Hunger and the Hate
Page 27
“What are you so damned happy about?”
Dean’s grin broadened as he said, “I was just talking with Truly.”
“Oh? That so? Wasn’t she with you this afternoon?”
“Yeah.”
“Been seeing a lot of her lately, haven’t you? Practically everyone in the business is talking about it. No one can figure out the angle. Parker and Harding figure you must be trying to get her land away from Steve, but I tell ’em that can’t be it. She’s too damned fond of her brother and — ”
Dean interrupted, “For once, Freeman, there is no angle. Truly and me are getting married. I just proposed and she just accepted. That’s the whole picture and not an angle in it. How do you like it?”
Freeman stared at him unbelievingly, squinted narrowly at the wide grin, and shook his head in a daze. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. It’s true.”
“You and Truly?”
“Crazy, isn’t it?”
Freeman accepted it then and gasped, “I’ll be damned!” He got up and slapped Dean on the back and shook his hand and started to laugh. “Why, you secretive, conniving character! This has been going on right under my nose and I never guessed it.”
“Yeah.”
“My God, wait’ll I tell Sue. This will really bowl her over. But she won’t be the only one.”
Dean said happily, “It’ll put ’em all on their ears.”
“That’s no lie. The two biggest names in the business. Y’ know, it really is hard to believe. Here you’ve been battling the Moores — ” His smile faded and he frowned. “That reminds me. How about Steve?”
“The devil with him.”
“Uh-uh. That doesn’t work. When you get married you marry the whole blasted family. I know. And Steve has no love for you any more. He’s been getting smart in the business and he knows now how many times you’ve been cutting his throat.”
Dean thought of Steve and frowned too, then shrugged. “We’ll get along. I’m not lowering the boom on him any more. Maybe I can even help the guy out a little from now on.”
Freeman turned away with a thoughtful expression and slipped his arms into the suede jacket draped on the back of his chair. He walked to the window and stared out at the loading dock for a moment, then came back to gaze at Dean.
He asked, “Ever heard the expression that a leopard can’t change its spots?”
Dean said stubbornly, “It won’t kill me to help him a little.”
“You’re just kidding yourself. But maybe I’m wrong. I hope so. Anyway,” he smiled, “congratulations.”
“Thanks.” For one of the few times in his life Dean felt shy. He asked, “How about being my best man?”
Freeman blinked at him and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “Sure. You bet. But look. Let’s go get a drink somewhere.”
“That I can use.”
They went to Berdell’s and ran into other shippers and growers at the bar. Freeman set up a round of drinks for everyone and announced the news. As he had expected, it was a bombshell. The news was greeted at first with gales of laughter, and Dean made a mental note of each man that laughed, but then realization swept through the men that, unbelievable as it seemed, it was true. All of them bought drinks, and bottles of champagne were passed around at the bar. Dean was toasted and ribbed unmercifully and everyone was grinning, but in each mind wheels were set into motion, calculating, scheming, weighing all factors, and wondering especially about the main question, the all-important question: Just how high can this guy go?
Dean drank with them all until he felt he had had more than enough. He didn’t want to be drunk when he met Truly later. He broke away and stepped out to the sidewalk, feeling the effects of the alcohol and chuckling happily and wondering where he had parked his car.
He saw it across the street and was about to head in that direction when Joe Biancoli also stepped out to the sidewalk and paused at Dean’s side. Dean had noticed Joe standing at the far end of the bar and had thought of speaking to him, then had forgotten. Joe shook hands and congratulated him. The commission broker was a man shorter than Dean and as round as a barrel, with coal-black hair, a dark, swarthy complexion, oily skin, and teeth so white they seemed to be false. He was addicted to large cigars and always had one clamped between his gleaming teeth.
Dean cut their conversation short and started across the street, but Joe walked along with him to the Cadillac. When Dean got behind the wheel Joe stood on the curb leaning in over the door. He shifted the cigar nervously from one corner of his mouth to the other, his shrewd black eyes fixed intently on Dean’s.
When Dean started the engine, Joe said, “I’ve kinda been wanting to talk to you.”
“That so?”
“Yeah. I buy an awful lot of stuff for East-West, y’ know, but I never seem to get around to you much. But now that you’re the kingpin in this burg, I’d kinda like to do more business with you. How would that sound to you?”
O.K., Dean thought. He’s bringing it up himself, instead of the other way around. He reached over and switched off the engine, then turned to face Joe. “I’m easy to live with, Joe. All you have to do is give Freeman the orders. He’ll be happy to sell you anything.”
“Yeah, I know. But I been wondering.” He shifted the cigar again and asked pointedly, “Just how easy are you to live with?”
“Very easy.” Dean stared at him, then laughed and said, “Old Tom’s death kind of put a kink in your income, didn’t it? And Steve, I understand, won’t play patsy.”
Joe took the cigar from his mouth, studied the ash for a long moment, then looked sharply back at Dean. “Just what the hell do you mean by that?”
“I mean just what you think I mean. Look, Joe. I make it my business to know what’s going on around this place. You had a deal with Tom Moore. He paid you ten bucks for your own pocket for every car you bought from him. That adds up to a nice stack of loot. But now Steve won’t play, and on your commission salary you’re hurting. Isn’t that about it?”
Joe said smoothly, “You make a lot of damn fancy guesses.”
“I’m not guessing at all. I know. You’d like to pull away from Moore’s. Only you’re not going to make a quick move until you get that ten bucks from someone else.”
“You know what I buy in lettuce?”
“Ten cars a day.”
“Around that, generally. You know what that amounts to on a four-buck market, like now? It comes out twelve thousand, four hundred and eighty dollars a day. That ain’t hay.”
Dean said thoughtfully, “I know. Day in and day out it’s a very sweet proposition. Almost anyone would go for it.”
“But not you?”
Dean drummed his fingers on the wheel, his mind racing with many factors involved. Freeman would not like such a deal. He would be decidedly unhappy about it. Where Steve was concerned, losing Joe’s account at that moment could possibly be the final blow that would cripple Moore’s permanently. Then, too, if Truly found out about it there was no telling what her reaction would be. On the other hand, there was little likelihood that she could interpret the deal as being anything other than one of those changes that occurred almost daily in the business. She could even be prepared in advance, just in case Steve should squawk to her.
But what finally made up his mind was the worry that some other shipper would get the business. If Joe was willing to run the risk of approaching Dean, he wouldn’t hesitate to approach some other shipper. Dean knew a great number of them who would go for the deal, and gladly. No matter what Dean did, Steve was about to lose the business, and someone was going to get it. He might as well be the one.
Dean spread his hands in an open gesture and said, “O.K., Joe. I’ll buy the deal. Ten bucks a car and you see to it you take an average of ten a day.”
Joe reached in and slapped Dean on the back, his eyes already gleaming with the anticipation of a renewed hundred dollars a day in income. “You got a deal, Dean.”
�
��Yeah. Start it off at a few cars tomorrow and increase it a car each day until you’re away from Moore’s and I got it all.”
“I’ll do that. Just one thing, Dean. Don’t try to give me any crap stuff. I won’t buy. I got a job to protect, y’ know. So I want first crack at everything going through your ice shed and the tubes.”
“That’s fair enough. Now, what do you want to do about the pay-off?”
“Cash, once a week. No special day or place or hour. Just whenever I happen to run into you, about once a week, and ask for it.”
Dean leaned over and again started the engine. “O.K., Joe. We’re doing business.”
“Yeah.” Joe chuckled and stepped back from the car. “This is really gonna louse up that fair-haired Moore’s operation. He ain’t doing so well as it is.”
Dean nodded, waved to Joe, and swung the car away from the curb. He tried to feel elated, but he was thinking of the remark Freeman had made about the leopard and its spots. He shrugged. What the hell. Business was business.
Dean drove home for a change of clothes and learned from Teddy that Truly had called and was waiting for him at the Lodge. He was already an hour late and decided against changing. He drove down the hill in the dark, spotted Truly’s car opposite the Lodge, and parked behind it. When he switched off the lights and got out he was surprised to hear her call him. She was sitting behind the wheel of her car.
Dean opened the door on the opposite side and dropped into the form-fitting seat. Truly was in his arms at once and Dean kissed her hungrily. He noticed that she was shivering slightly and pulled his head back to look at her. She was pale and looked worried, or frightened.
Dean said huskily, “Sorry I’m so late. I just got feeling so good I stopped for some drinks and — ”
She whispered, “It’s all right.”
“But you’re cold. Why didn’t you wait inside?”
“I wanted to meet you out here.”
“Jees, I’m really sorry I’m late.”
“It’s all right. I haven’t minded waiting. I had time to think.”
Dean was instantly worried, and he tightened his arm about her shoulders. He said quickly, “Look, baby. I know I’m not the best prize in the world. You’ve seen yourself the kind of background I’m from — ”
She raised a hand and placed a finger to his lips. “Please, Dean. I want you exactly the way you are. I don’t want a pale image of a man. I want you.”
His worries vanished and he smiled and nudged a nose into the hollow of her throat. “You really meant it when you said you’d marry me?”
“Very much so.” There was a slight catch in her voice as she said, “In fact, I’d like to marry you tonight. That’s what I’ve been sitting here thinking about. I hear,” she said shakily, “that Reno is now more celebrated for its marriages than for its divorces.”
Dean again pulled back and stared at her, puzzled, surprised, and rather shocked. The idea of a quick marriage had never occurred to him. He had thought in terms of weeks or even months of delay and preparations, shopping excursions and showers and parties, a mammoth church wedding on a bright sunny afternoon, a big reception with a social-register list, and then a prolonged honeymoon at Sea Island, or possibly in Europe. He had never before had time to travel, but with Freeman at the business helm he could afford to take the chance. The idea of simply running off and getting married, like a couple of kids eloping, was not at all pleasing to him.
He hardly knew what to say. “Jees, Truly, I don’t know. What put an idea like that in your mind?”
She turned away from him, her eyes veiled, her fingers clenched into tight fists. He was watching her closely and had the strange feeling that she could not give him a truthful answer. Perhaps she was afraid her resolve would weaken. Maybe she was already frightened of the strange man at her side and had to act at once or she would not be capable of acting at all.
She turned back into his arms, pressing her cheek to his and whispering breathlessly in his ear, “I don’t trust myself, darling. I’m afraid of being with you. I’m afraid I may give myself to you, perhaps even tonight. I want you so much, and it frightens me.”
Dean had never been quite so flattered in his life, or so suddenly inflamed with passionate desire. He held her tightly and gulped, “Why be afraid?”
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Copyright © 1955 by H. Vernor Dixon, registration renewed 1983
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This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 10: 1-4405-6296-2
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6296-9
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6295-4
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6295-2