The Hunter and Other Stories

by Dashiell Hammett

  A girl of twenty-one comes up the path toward them. She is dressed in white and carries a tennis racket. She is lithe, beautiful, somewhat haughty. As she approaches the four men she holds her head high and regards them with disapproving eyes.

  They halt, blocking the path. The Dis-and-Dat Kid’s fidgety eyes look her up and down, ogle her, and he runs the tip of his tongue over his lips. Buck stares somberly at her. Happy Jones turns his back to her and pretends interest in the shrubbery. Neely grins amiably at her.

  As they make no move to clear the path for her, she halts in front of them, regarding them haughtily.

  Neely points a finger at the tennis racket and says, familiarly: “Hello, sister. How’s the racket?” Then he laughs merrily at his joke.

  The girl starts to speak, then bites her lip angrily, puts her chin higher in the air, steps out of the path, walks around them, and goes on toward the house.

  The four men turn in unison to watch her.

  “That’s a pain in the neck,” Buck growls.

  The Dis-and-Dat Kid leers at the girl’s back. “I’ll take it,” he says.

  Happy Jones whines: “I like a woman with some meat on her.”

  Buck looks at Happy’s thin frame. “You got a lot to give her,” he says.

  They retrace their steps to the house, going leisurely around to the back and entering through the kitchen, where the cook, a buxom middle-aged woman in white, is directing the activities of two assistants. She looks around indignantly as they come in.

  They stroll through the kitchen in single file, looking around curiously. The Dis-and-Dat Kid spies a chicken on a platter. He picks up a knife, slashes off a drumstick and bites into it.

  The cook, hands on hips, advances angrily, “Here! What are you up to? Clear out of here!”

  Buck scowls at her. “Aw, go poach your kidneys,” he growls. He leans over, tears the other drumstick from the chicken and stuffs half of it into his mouth.

  They leave the kitchen through a doorway opposite the one by which they entered. Happy Jones pauses in the doorway to look back, amorously, at the angry cook.

  The Dis-and-Dat Kid nudges Buck, points his drumstick at the sad-faced man in the doorway, sniggers, and says: “Ain’t dat somepin’?”

  They go through the pantry and dining room into a hallway, strolling idly, the Kid and Buck gnawing their drumsticks. In the hallway they see the girl in white again. Her eyes darken with anger when she sees them. She goes haughtily up the stairs. They stand and watch her mount the stairs. They keep their hats on.

  She goes into a room on the second floor. Pomeroy and Kavanaugh are seated there. The room is furnished with elaborately carved, stamped, and brass-studded Spanish office furniture. There is a stock-ticker in one corner. Through an open door, part of Pomeroy’s bedroom can be seen.

  Kavanaugh rises and bows as the girl enters. Pomeroy says: “Hello, Ann. How’d the game go?”

  Both men have put their best attempts at smiling unconcern on their faces for her.

  She is still angry. “Father, who are those horrible men?” she asks.

  He glances apprehensively at Kavanaugh, then smiles as carelessly as he can at his daughter and asks: “You mean those—” He finishes the sentence with aimless motions of his hands.

  “Those four horrible, horrible men!” she says.

  He smiles paternally at her. “They won’t bother you, honey,” he says. “And they’ll only be here a couple of days at most. It’s necessary that—”

  She takes a step toward him. “A couple of days!” she exclaims. “They can’t stay here, Father! We’ve people coming down tomorrow for the weekend—the Robinsons and the Laurens and—you can’t have them here. They’re horrible!”

  Pomeroy puts out a hand to pat one of hers. “There, there!” he says soothingly. “Papa’ll see what he can do. Perhaps it’ll only be necessary to keep them here overnight.” He looks at Kavanaugh for support, asking: “Perhaps, hm-m-m?”

  Kavanaugh nods hastily, saying: “Perhaps. Perhaps.”

  “But why do you have to keep them here overnight?” Ann demands. “Why are they here at all?”

  Pomeroy shakes a playful finger at her. “No prying into Papa’s affairs, young lady,” he says.

  She screws her eyes up at him, wrinkles her forehead, asks, “Are they detectives or guards or something? Are you in some kind of danger?” She seems suddenly frightened.

  “Sh-h-h,” he says. “There’s not a thing for you to worry about—word of honor.”

  She bends down to kiss him on the forehead. “And you will get rid of them?” she asks as she straightens up.

  “Cross my heart,” he promises.

  She flashes a smile at Kavanaugh and goes out.

  Kavanaugh sinks down in his chair again. The light goes out of Pomeroy’s face. They stare at each other hopelessly.

  A bedroom in Pomeroy’s house. Happy Jones is lying on his back on the bed, hands clasped at the nape of his neck, staring mournfully at the ceiling. The Dis-and-Dat Kid is sitting on a window sill, looking boredly out at the grounds. Smoke drifts up from a cigarette in a corner of his mouth. Buck is straddling a chair, holding a glass of whisky in one hand. Neely is tilted back in another chair with his feet on the bed. He is wearing his derby; the others are bareheaded.

  Neely is saying: “. . . and then I look at him again and I’m a son-of-a-gun if it ain’t my brother.”

  Buck puts his head back and laughs heartily.

  The Dis-and-Dat Kid turns his face from the window to grin crookedly. Then he leaves the sill, drops his cigarette on the floor, puts his foot on it, and asks: “What are we waiting for, Cheaters? For Happy to get bed sores?”

  Neely pulls a watch from his pocket, looks at it, and sticks it back in. “I’m comfortable,” he says amiably, “but if you guys are itching, all right.”

  Buck hurls his drink into his mouth without touching his lips with the glass, smacks his lips, and rises, saying: “I’m ready.”

  Happy gets up slowly from the bed, finds his hat on the floor, and puts it on. Buck puts on his cap, the Dis-and-Dat Kid his hat. They leave the room and go downstairs to the second floor in single file, Neely first, then Buck, the Kid, and Happy.

  As Neely reaches the second-floor landing, he meets one of the maids. She looks at him and the others nervously and keeps as close to the far wall as she can on her way to another part of the floor.

  Neely raises a hand. “Where’s the boss?” he asks.

  She pauses long enough to say hurriedly, “Mr. Pomeroy is in his office,” and hurries away.

  Happy looks sadly after her and shakes his head. “She ain’t got the meat on her,” he whines.

  They go down to the room where Pomeroy and Kavanaugh are, Neely opens the door without knocking, and the others file in after him.

  Pomeroy has been standing at a window, Kavanaugh is seated. Both try to conceal their alarm as they look around at the four men entering.

  Neely, all smiles, says, “Howdy, gents,” while Happy, the last one in, is shutting the door and leaning his back against it.

  Buck strolls deliberately across the room and out of sight through the open bedroom door. The Dis-and-Dat Kid, fingers and eyes fidgeting, moves around the other side of the room, keeping himself turned slightly sidewise toward the stockbroker and his attorney.

  Pomeroy and Kavanaugh exchange nervous glances. Pomeroy clears his throat and says: “Kavanaugh and I are still unable to see how we can be of any assistance to you—in—”

  Neely stops him with an up-raised palm. “Don’t you and Kavvy worry about that,” he says amiably, smiling as if at a couple of younger brothers. “Us boys figured it all out. Didn’t we, boys?”

  The boys do not say anything. Kavanaugh and Pomeroy glance apprehensively at each other. Kavanaugh takes off his glasses and begins to polish them.

  Neely says: “Stake us to get-away dough and we’ll amscray.

  Kavanaugh and Pomeroy stare uncomprehendingly
at him.

  Neely laughs. “Money,” he explains, “and we’ll go to read and write—powder out—blow—leave the country.”

  Pomeroy glances at Kavanaugh again, then asks hesitantly: “Ah—how much money would be necessary?”

  Neely puts his thumbs in his vest armholes and rocks back on his heels, screwing his eyes up at the ceiling in good-natured calculation. “Well,” he begins, “we’d have to. . . .”

  Gene Richmond in his Cord roadster burning the road along the edge of Green Lake. Across the water the sun is going down. He turns off the road into Pomeroy’s driveway, stops in front of the house, and gets out.

  A man servant opens the door for him. “Mr. Pomeroy is expecting me,” he says, “Mr. Richmond.”

  The servant takes his hat and coat, bows him into a reception room off the hall, and goes upstairs.

  Richmond waits placidly until the servant has disappeared at the top of the stairs, then goes briskly up after him, reaching the top in time to see the servant entering Pomeroy’s office. Then he moderates his pace and walks down the second-story hallway, arriving at the door just as the servant comes out. He says: “Thanks,” politely to the man and goes in. The servant goggles at him.

  The six men in the room—Buck is standing in the bedroom doorway now—stare at him.

  He bows to Kavanaugh—“Good evening”—and then to the stockbroker, saying suavely: “Mr. Pomeroy, I suppose?”

  Pomeroy returns the bow uncomfortably. He is sitting at the Spanish desk, the fingers of one hand on an open checkbook, the other hand holding a pen.

  Richmond surveys the others meditatively, one by one, speaking as if to himself. “Cheaters Neely, of course,” making a circle around one of his own eyes to indicate the spectacles; “and Happy Jones—that’s easy,” looking at the mournful man; “and Buck and I are old friends—remember the time I pulled you out of the sewer pipe up north? So you must be the Dis-and-Dat Kid.”

  Neely smiles pleasantly at Richmond and says: “You seem to know more people than know you, brother.”

  By then Happy has slipped behind Richmond to stand with his back against the hall door again. His right hand is in his coat pocket. Buck glowers at Richmond. The Kid’s eyes fidget from Richmond to Neely.

  Kavanaugh, speaking hastily, as if to forestall further conversation between Neely and the detective, says: “Ah—Mr. Richmond, we have just reached an—ah—amicable settlement.” He adjusts his glasses to his nose with an air of relief.

  Richmond looks with mild amusement from Kavanaugh to Pomeroy. The broker abruptly leans over and begins to sign the check.

  Richmond takes two deliberate steps to the desk and bends to look at the check, and then, just as deliberately, puts out a forefinger and rubs it slowly across Pomeroy’s incompleted signature, making an undecipherable dark smear of it.

  Pomeroy rocks back in his chair in surprise.

  The Dis-and-Dat Kid puts a hand to his right hip and takes a step toward Richmond’s back. Neely catches the Kid’s eye, smiles, and shakes his head. The Kid halts indecisively.

  Richmond addresses Pomeroy carelessly: “That’s a sucker play. Giving him money is what got you into this. You’ll never get out that way.”

  Pomeroy starts to speak, but is interrupted by the Dis-and-Dat Kid snarling: “Who is dis mugg?”

  Richmond slowly turns to face the Kid, smiles mockingly at him, and says: “Dis mugg is the only one that’s going to be paid off on this job. The name’s Gene Richmond, employed by Mr. Kavanaugh and Mr. Pomeroy”—with the semblance of a bow vaguely directed toward them—“to shake you boys loose.”

  From the bedroom doorway Buck addresses Neely earnestly: “That’s the truth he’s telling, Cheaters. I knew him up north. There ain’t no chance of anybody else turning a honest dollar with him around. Let’s knock him off right now.”

  Richmond chuckles and turns to face Buck while Neely is replying good-naturedly: “We can always knock him off. Let’s watch him do his stuff a while first.”

  Richmond turns to Neely: “Why don’t you boys go out and pick some flowers and give us a chance to talk this over?”

  “Sure,” Neely says agreeably. “Talk your heads off, and maybe when you’re through, Pommy’ll write another check and maybe he’ll make it bigger than that one.” He turns toward the door. “Coming, boys?”

  The boys follow him out, glowering at Richmond.

  Neely puts his head into the room again. “We won’t be far off if you want us,” he says, “or if you don’t.” He shuts the door again.

  Richmond lights a cigarette and addresses Kavanaugh gravely, deliberately: “Mr. Kavanaugh, you called me a blackmailer last night. Perhaps there was some justification for it. “My,”—he smiles faintly—“sales methods are somewhat high-pressure at times, but believe me when I tell you that I know I can straighten this thing out, and that I will if you and Mr. Pomeroy will simply let me handle it in my own way. It may not be a nice way, but this isn’t a nice situation. But it isn’t the first time a thing of this sort has ever happened. I’ve handled them before. It’s chiefly a matter of deciding which of several possible methods happens to fit this particular case.”

  A large portion of their distrust has gone out of the two older men’s faces while Richmond has been talking, and Pomeroy’s face has become almost hopeful. But now he frowns hopelessly again and complains: “But I’ve got to get rid of them at once. There are people—guests—coming tomorrow. I can’t have these men here.”

  Richmond laughs. “You’d rather go to San Quentin than spoil a weekend party?”

  Pomeroy winces.

  Richmond puts his hands in his trouser pockets and walks to the window and back to a chair and sits down. His manner is curt, business-like. “First,” he says, “I’d like you to go over the whole thing from beginning to end, with every. . . .”

  FADE OUT

  Richmond, leaving Pomeroy’s room, shuts the door, grins cynically at it, and starts down the hall. Buck steps out of another door and says: “Howdy, tin-star. Make out all right with the plutocrats?”

  Richmond, with mock disgust: “They’re a couple of sissies! I had a terrible time persuading them to let me have you boys killed resisting arrest. Where’s Cheaters?”

  Buck points a forefinger at the ceiling. They walk side-by-side to the stairs and go up to the bedroom where Happy is lying as before on the bed and Neely and the Kid are arguing hotly. All three turn toward the door—Happy rolling over on an elbow—when Buck, saying, “We got distinguished company,” ushers Richmond in and shuts the door.

  Richmond comes to the point at once, in an unruffled, matter-of-fact voice, addressing Neely: “What do you boys want to do? Do you want to crowd Pomeroy to the point where he lets me have you knocked off? Or where he goes into court with a lot of perjury and matches his reputation against yours—calling that thousand-dollar check a forgery?”

  Neely chuckles. “You’re full of cute tricks, ain’t you? No, Richy, all we want is a get-away stake. That’s little enough, ain’t it?” he goes on persuasively. “Pomeroy’ll never miss the dough, we’ll get out of the country, and everything’ll be all hotsy-totsy.”

  Richmond moves his shoulders a little and asks: “But what’s in that for me?”

  Neely stares at Richmond in surprise. The Kid says: “Well, I’ll be—”

  Buck growls fiercely: “See! What’d I tell you? Let this mugg hang around and we’ll be lucky to get away from here without owing money!”

  Neely recovers his voice. “What do you want?” he asks sarcastically. “A commission?”

  Richmond dismisses that suggestion with a wave of his hand. “We can talk about that later,” he says airily. “What I want just now is for you boys to stick around here, keeping out of people’s way, not making any trouble for anybody, not riding Pomeroy, and I’ll promise to take care of you.”

  They stare at each other in surprise.

  Richmond steps back to the door. “And no matter what
happens,” he says, “don’t let it frighten you into bolting.”

  He steps through the doorway and shuts the door. They all begin talking at once.

  Night. Richmond is leaning on the back of a drawing-room chair, holding a partly filled cocktail glass in his hand. Pomeroy is seated beside a table on which there are glasses and a cocktail shaker. Kavanaugh is helping himself to an hors d’oeuvre from a tray a man servant is holding. There is no conversation; Pomeroy and Kavanaugh seem ill at ease.

  Ann Pomeroy comes in, smiles at Kavanaugh, leans over to kiss her father’s head, asking: “Am I terribly late again?”

  Pomeroy rises to say: “Ann, this is Mr. Richmond. Mr. Richmond, my spoiled daughter.”

  Ann, smiling, goes to meet Richmond with her hand outstretched. He bows over it. She says, “I suppose they’ve been pretending they’re starved waiting for me,” takes Richmond’s arm, and guides him toward the dining-room.

  He smiles politely, but says nothing. His eyes gravely study her profile when she is not looking at him. Kavanaugh and Pomeroy follow them.

  After dinner. Richmond and Ann come out of the house. He is bare-headed, smoking a cigarette. She has a shawl over her dinner dress. As they step down into a path leading to the formal garden, she takes his arm again and says gaily: “I know you. You’re Gene Richmond. You’re a detective. You found out who murdered Laura Gordon’s Aunt Minnie in Portland. She told me about you.”

  He chuckles. “I remember,” he says. “It was a janitor.”

  Ann: “That was years and years ago. I was in school.”

  Richmond: “That’s right, I’m a doddering old man.”

  She laughs up at him.

  Neely and his cohorts in the bedroom. They are playing stud poker on a card table. Neely, who is dealing, has most of the chips in front of him. Two cards have been dealt. Neely, looking at the cards he has dealt, says, “The king bets.” Happy, who has the king showing, pushes out a chip. The Kid and Neely each push out a chip. Buck, the last man, says, “Folding a trey,” turns his three of diamonds face down on his hole card.