. Why in some fit of rage from what the autopsy report said he cut her up six ways to Sunday and not even some hell-bent funeral home cosmetologist could make her look beautiful again. Some, after he caught the bastard, put a sexual spin on the subject as usual when a man and woman are involved in murder. They figured the Kid maybe tried to go a little too far with Delores in that area, that sex habits wanting that will make a man, or half a man, go crazy, wanted to go beyond being friends, and she put the no go on his face. Like had happened to the Kid a million other times in his short brutish life, although the butt of some joke, and taking it, taking it year after year.

Others said he had always been unbalanced from when he was a kid and had been run over by a truck, thereafter, having been busted up something awful physically  he walked  haltingly and with no style, no breezing walk around like the other neighborhood boys and earned the name Lamo Kid for his efforts.  The newspapers had played the story of the drunken truck driver running over Master George Swanson (the Kid’s real name) for days since it was touch and go whether he would pull through or not. Thereafter from that time until this he would bother anybody who would listen, and many who would not, with the gory details of  his plight waving a copy of the yellowing threadbare Daily Telegraph with his name in it as proof. Most ignored or brushes him off as so much yesterday’s news.  

Still others, well, others, the Mayfair swells, the uptown night life crowd, the amateur sociologists, the preachers and teachers out to set an example to the young, as always as well, blamed it on the neighborhood, the dregs of East End London, blamed it on his station in life, and on the poor morals of the lower classes for whence he came. A few, well let’s forget that few, okay. Maybe we had better take a step back, a couple of steps back, to try and figure this one out because just maybe the pundits and wise guys had it all wrong, or mostly wrong about the Kid’s reasons.

The Kid, due to his disabilities, his lameness could only do the best he could. And the best he could was as a gofer and all-around handyman and fixer for Diego Cortez, the big low-end London casino owner. This casino, hardly worthy of the name when compared with Monte Carlo, or Vegas, was the poor man’s version of those more famous or elegant places. Strictly penny ante stuff for the rubes and back alley dweller. So the Kid made change, fixed things up with the cops making sure they got what they got and no more, washed floors after closing, and cleaned dishes when the regular pearl-diver was off on a three day drunk.  Oh yah, and was the close confidante of Senor Cortez. This Cortez by the way just so you know was nothing but an ex-boxer who got out of the ring before he got all his brains scrambled and invested his dough in the casino a venture which in pent-up post World War II London was like manna from heaven with both hands.

Now Cortez, being in the chips and having the wherewithal to make sure the cops got what they got and no more, was a citizen of some standing. And through Senor Diego Delores enters the picture. Diego liked his women dark, Spanish, and young, especially young as he grew older. This Delores fit the bill, fit it to a tee, except for one problem. She had roving eyes, had eyes for plenty of guys, young guys, sailors a specially, and did something about it. Old guys like Diego were strictly walking daddies, nothing more. Delores did enough about it, and not discreetly, to allow Diego to give her the toss, to brush her off without a thought, when his next best thing, a young low-rider society dame looking for kicks and looking to get out from under a burdensome husband solely interested in a trophy wife, came along.                                  

But see the Lamo Kid was also interested in Delores, had been for the first time the boss brought her around and she flashed those sparkling brown eyes at him. So when the boss had other business, or another dame on the line, the Kid‘s job was to squire Delores around, keep an eye on her. He was happy to do that since he had his own enflamed notions about her. And she was friendly enough toward him, and that was enough for him while she was the boss’ girl. Once Diego dumped her though the Kid felt he had certain rights, rights of friendship or whatever you want to call it. As it turned out Delores didn’t see it that way and belittled him, tricked him really. Then one night when Delores showed up at the casino a little drunk with some sailor the Kid flipped out at the sight. Later that night the Kid snuck up to her room in Mrs. Lamp’s rooming house and waylaid her with one of Diego’s knives. The Kid figured to let Diego take the fall; she had been his girl after all.     

Needless to say after some routine police work, and a couple of close calls for Diego, they were able to trap the Kid in a series of lies and collar him, collar him good. Had him nailed for the big step-off.  That still begs the question though about why he did it, beyond that spurned love business. That was just a small part of it, as was putting the frame on the boss. When the Kid confessed, hell, spilled his guts, laughing, he said he did it really just to get his name, his real name, like when he had had his accident as a kind and they called him by his real name then, Master George Swanson, in the newspapers. Had it on the front page like he was somebody, a swell. He had done it so finally someone would show him some respect. Go figure.