Hunger and the Hate

by Dixon, H. Vernor

  Dean, too, was preoccupied. He was still thinking of Truly and the remark she had made about Ruth. He dropped into the chair behind his desk, casually waved Freeman to a chair on the other side, and quickly went through the morning papers and memos on his desk. He called a commission broker and a shipper on two telephones at the same time, finished with them in a moment, and sent out an information request on teletype to a buyer in Cleveland. Then he looked across at Freeman.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  Freeman stamped out the cigarette he was smoking and touched a match to another cigarette. He puffed at it nervously, then looked into Dean’s eyes. “You know Papa Delaney, the old widower?”

  Dean grinned. “A cantankerous old bastard. He’s had one foot in the grave ever since I can remember, but he stays alive year after year. What about him?”

  “He has eighteen hundred acres of prime lettuce land, you know.”

  “Sure, I know. Millions in the bank and he goes around looking like a bum. Does business with the Moores and no one but the Moores.”

  “That,” Freeman said, “isn’t quite true. I’ve known Papa ever since I was a kid. I used to work for him.”

  “No’ kidding.”

  “Sure. I was the one who brought him and his acreage to Tom Moore.”

  Dean sat up straighter, his eyes boring into Freeman’s. “Jee-zuss!” he whispered. “I didn’t know that. You were the one?”

  “Yes. Tom and Papa Delaney never did get along very well, but Papa trusted me. So he’s been with the Moores all the years I’ve been there. Steve inherited him, or thinks he did.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you. Papa has never had a contract with anyone. He and I did business together solely on each other’s word. That’s the way he liked it and that’s the way it was handled. So here’s the situation. I ran into the old boy yesterday. He’s plenty — Wait a minute. You want me to be honest?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “O.K. He doesn’t like you at all and never has, and he’s plenty sore because I’ve gone with you. On the other hand, he likes Steve rather well. But he isn’t convinced yet that Steve can step into Tom’s shoes. He likes him, as I say, but right now he’s also a bit peeved with him.”

  “What about?”

  “Papa made dough out of that first crop, but Hal Smith’s ability as a salesman leaves a hell of a lot to be desired, and the crop was always two bits or more behind the market. Papa figures he’s minus a hundred grand or more he would have made if I had been doing the selling. So, you see, in spite of his personal liking for Steve, Papa is plenty sore.”

  Dean chuckled. “I wonder why. What’s a hundred grand? Just money.”

  “All right. So here’s the setup. Whether he knows it or not, Steve has no contract and absolutely nothing in writing on Papa Delaney’s acreage. He’s just finished cutting the last of the first crop, and the second hasn’t been planted yet. If Papa felt so inclined, he could walk out on Steve right now and bring that eighteen hundred acres to us.”

  Dean sucked in his breath sharply and asked, “What would it take to make him feel so inclined?”

  “I’ve already told you. The old boy trusts me. All I have to do is ask him.”

  “And he’d go with us?”

  “He’d go with me.”

  “All right, now I remember. He doesn’t like me. But if you ask him he’ll turn his business over to us.”

  “That’s right.”

  He said slowly, “Eighteen hundred acres. Good Lord!”

  “That’s a lot of lettuce.”

  “Yeah. It would more than take care of the new accounts. It would even mean a little dumping.”

  “Right now you don’t really need it. If you’d had it a few weeks ago you’d have made a fortune on it. But on a down market it’s going to mean plenty of dumping and a hell of a lot of hard selling to get rid of it.”

  “Comes in handy in the future, though.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  Dean said sharply, “If he loses that acreage, it will raise the devil with Steve, won’t it?”

  Freeman nodded and slumped back in the chair. The cigarette hung from a corner of his mouth and the smoke was making his eyes water. He held his fingertips pressed together and blinked at Dean, waiting for his decision.

  Dean leaned back in his own swivel chair and rocked it gently, while rapping a pencil softly against his teeth. There was no doubt in his mind about what to do. A windfall like the Papa Delaney acreage came along and you grabbed it, regardless of who got hurt. It was a big deal at any time, under any circumstances. Even pausing a moment to think it over was sheer stupidity. But people like Freeman had different ideas about such things. It was hard to understand Freeman’s kind. There he was, a crack salesman and a genius on the market, a man who could get as tough as the roughest of them, yet he was also full of soft spots. Like this Delaney deal. It was obvious that he would just as soon brush it aside and leave well enough alone. He had explained the setup, probably because word would have got around anyway, but he really wanted no part of it. He would even be relieved if Steve could keep the acreage.

  Dean turned away from him and looked out the window and thought of Ruth. She was the same way. Always yapping about leaving poor little Stevie-boy alone. What the hell did they think he was running, a training school for idiots? So all right, Steve was a nice guy. There were plenty of nice guys around. The world was full of them. But they were rarely on top. You couldn’t be a nice guy and be on top, too.

  Dean cleared his throat and said, “So all you have to do is ask. That’s good enough for me. Go ask him.”

  Freeman asked softly, “You don’t give a damn about what this will do to Steve?”

  Dean shrugged. “This is business. Go call Delaney.”

  “You know what will happen, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been checking car loadings. In spite of Steve’s shaky condition, the Moore interests are so big they’ve still been leading us on loadings.”

  Dean glanced at him curiously from the corners of his eyes. “I know it.”

  “Then you should know that with Papa Delaney’s acreage, for the first time you’ll pass the Moore loadings. You’ll be on top.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “I’m positive.”

  Dean shoved a telephone across the desk. “Call Delaney.”

  He got up and closed the door to give Freeman some privacy. He went into the sales office and took over the chattering teletypes and the telephones. He ran the sales end for an hour and then saw Freeman beckoning to him through the glass partition. He went into the office and again closed the door.

  Freeman got to his feet and said, “Well, it’s in the bag. He didn’t go for it right away — like I say, he isn’t exactly in love with you — but he does trust me and he likes Vince Moroni. I told him Vince would be out tomorrow to look over the farms and get the second planting under way. O.K.?”

  “Naturally. Nothing else to it?”

  “No. That’s all. No contracts, of course. He doesn’t do business that way.”

  “Yeah. Think I can trust him?”

  Freeman smiled briefly. “It isn’t a case of trusting him, it’s trusting me.”

  “I see what you mean.”

  They were silent for a moment, then Freeman asked, “How do you feel?”

  “About what?”

  “You’re top man now.”

  “Yeah. I guess I am.”

  “How does it make you feel?”

  “By God, that’s funny. I’m damned if I know.”

  Chapter Ten

  WHEN DEAN AND FREEMAN went to Berdell’s for lunch they soon learned how the rest of the men in the business felt about the deal. Dean’s shed boss had dropped a word and his secretary had gossiped with some friends and rumors of what had happened swept quickly through the offices. No one, however, could believe that Papa Delaney had been doing
business with the Moores without a contract, so it was assumed that Dean and Freeman and a battery of attorneys had cooked up a legal deal to chisel the acreage away from the Moore company. Furthermore, no one had ever heard of acreage changing hands in mid-season, so it was known at once as the worst case of pirating that had ever hit the business.

  The other shippers and brokers and growers seemed friendly enough when Dean and Freeman walked into the bar for cocktails, but their usual bantering had an edge to it and sly innuendoes were dropped about the new Dean Holt label, a field of black with crossbones rampant on a grinning skull. Dean took it all in stride, satisfied with the thought that the others were really burning with envy. Freeman, however, suffered from acute embarrassment.

  They took a table in the dining room and Sam Parker came in to join them as they started lunch. Sam was carrying a double shot on the rocks, and he swallowed it quickly and then ordered another from the waitress. He leaned his heavy forearms on the table and cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at Dean.

  “Just what happened, old boy?”

  Dean chuckled. “Don’t you believe what you’ve heard?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I know it’s none of my business, but everyone’s really up in the air over this Delaney thing.”

  “Sure they are. They’re all sore they didn’t get it. Eighteen hundred acres is nothing to sneeze at. A smart shipper could found a fortune on that alone.”

  “But to take it away from Steve — Honestly now, Dean, do you think that was a smart move?”

  Dean was still smiling, but his eyes narrowed dangerously and color flooded his cheeks. He asked slowly, “You think there was something crooked about it?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Freeman glanced up to appraise Dean’s mood and forced a laugh he didn’t feel. He slapped Sam on the back and said, “Drop it You’ve been belting away a few too many scoops.”

  Sam snorted indignantly. “I’m cold sober.”

  “Sure, sure. Look, Sam, Dean and I have things to talk over.”

  But Sam was heedless of the danger he was getting into. “Dean,” he said, “we’ve been friends a long while. I’ve seen you pull some stuff pretty close to the line, but never anything as raw as this. Who did the dirty work for you, Clyde Davenport? Was he the hatchet man?”

  Freeman said desperately, “For God’s sake, Sam, why don’t you run along? We have business to talk over.”

  Dean raised a hand slightly and silenced him. His eyes held Sam’s as he asked, “So you think it was a legal gimmick that pulled the trick? I don’t suppose it would make any difference if I told you it was a lot simpler than that Papa Delaney and Moore had no contracts. Papa likes Freeman and he don’t — I mean, he doesn’t like the way his first crop was sold. So he walked away from Moore’s and came to us. That’s all there is to it.”

  Sam stared at him and then burst into rude laughter. He grabbed his new drink from the waitress, swallowed part of it, and choked over the fire in his throat. “Brother,” he said, “that’s a beauty. Gripes, Dean, do you expect anyone to believe a stupid thing like that? After all, I’m no dope, either. I can just see Clyde looking over those contracts with a couple of other legal beagles — ” His voice skidded to a halt and he looked up.

  Dean, too, looked up as Steve Moore came from the bar, glanced around the dining room, then walked to their table. He stood there looking down at Dean, a tall, thin man with worry etched in every line of his face. But there was also deep anger in his otherwise mild blue eyes.

  “I thought I’d find you in here,” he said.

  Dean glanced at Freeman, then toward the opening to the barroom, where several curious produce men were looking in. He told Steve, “Pull up a chair and sit down. We’ve just started.”

  “No, thanks. I just dropped by to tell you one thing, Dean. You’re not getting away with this deal.”

  “You mean Papa Delaney? Believe me, Steve, I’m sorry about the way — ”

  “Oh, stuff it, for God’s sake. Now I know what my father meant when he said you were the most dangerous man in the business. Every time I’ve turned around I’ve been up against you. Every damn time. But this is the last straw. We have tens of thousands invested in fertilizers and labor in Papa Delaney’s land. He can’t just walk out like that.”

  “I’m afraid he can, Steve. You have no hold on him.”

  “All right, so we don’t have him under contract. That was a shock to me when I found it out. But there certainly must be such a thing as ethics in this business. Any time a shipping firm plants on a lease or a percentage, they carry it through to the end of the season. That’s established practice and I think it can be upheld in the courts.”

  “You’ll have a battle on your hands.”

  “You mean you’ll fight it?”

  “Of course. And furthermore, I can keep it in the courts for years without a decision.” He paused, then said ingratiatingly, “But this is no way to be acting, Steve. Papa Delaney came to me of his own free will. Are you going to drag a man into court who doesn’t care to do business with you any more? I’m not speaking of right or wrong, mind you. I’m just talking about the way he feels. You let him down on his first crop, so he walked out on you. Naturally, I’m glad to have him. Anyone would be. But no matter what the courts decide about this particular season, it will be too late to do you any good, anyway. You’ll certainly never get him back with you again for any other season, I hate to say it, Steve, but you have to face it. You’ve lost that acreage for good.”

  Steve blinked at him uncertainly, then swung his hot glance to Freeman. “Is that what you think, too?”

  Freeman could not look into his eyes. He mumbled, “Would you believe me if I told you?”

  “I would.”

  “O.K. Dean is right. There’s nothing you can do to get that acreage back. Do you know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Papa Delaney never did business with your father at any time. They didn’t like each other. He did business solely with me. So when I asked him to come over with me today, he accepted. And he’ll stay, as long as I want him.”

  “You were the one who took his business to Dean?”

  “Yes.”

  Steve gave vent to a long sigh. His shoulders sagged and the anger in his eyes gave way to uncertainty and frustration. “Then,” he said, “I guess that’s it.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Dean looked across at Sam, who was staring at him with his mouth open. Steve turned away and walked slowly back to the barroom. Dean frowned. The guy looked beat. What the devil was the matter with him, anyway? Couldn’t he take it? Did he expect everyone to hold hands with him? You didn’t get anywhere in the business with that kind of attitude. In fact, he thought, it wouldn’t take much more to push him the rest of the way out. A gentle shove in the right place would do it.

  Freeman was also watching Steve’s back disappear into the barroom. He chewed at his lower lip, frowned across at Dean, then looked at Sam. “You see? That’s why I tried to shut you up.”

  Sam mumbled, “I thought it was a legal chisel.” He looked at Dean’s cold smile and got hastily to his feet. He started to say something, thought better of it, and hurried into the bar for another drink.

  Dean was pleased with the way the encounter had ended, but he was worried about Freeman. He still looked embarrassed and uncomfortable and guilty, as if he had done something wrong. It was hard to know what was going on in Freeman’s mind, but it was obvious that he was not at all happy with the Papa Delaney switch. Freeman had to be kept happy, and Susan, too. What could do it?

  As soon as he finished lunch, Dean drove alone to the Grissom Motor Company at Monterey and East Alisal Streets. There were three Cadillacs on display, two of them two-door sedans and the third a luxurious four-door Fleetwood, ebony-black and gleaming with chrome. The Fleetwood had been ordered for Gordon Shurcliff, but, the sales manager explained, the young man had not been able to carry through on the dea
l. Something about his lettuce being cut after it had spoiled. Dean nodded and looked innocent and said nothing. He bought the Fleetwood for cash and had the papers made out to Freeman Mitchell. He arranged to have the car delivered to the Mitchell home that evening, and on the dashboard he placed a little note that read: “Thanks for your profitable work today. Here is a small token of my appreciation. Your friend, Dean.”

  When he returned to the office he said nothing to Freeman about the car, but that evening Susan telephoned him at his home. The car had been delivered and she was almost hysterical with joy. “A dream,” she cried. “A perfect dream. Oh, Mr. Holt, I just don’t know — I don’t know how — ”

  “Forget it,” he laughed. “Freeman put over a terrific deal for me today. The two of you deserve it. Stick with me and there’ll be more to come.”

  “Oh, I know. I know how true that is. I’m glad Freeman went with you. I’m glad. I’ve been telling him all along you’re the go-getter.”

  “And you’re right, baby. He’ll go places with me. That husband of yours is a great guy. By the way, you know what he’s making now, don’t you?”

  “You mean his percentage? Yes, I do.”

  “Do you like living in Salinas?”

  “I hate it. The wind blowing every day, the heat — ”

  “Well, now you can get out. You know the place Davenport was building, down from my house a bit? It’s for sale, you know. Why don’t you buy it?”

  “But the cash — ”

  He had anticipated that, having heard rumors of the way Susan spent Freeman’s money, so he said, “Forget the cash. Look the place over, and if you want it I’ll lend you the down payment.”

  “Oh, my God,” she screamed, “would you do that?”

  “Of course. But don’t tell Freeman I suggested it. Ease him into the idea gradually.”

  She giggled. “I understand.”

  “Sure. You two are going places. Have some fun doing it. Live it up. And any time you want anything from me, just say the word. You remember that.”