The Betsy (1971)

by Robbins, Harold

  “Two, in the event that you feel Mr. Peerless’ death was his own fault, you may so state. In that case you may state simply that the cause of death was due to driver error.”

  He paused and looked at the jury. They were silent. “Do you wish now to retire and consider your verdict?”

  The foreman of the jury leaned over to his confreres. For a moment there was a whispered conversation, then he rose to his feet. “No, sir.”

  The coroner looked at him. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, do you wish to render your determination?”

  The foreman nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “And that is?”

  The small room was very silent as the foreman began to speak. “It is the unanimous conclusion of this jury that in the matter of the death of Mr. Sylvester Peerless, the cause of his death was his own fault, driver error and plain damn foolishness on his part.”

  A rustle of noise burst in the small room as reporters began to rush toward the door. The coroner’s gavel banged on the table before him. His voice could hardly be heard over the bustle of sound.

  “The determination of the jury has been heard and the coroner’s inquest into the death of Sylvester Peerless is now closed.”

  Chapter Two

  In the corner of the dimly lit cocktail bar of the Starlight Motel, a goateed black piano player made gentle drink-time noises which tinkled behind the hum of conversation in the crowded room. They sat jammed into a tiny booth against the far wall.

  Artie Roberts looked across the table at Angelo. “What’s my best connection to New York tomorrow morning? Spokane or Seattle?”

  Angelo shrugged. “I think Seattle has more flights but Spokane is sixty miles nearer. Check it out with the front desk.”

  Artie got to his feet. “I’ll do that now. Be right back.”

  Cindy picked up her drink and stared into it. “It’s the death wish, that’s what it is.”

  “What did you say?” Angelo asked.

  She didn’t look up from the glass. “I think that’s what it is. You all really want to die, don’t you?”

  Angelo didn’t answer.

  “You know, I knew he was going to kill himself when he got in that car,” she said, still staring into her glass. “That’s why I went back to the motel instead of hanging around for him. I didn’t want to be there when he did it.”

  “If that was the way you felt, why didn’t you try to stop him?” Angelo asked.

  “What for? If he wouldn’t do it that day, he would another. I wasn’t going to be around to stop him forever.”

  Angelo signaled for another round. She picked up her fresh drink and tasted it.

  “I think I’ll be moving on tomorrow,” she said.

  “What for? Got anything better to do?”

  She shook her head. “No. But this isn’t my bag. You know that. These cars don’t make any noise.”

  “Someday all cars won’t make noise,” he said. “Then what’ll you do?”

  “By that time, I’ll be too old to enjoy it anyway,” she said.

  “You’re a good driver,” said Angelo. “I know Duncan won’t like to lose you. He says you have a good point of view.”

  “I like the old man. But I only took the job to go along with Fearless. He thought you were going into racing then.”

  “So did we,” Angelo said. “But that’s not where it’s at any more. At least not in what we’re trying to do.”

  “I know that,” she said. She picked up her drink and looked at it. “When did you stop being crazy?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She looked at him. “You were like all the others once. Ready to buy it any time, any place, on any corner. Then, like all in one crazy day, it was over and you weren’t the same man in the afternoon that you were in the morning. I knew that when I came and found you in the tub.”

  “We all have to grow up sometime,” he said. “Maybe that was my time.”

  She was silent. She put her drink down with a kind of finality. “Maybe that’s it. I don’t want to grow up. Grown-ups don’t need me. They can manage very well by themselves. But guys like Fearless, like you used to be, need someone to hold them together when they’re not behind a wheel. Someone who can make them feel a little bit alive when they’re not doing what they’re about.”

  She rose. “I had them move me to another room.”

  “That’s a good idea,” he said.

  “I have some new tapes you haven’t heard. Maybe after dinner you’ll come over and we’ll listen to them.”

  “We’ll see. I’ll give you a call about eight o’clock when we’re ready for dinner.”

  “Better make it closer to seven if you figure on getting anything to eat,” she said. “They roll it up early around here.”

  “Okay.” He watched her thread her way through the crowded lounge and there was something very alone and young and wistful in the way she moved.

  The waiter appeared at his elbow. “There’s a long-distance call for you, Mr. Perino.”

  He followed the waiter to a booth in the corner of the room. He closed the door and the sounds faded into the background.

  “Mr. Perino?” the long-lines operator singsonged.

  “Speaking.”

  Number One’s voice came on. “You’re a hard man to find,” he complained irascibly.

  “No, I’m not,” Angelo replied. “This is the only bar in town.”

  “I just heard over the radio about the coroner’s finding. I thought you were going to call me.”

  “I figured it was too late back East by the time we got out of court. But it worked out all right.”

  “We were lucky. It could have turned up a real stink,” the old man said.

  “I would still like to find out who put the finger on us,” Angelo said. “I’m sure the coroner and local county prosecutor didn’t dream this up by themselves.”

  “You sound more like your grandfather every day,” said Number One. “He was always convinced there was a plot behind everything. That nothing happened by itself.”

  “Maybe he was right,” Angelo said. “But you know as well as I that had we been caught off base, the publicity could have wiped out the whole project before we even got started. Doesn’t it seem a little strange to you that the news and wire services had the story on the inquest even before we were served?”

  “We’re building a new car,” Number One said. “That’s big news. You might as well get used to it. They’ll be watching you every minute.”

  “I know that already,” Angelo said. “The photographers have been all over the place trying to get pictures of the car. They’ve even come over the proving grounds in helicopters with telescopic cameras.”

  “They get anything?”

  “Not of our design. But they have plenty of photos of Vegas, Pintos and Gremlins. Maybe even a Maverick or Nova or two.”

  Number One chuckled. “That should annoy them. How many cars do you have on the road?”

  “Thirty-one on the roads all over the West and Southwest. Eight on the proving grounds plus six without camouflage which we run only at night.”

  “You’re doing all right. When do you think you’ll be ready to freeze the design?”

  “Seven, eight months. September or October,” Angelo replied.

  “We won’t make the fall showings.”

  “That’s right,” Angelo said. “But I figure we can make the New York Automobile Show in the spring. It might even be to our advantage. All the other seventy-two’s will be frozen, we can be the first out with a seventy-three.”

  “I like that,” Number One said. His tone changed. “I have someone here who wants to talk to you.”

  Angelo heard the phone change hands. Betsy’s voice came on the wire. It had a faint, breathless quality. “When are you going to let me come out and drive one of those cars?”

  “When we’re finished with our tests, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied.

  “You don’t have to be so formal,
Angelo,” she said. “I told Number One about the night I came to your hotel room.”

  He laughed. “I hope you also told him I drove you home.”

  “I told him that too and he wanted to know why.”

  “Could be you just turned eighteen,” Angelo said.

  “That’s how old Great-Grandmother was when he married her. You better think it over. Girls like me don’t stay available too long.”

  Angelo laughed. “Maybe it’s just that I’m not the marrying kind, Miss Elizabeth.”

  “I’m going to Europe to visit my aunt after Daddy’s wedding,” she said. “You know about the men over there.”

  “I know about them,” he smiled. “I hope you do.”

  “You still think I’m a child. Just because you went to school with my mother doesn’t mean that I’m not old enough for you.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a minute,” he said. “But I’m the old-fashioned type. I think the man should do the asking.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Ask me.”

  “Not just now,” he laughed. “I’ve got a car to build.” There was a knock on the door of the phone booth. A sheriff’s deputy stood there. “Hold on a moment,” he told her and opened the door.

  “Mr. Perino?” the deputy asked politely.

  “Yes?”

  “This is for you.” He handed Angelo an official-looking document.

  It seemed to be a standard warrant form. His name, Duncan’s and Bethlehem Motors Company were typed on the cover sheet. He opened the paper and looked at it. It was an injunction signed by a judge forbidding them to drive any of their test cars powered by a gas turbine engine on any road in the state of Washington. He looked up. The deputy was already halfway through the lounge. He turned back to the telephone. “Put Number One back on.”

  A note of concern came into her voice. “Is there anything wrong?”

  “Plenty,” he said sharply. “Put him on.”

  “What is it?” Number One’s voice echoed in the phone.

  “I was just served an injunction that orders us not to drive any of our cars on public roads in this state.”

  “What?” Number One was surprised. “How can they do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know how they can do it but they did,” he said. He paused a moment while he fished for a cigarette with his free hand. “Now, tell me that no one’s behind all this.”

  Number One was silent.

  “Whoever it is has a lot of muscle going for him,” Angelo said.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Artie Roberts is still here,” Angelo replied. “He was checking the next flight to New York. But he’s not going to make it. He can fight this in the courts.”

  “That could take a lot of time,” Number One said.

  “If it was nothing but time I wouldn’t be that worried,” said Angelo. “If we don’t get this injunction lifted, the Betsy may never get on the road.”

  Chapter Three

  “Only thirty days more and the divorce will be final,” Loren III said.

  Bobbie put down the empty martini glass. “By that time it won’t matter. Another month here and I’ll go out of my mind. I’m not used to being a prisoner.”

  “You’re not a prisoner, darling,” he said patiently. “You know the people here. Once we’re married everything will change. We’ll move out to the house and life will become normal.”

  “What makes you think that?” she asked sarcastically. “The few times we have gone out, Detroit has done a pretty good job of cutting me dead.”

  “Stupid women,” he replied. “It will change. Believe me, I know it will.”

  “Fuck them!” she said angrily. “I don’t need them or their fucking approval.” She rose from the couch. “I just have to get away from here for a while.”

  He looked up at her. “Where do you want to go?”

  “I don’t know. Anywhere. Just as long as it’s away from here.” She walked to the bar and poured herself another martini from the pitcher. She looked back at him. “I swear to God I’m becoming an alcoholic.”

  “I can’t get away just now,” he said.

  “I know that.” She walked over to the window and looked out. The factory lights gleamed in the dull black night, the tips of the chimneys belching rose-colored flames into the sky. “Look at that view,” she said bitterly. “You know, for almost a year I’ve been looking out this window without ever seeing a tree or a bit of green. I think I’ve almost forgotten what they look like.”

  Loren got to his feet and came over to her. He put his arms around her and drew her to him. She rested her head on his shoulder. “I know it hasn’t been easy,” he said. “But we expected it.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it hasn’t been easier for you. But at least you have your work to keep you busy. I have nothing to do but go out of my mind.”

  “Look,” he said. “Give me a few days to clear things up here and then maybe we’ll go out West and take a look at how they’re doing with the test cars. It’s time I went out there anyway.”

  “I’d love that. I have a feeling the new car will be great.”

  “I hope so,” he said without enthusiasm.

  She looked at him. “You’re worried about it, aren’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “Why? When everybody in the business is so excited about it?”

  “They can afford to be,” he said dourly. “It’s not their money. If the car misses, it can take the whole company down with it.” He walked back to the bar and picked up his drink. “If it hits, we’ll do all right, but within a couple of years, GM and Ford will step in to take over the market, so in reality all we’re doing is risking our capital for them.”

  He walked back to her. “I remember the year I was made president of the company. Nineteen hundred and fifty-three. The year the Kaiser-Frazer Company finally gave up the ghost and went down the drain. They had a good car but they couldn’t beat the system. Between the competition and the Korean War, which cut their sources of supply, they got wiped out. I made up my mind then I was not going to fight them. I would settle for whatever share of the automobile market we could squeeze out and concentrate on the other areas for profit. And I wasn’t wrong. There hasn’t been a year since in which the company netted less than six million after taxes. Now, a ghost from the past threatens to blow the whole company sky high.”

  It was the longest speech she ever heard him make. She stared at him thoughtfully. “Did you ever tell Number One that?”

  His voice was bitter. “There’s no one alive that my grandfather will listen to. Except maybe Angelo. And, even then, only if Angelo tells him what he wants to hear.”

  “But what about you?” she asked. “Wouldn’t you like to build a new car? A car that everyone would want?”

  He looked at her. “Of course I would. That’s the dream of every man in this business. But when I was a boy I wanted to be the first man on the moon. That didn’t happen either.”

  “Then why didn’t you get out of the automobile business altogether?”

  “I should have. I know that now.” He looked down into the amber of his drink. “But I knew that if I did, my grandfather would die. That was the only reason for him to stay alive, that was all he cared about.”

  She was silent for a moment, then put her drink down and took his from his hand. She put it down beside her own. “Come to bed,” she said.

  “The big problem with the turbine engine has been acceleration response and lack of engine braking,” Tony Rourke said. “We think we finally licked it.” He gestured to the blueprints on Loren III’s desk. “By adding a counter rotor to the drive rotor which would be activated by a stator vane deflecting the thrust pressure as the throttle is lessened, we create the artificial equal of normal I.C. engine braking. It also serves to hold the car from rolling when in gear and idling at normal speeds. And, conversely, it eliminates the response lag normally present in a turbine, so that speed for picku
p and passing is always there.”

  Loren looked across the desk. “Has this been tested?”

  “Thoroughly,” Rourke said. “It’s been in use on all the test cars since last December and so far has averaged approximately twenty thousand miles in use per car.”

  “It’s expensive,” Loren said. He looked at Weyman. “You have the figures?”

  Weyman nodded. “It will add approximately one hundred and thirty-one dollars to the cost of each engine if we manufacture it here in quantities of two hundred thousand or more.”

  Rourke turned to him. “Does that include the savings resulting from the fact that we won’t have to build an auxiliary power source to operate the accessories at idling speeds?”

  Weyman nodded. “We took that into consideration,” he answered in his precise accountant’s voice. “The principal factor is labor costs here in Detroit. At the moment fine tolerances involved in manufacturing these rotors take the job out of the unskilled classification into that of skilled machinists.”

  “It can’t be that bad,” Rourke said. “Toyo Kogyo is building rotors and selling them in low-end cars.”

  “That’s the edge the Japanese have on us,” Weyman said. “Their labor is much more controlled.”

  “I could build them for less on the Coast,” Rourke said. “I’m sure of that. But it doesn’t make sense to build the rotors there, ship them here for incorporation into the engine, then ship them all back for final car assembly.”

  “By the time you get through with all that you wouldn’t be saving very much.” Weyman spoke positively. “It wouldn’t be worth it.”

  “What does the car cost out at now?” Loren asked.

  “Nineteen hundred and fifty-one dollars before adding the new rotors. They put us up to almost twenty-one hundred.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Rourke said. “I’m sure that the Gremlin doesn’t cost American Motors much over seventeen hundred to manufacture.”

  “It costs less,” Weyman said. “That’s what they average from the dealer, including federal taxes. But that’s stripped. They don’t have to include power accessories and air-conditioning to use up available engine power. There’s almost seven hundred dollars of extras that we have to have on our car which have to be included in the cost.”