The Empty Trap

by John D. MacDonald

“He’s no monster!”

  “Of course not. In his business there are certain rules. He’s carried those rules over from the rackets to the legit enterprises. Nobody leaves. No top people. You’re in for life. But don’t kick about it. You have it good. I’ve seen the bonus list. You’re down for five thousand.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  “Cheer up, Lloyd. You’ll be as bad as I was last night.”

  When he had the chance he checked her theory with Harry one day when they were alone in Lloyd’s office.

  “This is running smooth now, Harry. Maybe it will eventually get so smooth I’ll get bored and go find somebody else who wants a hotel managed.”

  Harry grinned. “Don’t get bored then.”

  “Seriously, suppose I did want to take off some day?”

  “You’d get an argument.”

  “But I could go, couldn’t I?”

  “What is this, kid? What’s chewing you? You need a raise? You unhappy or something? If you’re getting the job licked, drift with it. You want to work too hard all your life?”

  “Sometimes you get so you need a change.”

  “When you need a change, let me know. I’ll send you to look over hotel problems in Paris. That’s a legitimate deduction. If you don’t like Paris, they got hotels everywhere. If you’re restless, we can send a secretary along with you. I got a contact who can come up with a real class kid, college level.”

  “What you’re saying is, I work for you from here on in.”

  Harry stood up. “Is that so bad? Am I some clown? Isn’t the pay right? Listen, I’ll tell you something. In every business they got key personnel, right? Okay, you’re key personnel. In a lot of businesses they got a turnover problem with key personnel. G. E. has it. General Motors has it. Even the Air Force has it. But you know what ratio of turnover I run on key personnel? None. No ratio at all. I don’t want you trying to spoil my record, kid. If right now you got an itch, that’s okay. It’s letdown. You’ve worked like a dog. Tell you what you do. Draw a thousand and take off for a week. The house won’t fall down. Go away someplace. Go get laid.”

  “Thanks, Harry. I’m not that restless. I was just thinking.”

  “Don’t think too much.”

  “Suppose I goofed on the job. Would I get fired?”

  “If you goof, I lose money. If I lose money, my partners lose money. If they lose money, they say, ‘What the hell, Harry! What are you doing to us?’ Then I say, ‘Look, boys. This Wescott goofed off. He dogged it on purpose.’ Then they say, ‘So what did you do to him?’ Much as I like you, kid, I can’t let my partners down. They put money in it. So then I have to have proof, see? Or maybe they’ll think I was screwing them to buy them out cheap or something. Maybe the proof is something out of the paper. Manager of the Hotel Green Oasis dead in car smash or drowns in Lake Tahoe or shoots self or something.”

  The whole length of Lloyd’s spine felt cold. “Are you trying to scare me, Harry?”

  “Hell, no, I’m not trying to scare you. I’m telling you. I’d be in a hell of a position and, much as I like you, I’d have to do something about it, wouldn’t I? I can’t start going soft. You start going soft and they run in from all sides like a pack of dogs and chew the legs right out from under you. Friendship is friendship, but number one is number one, Lloyd. I’d be helpless in such a situation. There’s only one way to go and that’s get a sickness so bad you can’t work any more. If a bad thing like that happens, you’d stay right on the payroll long as you live. Hell, if I tried to welsh on that, my partners would raise hell with me. They know when you got to do the right thing by a right guy, just the same as you got to put all the clamps on a wrongo.”

  After Harry had left the office Lloyd sat quite still for a long time marveling over what he had just heard. Do your job or be killed. It was incredible, impossible—and perfectly true. The Dantons had brought into legitimate business the code of the gang. He shuddered and went back to work.

  Aside from Sylvia, there was no one he could talk to about this situation in which he found himself. He had hired his own staff. Charlie Bliss was at his own executive level. It was inconceivable that he could talk to Charlie. Charlie had a head and a face like a polished white stone, a stone you pick up in a stream bed and turn it this way and that way and decided it does resemble a man’s head and face. See, these things here are the eyes and that is the mouth.

  Hoppy Hopper was no confidant. His relationship with Hopper was not good. Some of Hopper’s publicity ideas had not been in keeping with the decor Lloyd was trying to establish. Hopper seemed to feel that the hotel would be best served if all news services people could watch the debut of some exceptionally bosomy Italian singer in the Caravan Room wearing a cellophane dress while, simultaneously, two important Trendex comedians were bashing each other’s noses in the men’s room. Lloyd had complained until Harry had ordered Hoppy to check out new ideas with Lloyd for approval. This Hoppy did with the worst possible grace.

  Lloyd realized that there was no one he could rum to. He had not thought of himself as a loner. He had many good friends. Yet essentially he had moved in his own way, in his own pattern.

  In December Sylvia began to spend more time in the hotel. He would find her in one of the bars, or out by the big pool. Each time he saw her he went to her and spoke to her for a time. She seemed tense and unhappy, her eyes shadowed by fatigue. When Harry went off on a business trip, saying he wouldn’t return until after the first of the year, Lloyd felt a sense of elation that he could not pin down until he realized that he felt he could talk to Sylvia with less strain.

  Harry left on a Friday. On Sunday, realizing he hadn’t seen Sylvia for three days, he began an aimless stroll around the grounds that inevitably took him to her door. He could see her through the screen, sitting alone, in profile against the bright sunlight that came in from the pool.

  When he spoke she got up and came to the door, pushed it open and said, “Come in.”

  As soon as he could see her clearly, his jaw dropped. Her left eye was ludicrous. It was deep blue and purple and indigo, fading into plum and saffron that stained half the left side of her face. It had a humid bulging look. It was slitted and, from far back, a thin slice of dark brown eye looked gravely out at him.

  “What happened?”

  “Let me see now. I ran into a door. Yes, I ran into a door.” She turned away from him suddenly, white pleated skirt swirling.

  He followed her and said, “What did happen?”

  “Skip it, Lloyd. Call it a parting gift. Something to remember him by.”

  “Why should he do a thing like that?”

  She turned and faced him. They were standing by the glass doors that opened onto the pool area. She smiled at him. “Poor boy scout. Full of outrage. Sore because he marked me. Usually he’s much more considerate. Sometimes I have to wear long sleeves, and sometimes I have to pick a sun suit without a bare midriff, but those are just little problems any girl can handle.”

  “Does he do this often?”

  “It’s getting oftener. I don’t conform so good. It’s a very standard way of breaking somebody down to a manageable size. It hurts, so you try to avoid being hurt, and pretty soon you’re following orders like a nice little lamb. My God, don’t look at me with those sheep eyes, Lloyd. I’m an expert on eyes. In three more days dark glasses will hide it. This is mild. Joey Tower used to bounce me off the walls. It gave him his kicks. But I was a kid then. And I … healed easier.” The hard voice faltered.

  “Sylvia!”

  “I don’t want sympathy or understanding. This was just a little marital quarrel. It’s none of your business. I’ve never had to lean on anybody in my whole life. I’m not going soft at this late date. You’re just a …” And her voice broke completely, mouth twisting and trembling like a child fighting tears. He took her wrists and she came reluctantly into his arms. He held her and her tears came. He moved back away from the glass doors, still holding her throu
gh all the lost and lonely paroxysms, the wrenching sobs, the slow fading of tears, back to a time of deep breathing with a small catch at the end of each breath. She turned away from him quickly and left the room. His shirt and the lapel of his white jacket were damp, and there was a smudge of her lipstick. It was ten minutes before she came out, quite shyly.

  “I’m a damn fool. Thanks, Lloyd. I can’t even remember the last time I cried for real. I’ve faked enough times, but it isn’t the same.”

  “Glad to be of service. But I’ve accumulated some incriminating evidence. There is one thing about a big hotel, Sylvia, that perhaps you don’t know. The spy system is practically perfect. When staff duties are routine, there’s nothing to do but watch the guests and the other staff people. If one bellhop spends thirty minutes in a room with a bored female guest, before the next hour is up the second pastry chef knows the woman’s choice in perfume and underwear because somehow that data filters down from the room maid.”

  “I’ve got something that will take that out,” she said. She came back with a small bottle.

  “Shall I take it off?”

  “No need. Turn toward the light, please.”

  She scrubbed industriously, biting her lower lip. She recapped the bottle, surveyed her work. “There. Gone.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders. She looked at him, slightly startled. “Lloyd, don’t—”

  With his lips on hers she said “Don’t” one more time, and then surrendered. From a place far away he heard the bottle drop to the floor. It was as though they had kissed a thousand times. It was a perfect fit of contour, contour of body, of emotion and of need. They parted, gasping, dizzied and appalled. She steadied herself, gave him the cloth she had used on the coat. “Wipe your mouth. I’ll be damned if I’m going to get all mixed up in a … This is the craziest thing anybody could possibly … I’m not going to let you be the little dog on the railroad tracks, Lloyd. Because it can’t mean that much. I can’t mean that much in that kind of way to anybody. I’m just a …”

  And with a sound quite like a sob she came back into his arms.

  His feeling of apprehension did not come until later, until the sun was lower, until they lay dreamy, languorous and sated, sharing a single cigarette. He tried to push the cold knowledge of danger out of his mind, the awareness that this was an incident of monumental foolishness. It had always been his practice to avoid any emotional relationship with a guest. There had always been ample opportunity to be a fool. He had slipped once, on his first hotel job. A merciful manager had put the fear of God into him, explaining in detail exactly what could happen to his career.

  The implications of this were far worse. This was the wife of the owner. It did not matter that she was lonely, unhappy, abused and beautiful. It did not matter that she was passionately demanding and shatteringly exciting. This was Harry’s wife.

  He began to dress hurriedly. She left the room, carrying her clothing, moving quick and tall and gracefully. She came back wearing the plain yellow dress he had seen before.

  “Don’t go for a minute,” she said. “We have to talk.”

  They were both sobered, both apprehensive. This was a way to commit suicide. They told each other with deliberate emphasis that this was an unfortunate incident, and the sane, adult thing to do was to forget it ever happened, and certainly never let it happen again. Yes, it was just one of those things. If they tried, they could easily get back into their previous relationship. Perhaps even that relationship was too friendly. They told each other these things as though they were arguing on the same side against a third party. And, as the sweeping statements began to lose emphasis, they both began to realize they were whistling into the wind. And they stopped talking.

  “What you said about hotels,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “We’ll have to be so careful, Lloyd. So terribly careful.”

  “I know.”

  “And we’ll have to keep our heads. We can’t ever get overconfident, and careless.”

  He was very alert during the next few days for any change in attitude toward him on the part of the staff. He knew that if there was talk, if he had been seen going to Harry’s place and staying there for two hours on a Sunday afternoon while Sylvia was alone, he would surprise a look of speculation, see whisperings.

  One thing favored the intrigue. He had never maintained a regular work routine. He inspected every segment of the operations at least once a day, but at unexpected times. And he covered the ground twice or three times often enough in one day so that one visit was no guarantee that he might not stop again. It made for a taut house. But there was one serious handicap to the intrigue. He had made it a practice to keep his secretary informed of his whereabouts at all times, so he could be reached at once in case of an emergency. This had to be altered. He did it gradually, and when finally she complained, he told her that things were now running so smoothly that the old routine could be relaxed. He was with Sylvia twice more before Harry returned, once at dawn on a Tuesday, once at midnight a few days later. Each episode was as carefully planned and timed as a military operation.

  After Harry came back it was impossible. It sickened him to think of Harry with her. One day she slipped him a note saying she would be at that place in the village, the beer place, at three in the afternoon. She was in the back booth when he came in. Her smile was brilliant.

  “What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to see you, Lloyd, and talk. I wanted to tell you things are easier for me. I can handle the marriage better now. I’m not as vulnerable as I was. I’m not so alone.”

  “Does he seem to have any kind of suspicion?”

  “Oh, no. None at all. Anyway, he’s too damn busy being sore at Charlie Bliss.”

  “What about?”

  “More state people smelling around. Charlie got too hungry during the holidays. I heard him give Charlie his orders. No more grift for six months. So Charlie has to operate on the legal house percentage no matter how big a mark comes in. He looked as though someone had run over his dog.”

  He stared at her. “I don’t think I understand.”

  She stared back. “My God, you poor dunce! I thought you knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “Darling, this is the flossiest clip joint in the world. Did you think for one minute Harry and his partners would settle for the legal house take all the way down the line? There’s nothing rough about it. The little people with two or three hundred to bet get the same break here they’ll get anywhere in Nevada. But once in a while they’ll get a mark. Remember those two men from Houston in the middle of December? They dropped a hundred and eighty thousand.”

  Lloyd remembered them. “They were cheated?”

  “They sure as hell were.”

  “How is it possible? There are inspections. The books are open. If the casino nets too much, can’t they close it down and take the equipment apart?”

  “First item. There are three sets of books. Three, because Harry is giving the partners just enough to keep them quiet. Second item. Charlie Bliss is the greatest mechanic in the business, and some of his men are almost as good as he is. This is the electronic age. Some of Charlie’s gimmicks will fit in the palm of your hand. Readily detachable. No heavy wiring. No crude stuff like in Havana at the Tropicana and the National Casino. This is a slick operation. The casino will stand a complete inspection at any time. But you won’t find any big smart money gambled here. The word is out.”

  “Couldn’t they have gotten enough money off those men from Houston anyway?”

  “No, my innocent lamb. They might have dropped fifteen or twenty thousand and quit. With a gimmicked game, if the control is perfect, and Charlie’s always is, you can use psychology. They lost it on the wheel. Charlie saw they were using a system, a doubling system on red and black. So he let their system work. He let them win thirty thousand and then eased them back down to even, and then let them come up to thirty-five and pushed them back down ag
ain, and then let them come up to fifty. That was nearly a mistake, because one wanted to quit then and they nearly did. After he pushed them up and down about eight times, they got the idea he wanted them to get. They doubled their opening stake, figuring the system was working and they could get up to maybe a hundred thousand by playing twice as heavy. He had them then. He let them get up to sixty thousand and by then neither of them had any desire to quit. They’d been drinking and playing the wheel for five hours. They were ripe and he dropped the boom on them. They were on black then. So he hit the red three times, then the zero, then the red four times, then the double zero, and then three more reds. That put them ninety thousand down and they were pretty sick. Charlie stopped the wheel to give them a chance to write checks. They put ninety thousand on the black, so Charlie fed them another double zero. Those were two sick Texans. Thirteen spins and no black. One character playing the double zero with twenty dollar chips got very healthy, picking up all of fourteen hundred bucks.”

  Up until then Lloyd had taken pride in the hotel, pride in what he had done. He had not thought much about the gambling or the casino. It was spoiled for him. He saw that all he had done was built a very superior web, so that Charlie could crouch in a dark corner and wait for the juiciest flies to blunder in. Clip joint. A very superior clip joint, but that did not matter.

  He told himself that it was none of his business. His job was to run a renowned hotel and run it as well as he could. But the taste was gone. What good did it do to fight for Triple A beef to feed the innocent about to be trimmed? It did not help to know that Charlie had shelved his toys for six months. Six months would end and there would be another mark to be taken, more false entries to be made. He knew he did not care any more, yet he forced himself to be diligent.

  When Harry took a trip in February he was with Sylvia again. She seemed the only desirable thing in a tasteless world. Their hunger for each other was great, and hunger bred daydreams. “Darling,” she said softly, lips close to his throat, “we don’t belong here. We’ll go to some place where no one can ever find us.”