King Cole

by W. R. Burnett

  III

  When Read walked through the lobby of the Massey Hotel there was a murmuring and men pointed him out and women sitting in chairs along Midland City’s Peacock Alley craned their necks to get a better look. Read pretended not to notice; pretended even to himself that this sort of thing meant nothing to him; in reality, he enjoyed it extremely. It soothed his ego, which was enormous; though he masked it ordinarily behind a pleasant, somewhat distant, polite, offhand manner.

  The Crystal Room was crowded. Read saw the impassive foreign waiters moving expertly about among the closely packed tables. As it was a dark day, the huge crystal chandeliers were ablaze with light and the silverware and china gleamed brightly on the snow-white tablecloths. He took off his coat absentmindedly and, without looking, handed it to the check-girl.

  “Your hat, too?” said a strange, soft voice.

  “Oh, yes,” said Read, smiling. “I forgot.” Then he looked at the check-girl and his heart missed a beat and he flushed.

  “You’re new, aren’t you?” he asked, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “This is my first day.”

  “Yes,” said Read, smiling a little foolishly, “I thought I didn’t remember…”

  She glanced at him, then turned to get his check. It was obvious that she had no idea who he was. He studied her, resenting the disturbance she had aroused inside him. She was small and plump and young, not over twenty, certainly; she had a fine fresh complexion and curly dark-brown hair. Her eyes were very blue with long black lashes. Her face was softly rounded and her nose just missed being snub. “She is what is called cute!” Read told himself savagely, and looked determinedly away from her. He resented her; she was so young and pretty. It made him feel old and out of it just to look at her.

  “Your check,” she said, turning and smiling. Their eyes met. There was something in his gaze that she did not understand, but she did not lower her eyes. In fact, in a moment, she smiled rather significantly, Read thought, and her smile seemed to say: “Well, you look like you’d like to date me up. Why not try? Who knows?”

  “Thank you,” said Read and, turning abruptly, went into the Crystal Room.

  The headwaiter hurried over and bowed and was embarrassingly obsequious. Read turned to see if the check-girl was watching; she was. She even smiled a little. He wondered what she was thinking.

  Gregg Upham was waiting for him.

  “Hello, Gov,” he said, when Read sat down.

  “Hello, Gregg. Where’s His Nibs?”

  “Be along in a minute. You know how it is with these big important men. After all, you’re only the Governor of the State. You can wait.”

  “Don’t be funny.”

  “I’m not being funny. I know the Major. I’ve worked for him long enough. How’s things, pal?”

  “Fair to middling, as my father used to say.”

  “That straw vote looks bad.”

  “Very bad,” said Read with a smile.

  “You don’t seem to be taking it very much to heart.”

  “Why should I? I’ve been in worse holes than this. I’ve got several very good ideas. We’ll talk them over after lunch.”

  “Old Eagle Beak has sure given the boys a scare. What a laugh! Can you imagine Eagle Beak as Governor? First he’ll let all the prisoners out of the State Penitentiary and put them on their honor, and then when they start murdering people and sticking up banks and burning down buildings and raping women, he’ll be so terribly hurt, and then he’ll blame it all on the Rich.”

  Read laughed. There was always a good deal of shrewd sense in Gregg’s exaggerations. It was true that Asa Fielding, Old Eagle Beak, was a hopeless visionary; Gregg had put the matter in a nutshell.

  “You should have been a cartoonist,” said Read.

  “I should have, yes. But I turned out to be a plain comic. Writing editorials for the Major. Is that your idea of a life work?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “I often wonder if anybody under fifty ever reads any of them.”

  Read laughed. Gregg was always the same; a prize beefer. He was number one man with Major Bradley. He did nothing but write editorials, usually of a political nature, which were printed simultaneously in the Major’s seven papers; and yet he had the title of Editor in Chief of the Bradley sheets and drew down what was considered in Ohio a good-sized salary: $15,000 a year. He claimed to be a frustrated great writer, and when he got drunk, which was frequently, he would bore everybody with his literary erudition, and call himself the embryo Balzac of the Midwest. He was tall and slightly stooped, with a shrewd, rather handsome, dark face. He looked both young and dissipated. He had served overseas in the same company with the Governor. He was a bachelor with—according to Midland City standards—very doubtful morals.

  They smoked in silence for a while, then Gregg said:

  “So you think you can outnose Eagle Beak in the home stretch, eh? That’s nice. And speaking of politics, did you notice that little honey checking coats?” Read hesitated, put on his poker-face. Looking up, he saw Major Bradley stalking across the dining room convoyed by the bowing headwaiter.

  “His Nibs,” said Read, then added: “Yes, I did notice her. New, isn’t she?”

  “If that’s the best you can do, you’re getting old. She floored me. Where did they find her? She’s got what it takes. Oh, hello, Major. Pull up a chair.” Major Bradley smiled condescendingly and sat down. He was immensely conscious of his vast importance. From his carefully polished tan shoes to his carefully clipped white businessman’s mustache he was perfect. His florid fat face was smooth as a baby’s and his pale blue eyes were clear and shining.

  “I ordered,” said Gregg.

  “Good,” said the Major, stroking his mustache. “Well, how are you, Governor?”

  “Never better, thanks.”

  “We’re in a pretty fix, all of us, aren’t we? We’ve sat around and let that old windbag steal the show. But who could ever take him seriously…?” The Major’s face got very red; he detested Eagle Beak. ”… except of course the down-and-outers. He is promising them the moon. They believe every word he says. We’re starting after him tomorrow. Has Gregg told you? We’ll make him a laughingstock if it’s physically possible. I hope we’re not too late.” Read shrugged and began to eat his soup.

  “I wouldn’t worry,” he said.

  The Major glanced at Gregg.

  “No?”

  “Read has tricks up his sleeve,” said Gregg.

  “Yes? Well, it’s time to produce them. Pardon my saying so, Governor: but I don’t think you made a very strong impression when you stumped the State. You talk too much sense. In politics what you need is nonsense. Am I right?”

  “You’re always right, Major,” said Gregg.

  The Major smiled; he quite agreed with Gregg. “We wouldn’t be in the fix we’re in if you were more of a demagogue, Governor. We need a rabble-rouser. Or rather a rabble-unrouser. Eagle Beak has got them all up in the air. If the farmers bolt, we’re done for. Eagle Beak will get in and then the fun will begin. But I’ll save my breath.”

  Over the dessert the Major said:

  “I suppose you’ve heard the rumors about the general strike?”

  “Vaguely,” said Read.

  “I’m breaking a great editorial by Gregg tomorrow. It may throw a scare into the middle class. This general strike business is just a threat; but the way things are…”

  Read calmly finished his ice cream.

  “Major,” he said, “I’m not quite ready to talk yet. But I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you.”

  “All right. I’ll stop worrying. You’re a good man at keeping promises. But you’re really in serious trouble this time. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I think I do.”

  “Good. Tomorrow night I’d like to have you come out to my house. A few of the boys will be there. They’re all willing to back you to the limit, financially, I mean.”
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  “I’ll bring Mr. Sullavan with me. You can talk finances with him.”

  “Fine.” The Major drank his coffee hurriedly, then got up. “Will you excuse me? Important engagement. I’ve enjoyed your society very much. Eileen dropped by this noon and tried to crash our luncheon, but I wouldn’t hear of it. She sent her best.”

  When the Major had gone, Gregg lit a cigarette and settled back comfortably. For a long time he studied Read, then he said:

  “Getting in deep, eh, pal?”

  “In what way?”

  “Every way. Got the rich boys spending money on you. They’ll want plenty of service.”

  “They’ll get what’s coming to them, nothing more.”

  “Easy to say.”

  “Easier to do.”

  “I hope you’re right. Read, we hardly ever talk about anything. Let’s talk.”

  “All right.”

  “You used to be a thorn in the side of that gang. The Bradley interests, the Freytags, the Meadowses, the Joneses. Remember? They only accepted you as the lesser of two evils. Anything is better to them than a Godforsaken Democrat. Now they’re parking on your doorstep.”

  “They’re scared.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Not at all.”

  Gregg glanced at Read.

  “Not really? You mean it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’ll be frank with you, Read. I think you’re slipping. I think you’re going to end up as just another politician.”

  “I’m going to end up as President with a little luck.”

  “Maybe. If you beat Eagle Beak after all this hullabaloo, all the stuffed shirts in America will be writing you fan letters. But that’s not what I mean. You used to think about other things besides merely getting elected.”

  “And you used to think about other things besides pulling down a big salary and writing editorials you don’t believe in yourself.”

  ‘‘I see. In short, we’re middle-aged. Maybe you’re right. Oh, well; worse things could happen. But I can’t see Read Cole married to Eileen Bradley surrounded by an aura of painful respectability and eating out of the hands of the stuffed shirts. It’s not a pretty picture.”

  “It’s not a pretty world.”

  “Oh, a philosopher. What next! You’ll be going to literary teas in striped pants.”

  “Maybe.”

  There was a long pause. Gregg and Read regarded each other a little uneasily; truths had been spoken which had better been left unsaid. They were both a little worried.

  Read finally broke the silence.

  “I want your advice, Gregg.”

  “All right. It’s yours.”

  “Well, I don’t talk about the straw vote much, but, between ourselves, it looks very bad in the farm districts.”

  “Very bad.”

  “Eagle Beak is going to get the radical vote and it is very big right now, especially in the industrial centers like Cleveland and Youngstown. It won’t elect him, however. Neither will the disgruntled Democratic vote. Parkinson will get most of the Democrats. But he doesn’t count.”

  “Quite right.”

  “If Eagle Beak gets the farmers he’ll be elected. I know that. But he’s not going to get them. I’m going to scare them to death. They’re going to vote the straight Republican ticket as they usually do.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to make all the radicals, Communists and all, declare openly for Fielding. I’m going to threaten martial law if there is a general strike or any important strikes during or before the election.”

  Gregg stared at the Governor for a long time.

  “I see.”

  “The farmers won’t like the hookup at all. They’ll bolt to me. They’re good Americans at heart, not radicals at all.”

  “This all sounds very suspicious to me. This is Fascism, you know.”

  “I don’t know what it is. But it would be a great calamity for the State if Eagle Beak got into the State House. I’m going to stop him.”

  Gregg studied the Governor, as if he were a stranger. He saw the calm gray eyes, the massive determined chin; there was set purpose apparent in all the lines of his face. Gregg shrugged.

  “Do you really want my advice?”

  “Yes.”

  “There are hungry men in this State.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “This isn’t just an ordinary election. This is nearly a revolution. Old Eagle Beak wouldn’t have a chance in normal times.”

  “Precisely.”

  “I see. A counterrevolution. Read Cole, the liberal.”

  Read lowered his eyes and stared at the shining white tablecloth. He was a little shaken. Things did sound bad, as Gregg put them.

  “I hope,” said Gregg, “that behind that worldly exterior you’re not hiding a man with a mission. I hope you’re just trying to get yourself elected like any ordinary politico. Sometimes I feel pretty sure that I don’t know anything at all about you.”

  “Why did you say that there are hungry men in this State?”

  “That’s simple. Think how disappointed some of the boys are going to feel if you beat Fielding with strong-arm methods. You’ve been shot at. In France. How do you like it?”

  “I’ve been shot. I’m not going to worry about that.”

  “Well, Hitler, best of luck.”

  Read flushed.

  “Don’t say that.”

  Gregg reached across the table and they shook hands.

  “I’m your friend,” said Gregg. “I’m beginning to realize that you’re just a narrow-minded, bigoted, stuffed-shirt American, but I’m your friend. Let’s go. It’s getting late, and I’ve got tripe to write.”

  They got up and crossed the long dining-room side by side silently. Suddenly, Read looked up. The check-girl! He’d forgotten all about her. There she was smiling, showing her pretty, white teeth; looking provocative and young and lovely. She had the Governor’s coat and hat ready for him. Her manner was entirely different. She looked at him with round respectful eyes. “She is charming and a damn little fool,” Read told himself, glancing away.

  She helped him on with his coat.

  “Imagine me not recognizing you, Governor,” she said in her rather husky, coaxing voice. “Gee, you’d think anybody would have more sense than that.”

  Read said nothing. He tipped her fifty cents. The girl said:

  “Excuse me, Governor; but would you please give me your autograph? I got a little brother who…”

  “Some other time,” said Read, turning away.

  “Here, here,” said Gregg, clapping his hands. “A little service, please. After all, I’m the Governor’s

  best friend. Would you like to get better acquainted with the Governor’s best friend, my dear?”

  The girl got Gregg’s hat and coat.

  “Well, I…” she said.

  Gregg laughed and tipped her; then he and Read started across the long lobby.

  “Goodbye, Governor,” said the check-girl.

  Read nodded without turning.

  “Looks as if you’ve made a hit, Governor,” said Gregg with a laugh. “I think it was mighty mean of you not to give her an autograph. After all, she’s pretty hot stuff.”

  “Don’t be vulgar.” Read was extremely irritated and upset, and held himself in by an effort. He wanted violently to bawl Gregg out. He hated his glibness, his easy assurance with women. He also envied him.

  “I’ll keep her in mind for future reference,” said Gregg meditatively.

  Read snorted.

  “Gregg, I wish you’d be a little bit more careful how you act around women when I’m with you. After all, I’m the Governor and have a certain dignity to maintain. I don’t like to have you dating up a cheap little check-girl right under my nose.”

  “Excuse me, Your Honor.” Gregg laughed, but when he noticed the expression on Read’s face, he said: “I’m sorry, Read. She’s the
kind of girl that asks for attention without saying a word. I spoke automatically. Good Lord! Look—Eagle Beak himself!”

  Read glanced up. Asa Fielding, looking shabby and rural, though he was a city lawyer and a smart one, was coming down the stairs from the mezzanine with two of his henchmen. He saw Read and stiffened slightly, then he smiled and came over.

  “How do, Governor.”

  Read shook hands with him, bowing slightly. Fielding’s face was hawklike and sunburnt; his huge, beaked nose projected far beyond his heavy, straggling, gray mustache. His eyes were pale and shrewd and a little too bright.

  “How are you, Mr. Fielding?”

  “Fine, fine. Governor, you better get the Mansion all swept up and cleaned because I’m moving in shortly.”

  Read flushed slightly.

  “You’ll find it a very nice place to live in, very comfortable.”

  “Hate to move, don’t you?”

  “Oh, no. I don’t care where I live.”

  Gregg was pale with anger but lowered his eyes from the grinning faces of Eagle Beak’s henchmen and said nothing.

  “Well, that’s the right spirit,” said Fielding. “As a matter of fact, I ain’t going to live in the Mansion.

  Too expensive. I’m going to stay in one room. I’ll rent the Mansion and turn the rent back to the State.”

  “Yes,” said Read, “you might feel a little out of place there. Goodbye, Mr. Fielding. Very glad to have seen you.”

  When Read and Gregg reached the sidewalk, Gregg said:

  “Let me shake hands with you, Read Cole. Sometimes I have my doubts about you. But that was perfect.”

  IV

  That night at dinner, while Read was finishing his dessert, his daughter, Jean, rushed in all out of breath and began to talk very fast. She had on whipcord riding breeches and tan boots. She looked very young and flushed and excited.

  “I’m so sorry, Dad,” she cried. “But Fred’s car broke down when we were coming in from the riding school and we were a long ways from a filling station or anything and we… so…”

  “In short, you’re late for dinner again. Well, sit down.”