Dent moved over and picked the .44 out of Bean’s holster. He stuck it in his belt, then moved over to the other three, who were also armed. Holding their revolvers, he picked up a pillow, removed the pillowcase, and stuffed the weapons in there. “You ready to go, Pete?” he asked amiably.
“Sure, just hand me those crutches.”
Bailey quickly moved over and handed the crutches to Pete and helped him to his feet. Pete smiled crookedly. “Thanks, Bailey. Glad you came.”
But Bailey, as Pete hobbled across the floor, was still looking at Ollie. “You shud’na hurt him like that, Mister,” he said. “Now, I’m gonna hafta hurt you.”
Ollie looked at the gun in Dent’s hand and said, “You gonna shoot me?”
“Why, no,” Dent said. “I’m gonna let you beat up on Bailey here like you did on Pete.” He stuck the revolver in his pocket and crossed his arms and leaned back. “Wait a minute, Pete, let’s watch Ollie beat up on Bailey.”
With a snarl, Ollie Bean threw himself at the big man. He had all of his old skills and his blow caught Bailey’s face. With a terrific right he struck Bailey a blow in the body that would have destroyed a lesser man. It made a thumping sound, but otherwise had no effect.
Ollie Bean had put men out using less force than that, and he stood there amazed. He’d never seen a man take blows like that and apparently remain unmoved, but he had no time to think further, for Bailey suddenly moved forward. He reached out quicker than Bean could have imagined and gathered up Bean’s shirt with his left hand. He drew back his right fist; Bean tried to escape, but he could not move. He saw the fist coming, and it was like watching a train approach. It struck him between the eyes. He’d never felt such a powerful blow. It chilled him down to his feet. He began trying to strike back, but Bailey’s huge fist caught him square in the center of the mouth. He felt blood flowing, and suddenly there was a gap between his upper teeth. He managed to spit the teeth out, and he looked up as one more mighty blow caught him right between the eyes. He knew no more after that.
Dent looked down at the bloody face of Ollie Bean. Then he looked at the three men who were watching in absolute astonishment. “Tell your boss,” he said, “if he ever touches any of us again, we’ll be coming to pay him a visit. Tell him that, will you?”
The tallest of the men nodded slowly. “We’ll tell him all right.”
When they heard the truck start and roar off, the tall man went to stand over Ollie Bean. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “I guess Ollie got more than he could turn loose of that time.”
There was a victory celebration when Bailey, Dent, Ray, and Pete returned to the house. The story had to be told over and over, and finally it was Pete who said, “Kingman won’t take this sitting down. I don’t know what he’ll try next, but it’ll be something.”
The next day they found out what the something was. It was Violet who was up first, and she heard the roaring. As she ran to the window, she saw a circle of vehicles drawing around the shack. She cried out, “Dent! Wake up!”
Dent and Ray had not gone back to their rooming house the previous night. They’d slept on a pallet next to Bailey on the floor. Jumping up, Dent rushed to the door, then his face grew bleak. He checked the loads in his .38 and walked outside. Men were piling out of the cars. As he walked down toward them, he saw that one was no less than Horace Kingman. Beside him stood Ted Kingman, whose face was pale.
“What do you want, Kingman?” Dent asked. “Come to beat up a helpless man again?”
“I’ve come to tell you I’m not putting up with your nonsense anymore.” Horace Kingman had exploded when he had discovered that Bean had been beaten and had lost the prisoner. It had been at Kingman’s orders that Ollie had moved, and now Kingman’s face was florid. “This is the last chance. Stuart signs or that’s it!”
Pete had hobbled out of the house and came to stand beside Dent. The others had filed out, too, looking silently at the ring of armed men.
“What’re you gonna do,” Pete asked, “shoot us down?”
Kingman shook his head. “No, it’s all gonna be legal. You see that line out there?” He pointed to the circle of men. “You can’t cross that land.”
“It’s a public road,” Pete said.
“No, it’s not. It belongs to Kingman Oil Company. That’s me!” There was triumph in his face. “You can stay here, but we’ll starve you out. You can’t cross that line without breaking the law.”
Pete had known that the road itself belonged to Kingman, who had put it in to service his other wells, but this caught him off guard.
“You can’t put us under siege.”
But Horace Kingman grinned mightily. “I’ve already done it. Now, sign or starve.”
Maury was standing to Pete’s left. She lifted her eyes and faced Ted Kingman. He met her gaze for one moment, then could not hold it. Dropping his eyes, he turned and walked quickly away.
Pete turned to face Dent and Ray and the others and said, “We’d better hit oil quick because he means it. He’ll starve us to death.”
Dent said, “We’ll see about that!” He was outraged at Kingman’s tactics, and his fighting blood was stirred. “We’ll bring the well in. Don’t worry, Pete.”
Kingman had followed his son and said, “What’s the matter with you? You look like a poisoned pup.”
“We don’t have to do this, Dad.”
Kingman stared at his son, and for one moment tried to make him understand. “You don’t understand. You came up the easy way. I had to fight for everything I had. If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have a dime right now.”
“I’d rather not have a dime than to treat people like this!”
The resistance, as always, infuriated Kingman. “You’re not going to show the white feather. You’re going to stay and fight it out. I’ll see to that!”
He turned and walked away, leaving his son looking after him with a strange expression in his brown eyes.
“YOU’VE GOT TO GIVE HER UP!”
Amos never had been able to reconcile himself to Hollywood. As he got off the plane in Los Angeles, he seemed to feel the aura of the place closing in on him. He remembered a statement he had once written that was filled with more bitterness than he thought himself capable of. “Hollywood is a dreary, industrial town controlled by hoodlums of enormous wealth, the ethical sense of a pack of jackals, and taste so degraded it befouls everything it touches.”
His mood lightened when he looked up and saw his brother Gavin waving to him, a smile on his bronzed face. Moving across the concrete, Amos grabbed Gavin and the two men embraced for a moment, then grinned at each other.
“I didn’t think anything would bring you back to Hollywood, as much as you hate it. Where’s your suitcase?”
“I wanted to find out about Jerry. There it is, over there, the brown leather one.” Amos allowed Gavin to get the suitcase and the two moved to the big white Duesenberg that sat parked in front of the airport. As they settled themselves, Amos was amused by the car. “I didn’t know you’d gotten rich, Gavin. When did you start driving a rig like this?”
“Not mine. Doesn’t belong to Monarch, either. We rented it for a scene. I borrowed it just to come and pick you up.” Slamming the door, he turned the key and the powerful engine broke into a roar. “Hang on,” he said. “This thing’s got more power than most airplanes.”
As they drove along, Gavin and Amos probed each other, finding out about their families, but then Gavin finally gave his brother a quick glance. “I know you’re worried about Jerry.”
“Yes. He won’t write to us. Or, if he does, he doesn’t say anything. What’s going on?”
“Blames himself for Cara’s death,” Gavin said briefly.
“Why? It wasn’t his fault, was it?”
“No, of course not. She was doing a dangerous stunt. You only have to slip for a moment and you’re gone. The fall shouldn’t have killed her, but she hit wrong. Of course, Jerry doesn’t see it like that.”
The Duesenberg moved along between rows of palm trees as the two men spoke. A white sun in the pale blue sky poured out beams of heat, and overhead a few sea gulls circled in their bent-wing flight. Amos watched them, thinking suddenly how awkward they were in the air, then he queried, “How’s it affecting him?”
Gavin shifted uncomfortably, his strong hands gripping the wheel firmly. He had known this was coming, and he had not been able to prepare an answer that would give any comfort to Amos. “He spends a lot of time at her grave,” he said. “Goes there every day. I know,” he said quickly, interpreting Amos’s glance of disbelief, “it’s not what you’d expect of Jerry.”
Amos brushed his hand across his face. “Well, he was in love with her for a long time. Never got any happiness out of it, though.”
“No, and he never would have,” Gavin agreed. “She was an unfortunate woman, never had any peace herself and led a bad life. I felt sorry for her.”
“Does Jerry talk to you about it?”
“No, he won’t talk to anyone about it. He was always pretty close to Bonnie—and she says he’s silent as the grave.”
“Well, there’s the studio.”
Gavin drove the powerful car through arches that said Monarch Studio. Amos looked with interest at the people who moved around, some carrying scenery, some dressed in costumes of a desert tribe. “Is this picture about Arabs, or something?”
“Oh, no, that’s another movie. We’re doing two at the same time; one’s just a quickie. Really, we’re renting the studio to another producer.”
Gavin stopped in front of a large white building with red tile on the roof. “Lylah’s waiting for you. I expect I’ll be seeing you tonight for dinner.” He hesitated, then said, “Don’t worry about Jerry, he’ll pull out of it,” but there was a doubtful quality in his voice, and Amos looked at him sharply. “See if you can get Jerry to talk about her. If he’d just open up, Amos, I think that would help.”
“We haven’t talked much, and I guess that’s my fault. He’s always been so caught up with flying. He hasn’t ever been able to find himself.”
Gavin dropped his eyes. “I wish now I’d never taught him to fly. I wish I’d never let him work for me. I feel responsible. He’s got all kinds of sense, Jerry has, but somehow I think he’s got to get Cara out of his system before he’ll ever be the man he can be.”
“I’ll see you later for dinner.”
Amos stepped out of the car and walked toward the big building. He entered the door and passed down the hallway, encountering the receptionist—a tall, white-haired woman, who asked him instantly, “Yes, sir. May I help you?”
“I’m Amos Stuart. I’d like to see my sister. I think she’s expecting me.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Stuart. My name is Miss Holcomb. Come along. Mrs. Hart said to bring you right in.”
She opened the door and said, “Mrs. Hart, your brother’s here.”
Amos entered and the door closed behind him. He went across the room at once and met Lylah, who was wearing a cool cotton dress of pale yellow drawn tight about her waist. The dress fell below her knees in the newest fashion. He took her embrace and then drew back to grin at her. “Well, Mrs. Hart, has your husband straightened you out yet?”
Lylah laughed, a rich contralto sound. She’d always laughed heartily, and her voice was slightly husky. “I think he’s given up on even trying. Come in, Amos, and sit down. Are you hungry? I’ll have something sent in.”
“No, not really.” He took his seat and looked around the room. “Pretty plush,” he said. “Makes me feel a little bit like a poor beggar.” The room was ornate with pale green Italian tile that showed on the part of the floor not covered by a rich Persian rug in an intricate design. The walls were cream, and the light fixtures appeared to be solid gold.
Intercepting his glance, Lylah laughed again. “Those are not gold,” she said. “Actually this was done for a set, but I liked it, so I just made my office out of it after the shooting was done. What’ve you been doing, Amos?”
Amos sat back and the two talked; they had always been close. After a while, Lylah had iced tea brought in. As they sipped it, she listened to his report, then shook her head. “Sounds like this depression’s not going to get any better.”
“I think Roosevelt will be elected. If he is, he’s got enough strength to try something, anyway.” He described his talk with Roosevelt to her and after he finished, he asked, “How’s the picture?”
Lylah’s eyes clouded. She ran her hand down her auburn hair and was silent for a moment. She had a short nose, full lips, and a very rich complexion. She was no longer the leading lady of films, but the startling beauty that had been hers in her youth was still there. “We’re having our own little depression right here in the studio, Jesse and I,” she said ruefully.
“Things pretty bad?”
“The picture’s costing more to shoot than we thought. They always do.”
“Will you be able to bring it in?”
“Not at the original cost. We’re going to have to squeeze somehow and see if we can’t stir up some more money. Carl tells me he thinks he can do it.” She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know what we’d do without him. I hope I’m as active as he is when I’m seventy.”
The two sat quietly and finally she said, “Amos, I’m worried about Adam.”
“Is he sick?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. He’s very strong and healthy. Thank God for that!” she exclaimed fervently. A nervousness came upon Lylah. She got up and moved to the window and stared out. Blinding sunshine was shut out by the translucent curtains that hung in folds, but she peered out through the opening, studied the setting for a moment, then turned to him. There was fear in her eyes, something that Amos had rarely seen in her before. “He’s worried about his father, and who he is.”
Lylah’s words came as no surprise to Amos. They had talked about it before and he asked, “Does he ask about him?”
“Oh, yes, he asks everybody. Jesse thinks I ought to tell him. Amos, what do you think?”
The first impulse that came to Amos was to agree, but he held back momentarily. He was a methodical thinker and liked to let every facet of a problem come before him before he made up his mind. Finally he sighed and shook his head. “It’s not my decision. I don’t have to raise the boy. I don’t know him as you do.” He studied her carefully, then asked, “Why do you hesitate?”
“We’ve talked about it before,” Lylah said restlessly. “If his father had been a nobody, just a common citizen, even German, I wouldn’t have hesitated. But what will it be like knowing your father was Baron Manfred von Richthofen? Some people haven’t forgotten the war yet. They lost husbands, fathers, and brothers, and they hate the Germans.”
“Do you think of him often—Manfred, I mean?” Amos asked carefully.
Lylah bit her lip nervously and held her hands tightly in front of her as if to keep them still. “Yes,” she said, “I do, I can’t help it. I don’t even know now what it was. Loneliness—I loved him—and I think he loved me, but it was a mad time. If it weren’t for Adam, of course, I’d wish it hadn’t happened.”
“We can’t turn the clock back,” Amos said quickly. “I wish I could help you. Rose and I have been praying for you, and so are others.”
“Thank you, Amos. I’ll have to decide soon. Adam’s very disturbed about this.” She tried to shake the thoughts out of her mind and smiled with an effort. “Come along, we’ll go home. I want you to see how much Adam’s grown.”
Amos thoroughly enjoyed his visit with his sister, but his meeting with Jerry had been unhappy. Jerry had obviously been under a strain and had remained silent most of the time. On the second night of Amos’s visit, something occurred that made him wonder. Bonnie had bloomed into a beautiful young woman. She was twenty-seven now and was one of those women who get better looking as they get older. She came in for supper, her straight black hair done in an unusual fashion, and her blue eyes set off by
her olive complexion.
“Well, you’re all dressed up,” Amos said, admiring her gown. “I take it you didn’t dress up just for me.”
“I’m afraid not, Amos.” Bonnie smiled. “I’ve got a date with a movie star.”
At her words, Jerry, who was sitting across the table from Amos, looked up, and there was a strange expression in his eyes. He said nothing, but kept his eyes fixed on Bonnie.
“What movie star is this? I would hope for maybe Tom Mix. I’ve always wanted to meet that cowboy,” Amos smiled.
“No, not Tom Mix, although I’ve met him, and he’s a nice man,” Bonnie smiled. She winked at Lylah and said, “Tell this brother of yours who I’m going with.”
“She’s been going out with Brent Peters,” Lylah said, her voice almost flat.
There was something in his sister’s tone and in her gaze that bothered Amos. He saw that Jesse was not happy about the situation either. There was a tension around the table, and Bonnie suddenly stiffened her back. “Well,” she said, “Brent will be here pretty soon. He’s going to take me to the opera tonight. I’ll be going now.”
“What was that all about?” Amos asked, as Bonnie turned and left the room. He looked across at Adam, who was eating with a healthy appetite, and realized that the others would not speak in front of the boy. “Did you meet Tom Mix, too, Adam?” he asked quickly.
“Sure I did. It was swell.”
“Did you meet any other movie stars?” Amos asked the question and sat there as the boy began to rattle off a list of stars he had met. He doesn’t look bothered about anything, Amos thought, but you can never tell about kids. They don’t always show what’s going on inside. When the boy was finished, Amos said, “Tell you what! Why don’t you take me to meet some of these famous people? I never get to meet anybody. Oh, except the president. I met him the other day.”
“President Hoover?” Adam asked quickly.
“Yes. He’s a nice man.”
“He’s getting a lot of bad press,” Jesse observed. “They’re calling the villages where people live in shacks ‘Hoovervilles.’ Not fair to blame the president for this depression, I don’t think.”
A Season of Dreams Page 20
