Hunger and the Hate

by Dixon, H. Vernor

  It was his office and had been for years, yet it bore the imprint and the personality of Tom Moore. Old Tom had always prided himself on keeping his office in his hat and had never had space set aside for himself. He had enjoyed joking about the president of the firm having no place to hang his hat or sit down. But gradually, through the years, he had made Freeman’s office into his own. There were dozens of photographs on the walls of the late Mrs. Moore and Tom and pictures of the children at different ages. Two shelves were filled with silver cups that Steve had won during his school years on the tennis courts and the golf links. Everything in the room had been put there by Tom Moore, except the single photograph of Susan Mitchell on Freeman’s desk.

  Freeman thought, Hell, it was his room all the time and I never really knew it.

  He walked stiffly around the desk and dropped into the worn chair. How long had he been sitting in that chair? Ten years? No. Exactly thirteen years. Thirteen years of beating his brains out to further the interests of Tom Moore. So all right, Tom had had it made before Freeman ever appeared on the scene, but he made it in the days when it was easy. There was little competition then and lettuce was still scarce and whoever was smart enough to get land and had the ice to pack it in couldn’t help cleaning up a few millions. That was how Tom had built his fortune.

  And the war hadn’t hurt Tom, either. It was a top market all the way and they all cleaned up, as long as they could get labor. The break came later. There was too much lettuce planted and too many cars on the rails and competition had come alive in Texas and Arizona, with their more favorable freight rates to the Eastern seaboard. Even then, on an up market, Tom knew how to handle things. But on the down markets he was lost. He had no idea how to cope with falling prices, it was an experience he had never had to face before, so he made reckless and ill-timed moves and lost heavily. That was when Freeman had shoved him aside and taken over the reins. Freeman was a top man at any time, but on a down market he was a genius. He demonstrated his skill and Tom recognized it and from then on it was Freeman that made all the market decisions.

  So, he thought, I’ve been sitting here for thirteen years and for the last nine years I’ve had to run the whole damned works. But for a reward. Sure. A big reward. A slice of the business itself.

  He put his elbows on the desk and his hands were shaking as he leaned forward to cup his chin in his palms. He saw again the attorney’s office and himself sitting there just half an hour ago and Steve and Truly and some cousins and aunts and uncles and some Moores he had never heard of and a few of the older domestics of the household staff. He heard again the crisp tones of the attorney reading the will and felt again the electric shock that had traveled up his spine when he realized that: the brief reading was finished. The will had been very short and to the point. Truly inherited all the Moore land, period. Steve inherited all of the Moore business enterprises and properties, period. All stocks, bonds, cash, and other assets were divided between the two of them, period. There had been nothing else, not for Freeman or the aunts and uncles or the domestics or anyone. That was the entire will.

  He heard the office door open and looked around. Steve stepped inside, biting his lip, frowning with embarrassment, looking down at Freeman. “I — I didn’t get a chance to talk to you. You left so fast.”

  Freeman said dully, “I had no reason to stick around.” Steve came farther into the room and leaned over with his hands on the desk. “God, Freeman, I don’t know how to say this.”

  “Skip it.”

  “I can’t. He did promise to put you in the will for a cut of the business. I’ve heard him tell you myself. We all understood that.”

  Freeman nodded. “I guess everybody understood it — except your father. He was just having a last private little joke.”

  “But you could have worked for twice as much with anyone else.”

  “I know. He knew it, too. So that’s how he kept me around, by promising part of the business. That’s why I stayed.”

  “Of course. Of course. I know that. Truly understands it, too.”

  “So he was lying and I’m left out in the cold.”

  Steve asked desperately, “Can you think of any reason?”

  Freeman swiveled about to look through the window overlooking the long ice shed. The workers had finished for the day. The women trimmers were taking off their leather aprons and chatting together in little groups and the male packers and handlers and icemen were drinking Cokes and puffing hungrily at their cigarettes.

  Freeman nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I know now. It’s funny how you know things all of a sudden, when you get a knife in your back. All these years I’ve thought Tom and I got along right well. We didn’t go around holding hands, but I thought we understood each other and I left him alone and he left me alone. It was a good working arrangement. Now, I see there was something wrong about it.”

  “In what way?”

  “Your father was king of the business. He liked that. He reveled in it. And he never hesitated to break anyone that got anywhere near him. This was his world and he was Mr. Number One.”

  “I don’t — ”

  “Wait. I’m just beginning to understand it myself. Your father was king and I was the crown prince. I did a good job and everyone knew it. I’m not bragging, Steve, but when I look at others — ”

  “I know, I know.”

  “All right. But what you don’t know and what no one else knows is that for years I’ve been running this business and, to tell you the truth, Tom was taking orders from me.”

  “But he was supposed to know more about the market than anyone in the business.”

  Freeman smiled bitterly. “‘Supposed’ is right. He was a good man on a bull market, but when it started going down he was a babe in the woods. I took over the marketing end completely. Your father went through the motions, but I made all the decisions. Only the two of us knew that, and, I suppose, most of the staff around here. I was a good man, but he was the genius. You see? And how do you think he felt about that, knowing who was really giving the orders?” Freeman paused a moment, then muttered between his teeth, “Damn it all, Steve, he must have hated me. That’s the only answer. And right now the bastard — sorry, but he’s a bastard to me — right now the bastard is laughing at me.”

  “I don’t think — ”

  Freeman barked, “Aw, the hell with it. Get out. Leave me alone. You look too goddamned much like your father. I’m sick enough. Why don’t you beat it?”

  Steve shook his head and twisted about to sit on the edge of the desk. “We’re going to have this out, Freeman. I don’t go along with you on what happened, but I know one thing, and though I hate to admit it, I have to: Dad pulled a lousy trick on you. He promised you a stake in the business and he hasn’t kept that promise. But I’m going to make his promise good.”

  Freeman snarled at him, “How?”

  “I’ll tell you. Our attorneys tell us that, what with inheritance taxes and so on, it will take about a year to wind up the estate. O.K. As soon as everything’s in the clear, I’m going to turn over to you a quarter interest in the business. Isn’t that what you figured you’d get in the will?”

  “As an optimistic estimate, yes.”

  “Then that’s it.”

  Freeman’s eyes narrowed to slits as he asked mildly, “Can you put that down on paper?”

  “No, I can’t, unfortunately. It wouldn’t be legal until we know exactly what the business is going to amount to and what your exact percentage would be. It can’t be done until the estate is settled.” He smiled and held out his hand. “But, meanwhile, you have my promise.”

  “I see. I’m asked to trust another Moore again. On the strength of that promise I’m expected to go along and hold your hand and keep the business going and fight off the wolves and help work you into the old man’s shoes. That’s quite an idea.” His cheeks burned red as he got slowly to his feet and roared, “I was a damned fool once, but not again. You can take this
business and shove it. Now, get the hell out of here.”

  “Freeman, for God’s sake — ”

  “You heard me. Get out.”

  “Now, wait a minute. This is my plant — ”

  “You can have it. Tomorrow morning you can have it all, including this office. It was never really mine, anyway. But, right now, get out.”

  Steve stepped back from the desk and studied him and realized that he was close to the breaking point. He could erupt into physical violence at any second. Steve felt ill. He had always admired Freeman and had looked forward to enjoying their relationship together. And Freeman was the only man he could trust. Freeman played the game the hard way and could get as rough as the next man, but never at any time had he been dishonest.

  He needed Freeman and needed him badly. But he could not blame the man for his present anger. Perhaps tomorrow, when he had cooled off …

  “Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” he said. “We’ll get together and talk it over tomorrow.”

  Freeman did not bother to answer. He simply stood there glaring at him, the heat of his anger burning in his eyes. Steve walked out of the room feeling the knots tightening in his stomach. His own father, pulling a dirty deal like that! What was this business really like, anyway?

  Freeman dropped back into his chair and his anger was gone and he was as empty and cold as if his body had gone through a vacuum tube. He opened some of the desk drawers, intending to remove his personal belongings, but he hadn’t the energy for it. He slammed the drawers and got to his feet and paced the floor for half an hour. His brain had gone numb. He needed a drink.

  He left the office and drove along the highway into Salinas and for the first time noticed the big sign hanging over Main Street:

  SALINAS

  Home of the California Rodeo

  Funny, he thought. It’s probably been there for years and I’ve never seen it before. He turned the car to Monterey Street and parked in front of the Pub, a modern bar and restaurant. It was a bit before the dinner hour and the dining booths were empty. The giant Vince Moroni was standing at the bar drinking a double bourbon on the rocks. His boss, Dean Holt, was playing liar’s dice with a young man Steve recognized as Gordon Shurcliff, one of the smaller landowners. Gordon had a little better than a hundred acres of lettuce land, which he had turned over to Dean that year on a percentage arrangement. His land had also been planted for early cutting and it looked as if he, too, would clean up on the market. He was a little drunk and more than a little happy.

  Freeman nodded to the three men, stepped up to the bar, and ordered a Scotch and soda. The bartender automatically brought two dice cups with the drink and they rolled a game of boss. Freeman won and put his money back in his pocket. He turned with an elbow on the bar and watched the other game going on. He noticed that Dean’s lips were thin and his face was almost as red as his hair. Obviously he was losing. That was unusual for Dean. He was practically the valley champion at liar’s dice.

  Dean called Gordon and lost and slammed the five dice into his cup. “O.K.,” he barked. “That’s a thousand I owe you. You’re just too damned lucky today.”

  Gordon grinned drunkenly. “You said it, pal. This is my lucky season. Do we go again?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then this is the last one. I got a date, and brother, is she stacked! Last time around. Same for a hundred?”

  Dean’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “No. Make it double or nothing.”

  Gordon blinked at him. “That’s a li’l steep for me.”

  “What are you talking about? It’s my money you’ll be betting.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” He giggled and said, “O.K. Double or nothing.”

  They rolled the dice and shielded them on the bar behind their cups. Freeman looked over Dean’s shoulder and saw that he had a bad hand. He leaned back against the bar and appraised Gordon. Nice kid. Well liked around town. But did he have any sense? If he had, he’d go out of his way to lose the game. It was never good policy to win from Dean, not if you were doing business with him.

  Gordon was not sensible, or he was a little too drunk to think straight. He had the superior hand and played it to the limit, and when Dean finally called him Gordon had what he needed and won the game. He burst out laughing and slapped Dean on the back. “Come round sometime,” he said, “and I’ll give you a couple lessons.” Dean said nothing. He took a checkbook from his pocket, wrote out a check for two thousand dollars, and handed it to Gordon, who gave it a big, loving kiss before tucking it into his wallet. Gordon had another straight shot, bought drinks all around, again slapped Dean’s back, and then walked out of the bar chuckling happily.

  Dean turned around with his back against the bar, leaning on his elbows. He watched the frosted-glass door swing shut, then turned his head slowly to face Vince Moroni. He said softly, “Is Gordon’s lettuce about ready?”

  “She makes now. We should start the cutting two-three days ago, but I don’t get the crew. Now I got ’em. She gets cut tomorrow. None too soon, you ask me.”

  “It’s getting hard?”

  “The heads she curl in very hard. Another couple days, too, we get slime.”

  “I see.” Dean leaned over to place a fingertip against the big man’s shoulder. “You don’t cut that lettuce tomorrow, Vince.”

  The field man’s mouth fell open and he gave his boss a puzzled stare. “But she’s gotta get cut tomorrow.”

  “This is an order, Vince. I don’t want that field cut for another three or four days.”

  “But Holy Mary! Slime, boss. She gets all slime. You lose ninety per cent down the cull chutes.”

  “You mean Gordon will lose ninety per cent. He’s on a percentage deal.”

  “Well, sure. But look, boss — ”

  “You heard me, Vince. I don’t want an argument about it.”

  Vince opened his mouth to say something else, but when he looked into Dean’s eyes his teeth clicked together. He shrugged. He knew the futility of arguing against that expression. What the hell. It was no skin off his nose. He wrapped a big paw around his glass and lifted it to his mouth. Too bad for Gordon. He seemed like a nice boy, too.

  Dean turned around to lift the champagne cocktail Gordon had bought him and drank it thirstily. He saw Freeman watching him in the mirror behind the bar and smiled. He raised the glass toward the mirror and said, “Here’s to you, Freeman. The big get bigger and the jerks get stepped on. Isn’t that right?”

  Freeman watched him and sipped at his drink. He felt sorry for what was going to happen to Gordon’s lucky season, but not too much so. It was a rough business and you had to play it rough. You could never let your guard down, and you must at all times consider the other man’s angle. Gordon had made a stupid mistake. Anyone in the business could have told him it was unhealthy to win from Dean Holt. He probably knew it. So for the sake of a lousy two-thousand-dollar check he was going to lose fifteen or twenty thousand dollars on the first cutting. Kids like Gordon didn’t belong in the business. Maybe it was better for all concerned if they were forced out. Only the strong survived, anyway.

  Like me, he thought. I’m such a strong, smart apple. You bet. The brilliant Freeman Mitchell. Oh, brother.

  He turned away from the mirror and looked squarely at Dean and asked, “You got a minute or two?”

  Dean looked at him with a broad smile. “For you, any time. I notice you’re celebrating early today.”

  “I’m not celebrating.”

  Dean’s smile faded and for the first time he noticed the pallor of Freeman’s usually ruddy complexion. He was puzzled. “Wasn’t the will read today?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well?”

  “I wasn’t in the will. You are now gazing on the champion chump of all time. You are also gazing upon a jobless character no longer connected with the great Moore kingdom. So-o-o, suppose we talk.”

  Dean’s fingers went numb and his glass shattered on the floor.
He stared at Freeman and he had the same feeling he had experienced on receiving the news of Tom Moore’s death. He rammed his fist against his mouth to keep from bursting into wild laughter. It was a moment or two before he had himself under control.

  Then he reached out and his fingers bit into Freeman’s arm. He said hoarsely, “We’ll talk, Freeman.”

  Freeman pulled his arm away from the cruel bite of the fingers and nodded. “O.K. Let’s go somewhere.”

  They started toward the door and again Dean grabbed his arm in his powerful fingers. Freeman was not going to get away. Not now.

  Chapter Five

  DEAN LEFT SALINAS shortly after nightfall and traveled the road to Monterey and Pebble Beach. He arrived at Ruth Tinsley’s house, at Stillwater Cove, relieved to see that the lights were all on. The maid let him in. Ruth was dressed to go out and had just put on a mink coat, but she was delighted to see Dean and gave him a hard hug and a warm kiss. She was wearing glasses that gave her round face a rather owlish appearance. She hated to wear glasses and Dean complained about them, but she was so nearsighted that she could see virtually nothing without them.

  Dean slapped her iron-girdled bottom and stepped back to grin at her. “Now where do you think you’re going?”

  “Well,” she laughed, “now I’m not so sure. But I’m supposed to have dinner and what goes with it with Betty and Steve. The kids feel lousy over the funeral and all. I guess they want me to perk them up.”

  “Not tonight, baby. They can do their own perking. You and me are going out. And you know what?”

  “What?”