by Jim Thompson
No one did, nothing did. And it was hard to take, brother, but it finally sank in on me that that was the way it was going to be. I was stuck. I couldn’t kid myself any longer.
I thought about Mona, how she was really the cause of the whole trouble. If I hadn’t used Pete Hendrickson’s money to pay for that silverware, Staples wouldn’t have caught up with me. I called myself all kinds of a damned fool, and I cussed her a little, too, I guess. But I didn’t really have my heart in it. I knew I’d have done the same thing all over again, and I wasn’t sore at her that much. How could you be sore at a sweet, helpless kid like that?
I sat off by myself in a corner of the bullpen, thinking about her and getting a nice warm feeling. She’d come right to me that day. Put her arms around me and laid her head against my chest. She’d stood there naked and shivering. And she’d hugged me tighter and tighter until I seemed to be part of her.
She was out of this world, that little girl. Not one of these goddamned tramps like I was always latching onto. You could really go places with a kid like that. You’d do anything in the world for her because you knew she’d do anything in the world for you, and you could just naturally go to town.
I wondered what she’d think when I didn’t come back. I wondered what would happen to her. I closed my eyes, and I could almost see it happening: the guys coming there to the door and the old woman propositioning them, and Mona…Mona there in the bedroom…
I opened my eyes fast. I forced my mind away from her, and started thinking about that house.
I’d had a feeling about it from the moment I set foot inside the door; that it wasn’t as it should be, you know. I couldn’t figure out what it was at the time, and I’d had plenty of other things to think about afterwards.
But now it finally came to me. There weren’t any pictures in the place; pictures of people, I mean.
I guess I’ve probably been in ten thousand of those old houses, places occupied by old people. And everyone of ’em’s got a flock of pictures on the walls. Guys with beards and gates-ajar collars. Women in high-necked dresses with leg-of-mutton sleeves. Boys in Buster Brown suits, and girls in middies and bloomers. Grandpa Jones, Uncle Bill and Aunt Hattie. Cousin Susie’s kids…All those old houses are like that. They’ve all got those pictures. But this one didn’t have a damned one.
I kept turning it over in my mind, and finally I thought, So what? What’s it to you, anyway? I got kind of sore at myself, you know, thinking about a thing like that in the spot I was in. So I forgot about it, went back to worrying about myself, and it was days before I thought of it again. And by that time—
I don’t know. You’ll have to decide for yourself. Maybe any time would have been too late.
Maybe it would have turned out the same way, anyway…I went to jail on Wednesday morning. I was scheduled for arraignment Friday afternoon. The turnkey came around at two that day, and took me to the showers. I bathed and shaved while he stood and watched, and then he gave me my clothes.
I got dressed. He led me up a long corridor, through a lot of gates, to the receiving room. He gave my name to the cop behind the desk. The cop opened a drawer, thumbed through a bunch of envelopes and tossed one on the counter.
“Open it up,” he said. “Anything’s missing, you say so now.”
I opened it up. My wallet was in it and my car keys and a check to the police parking lot.
“Okay?” he said. “Well, put your John Hancock on this.”
I signed a receipt. I thought this was a screwy way to do things, put a guy through all this just to go before a judge. But like I say, I’d never been in jail, and I figured they ought to know what they were doing.
I put the stuff in my pocket. The door to the street was open, and I thought, man oh man, what wouldn’t I give to be out there.
The turnkey had gone back behind the counter. He was over at the water cooler, rinsing his mouth out and spitting into a big brass gaboon. He seemed to have forgotten all about me. I stood and waited.
Finally, the desk cop looked up at me. “You like this place, Mac?”
“I guess I got to like it,” I said.
“Beat it,” he said. “What the hell you waiting on? You got all your junk, ain’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “Thank you kindly, sir!” And I went out of that damned place so fast, I bet I didn’t even cast a shadow.
I was sure it was a mistake, see? They had me mixed up with some other guy. I didn’t see how it could be any other way.
I got my car off the parking lot. I came off of it like a bat out of hell, and I must have gone four or five blocks before I came to my senses and slowed down.
This wasn’t going to get it. How far did I think I’d go with a finance-company car and a little over two bucks? Maybe the cops had pulled a boner, and maybe Staples had decided to give me a break. Either way I couldn’t lose by seeing him. If this was on the level, swell. If not, that was swell too. At least I could beat his rotten tail off before I went back to jail.
I parked a few doors below the store. I sidled up to the window, and glanced through the door.
He was about halfway down the aisle, counting stock, it looked like. His back to me.
I jerked the door open fast, and went in. He started, and whirled around.
He came toward me, swiftly, hand extended.
“My dear boy! I’m so glad they released you promptly. I asked them not to take a moment longer than was necessary. I made it very urgent, Frank.”
“Well, okay,” I said. “I’m not kicking, understand. But you ask me, three days isn’t very damned prompt.”
“But, Frank.” He spread his hands. “It wasn’t three days. It was hardly an hour ago that your wife repaid the money.”
7
My wife? A wife I didn’t really have, now, had ponied up the dough? Hell, she couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have if she could.
Staples looked at me expectantly. “You mean to say you didn’t know? She didn’t tell you she was arranging your release?”
There was a purring, pleased note to his voice. I didn’t know what the situation was, or what he might make out of it. But a guy like that, you don’t share your troubles with him.
“Well,” I said, “I knew she was trying to get it, but I didn’t think she could. I guess it’s like you say. You never know what you can do until you have to do.”
“Mmm.” He nodded, studying my face. “I was wondering. You know, any number of people called the store here for you; accounts who’d bought from sample pending your delivery. I explained the situation to them, about your shortage, and—”
“Swell,” I said. “Why didn’t you advertise it in the papers?”
“Now, Frank. I was only trying to help you. You can be very ingratiating, when you choose to, and I thought some of your clients might like to help you out in your hour of need.”
I shook my head at him. The guy was off his goddamned rocker. “Sure, they would,” I said. “This is Saks Fifth Avenue. I got a bunch of millionaire clients. I don’t practically have to club ’em over the head to get a one-buck payment.”
“Well,” he smiled, sheepishly, “I suppose it was a rather forlorn hope. But…what I started to say was that I don’t believe your wife was among those who called about you.”
“So?” I said.
“Nothing,” he said, hastily. “Naturally, you’d have called her from the jail. It just struck me as rather curious, your wife not calling and then sending the money in with another woman. I thought that, possibly—uh—”
I shrugged. It struck him as curious!
“I’ll come clean with you,” I said. “I didn’t call my wife. I called all these scrubwomen and dishwashers I got for customers and I said they either laid it on the line, or I was through with them.”
“Really, Frank!” He gave me a slap on the arm. “As a matter of fact, this woman—the girl—who brought the money in wasn’t at all unattractive. Rather dowdy and weatherworn, but not
bad withal.”
“That must have been Frances Smith,” I said. “The neighbor’s girl. Joyce probably got herself a job, so she sent Frances with the money.”
I lit a cigarette, casually, and dropped the match on the floor. That eager, foxy look went out of his eyes.
“Well, Frank. As long as you’re here—”
“As long as I’m here,” I said, “I’ll take the dough I’ve got coming.”
“Now, Frank,” he pouted. “You mean you’re angry with me? You’re going to quit?”
“Well,” I said. “I just supposed that—”
“Not at all. I’m sure you’ll be extremely scrupulous from now on; just about have to, you know. You can go back to work right now, if you like.”
I said I was pretty pooped; thought I’d better wait until Monday. He let me have twenty bucks against my pay, and I drove home.
The place smelled like a sewer. It stank with mildew and rotting food. I cleaned out the refrigerator, piling the stuff onto the junk on the table. Then, I just bundled it all up in the tablecloth, dishes and pans and everything, and threw the whole mess out into the garbage.
I opened all the windows, and hung the bedding on the line. There was still plenty to be done; there always would be in that place. But I let it go at that. I was feeling sort of limp, what with all the worry and nerve strain I’d been through. Almost too tired to wonder who had bailed me out or why she’d done it.
Maybe it would turn out to be a mistake after all.
It got dark. I put the windows back down, and drew the shades. I hadn’t eaten much of anything while I was in jail; I couldn’t eat that slop. So now I was pretty hungry. But there wasn’t a damned thing in the cupboard but coffee and half a pint of whiskey. I took the whiskey in to the lounge and had myself a slug.
I leaned back, and put my feet up. I sipped and smoked, thinking about the way I’d been last night and how much better this was; thinking how a guy never knew when he was really well off, and maybe I hadn’t done so bad for myself after all.
I began to relax. I started wondering again.
Now, who in the hell did I know…
Who in the name of God could have…
Someone was coming up the walk. Running, almost. Up the walk and the steps and across the porch. I jumped up and threw the door open.
“Mona!” I said. “Mona, child. What is the—?”
She half fell into my arms. Sobbing, out of breath. I kicked the door shut and carried her over to the lounge.
“Baby,” I said. “It’s all right, baby. Old Dolly’s got you, and—”
“Oh, Dolly, Dolly!” She rocked back and forth, hugging me. “I was s-so afraid, so afraid you might not be here and…Don’t let her get me, Dolly! Take me away! Help me to get away. I’ve got money, enough for both of us, Dolly! P-please, please, please—”
“Wait! Wait a minute!” I said, and I shook her by the shoulders. “Slow down, now. I’ll do anything I can, honey, but I’ve got to know—”
“Take it, Dolly! You can have it all, but just take me with you.”
She jabbed her hands into the pockets of her faded, old coat. She pulled them out again and money tumbled into my lap, crumpled wads of fives and tens and twenties.
“P-please, Dolly! Will you? Take the money and take me—”
“Sure,” I said. “You bet I will. But we got to get a few things straight first. You took this money from your aunt?”
“Y-yes. This and the other, the money I gave to the man at the store. I d-didn’t know what to think when you didn’t come back. I knew something awful must have happened to you. You’d promised to come back, and I knew you wouldn’t have broken your promise if you could help it. Anyone as g-good and nice as you were w-wouldn’t—”
Her voice faltered. I patted her hand, uncomfortably.
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “I just couldn’t help it, see what I mean?”
“S-so I looked your number up in the phone book, and I called here. I called and called. And f-finally, today, I called the store, and the man said…”
The rest of it came out with a rush:
Staples had given her the lowdown on me. She knew where the old woman kept her money. She’d tapped it for enough to get out, plus what she had here. Now, with what looked like five or six hundred dollars—and me just out from under one larceny rap—we were supposed to take off together. Live happily ever after, and so on.
And I wanted to—I wanted her; and I was grateful as hell. But, hell, how could I?
She was looking at me, pleading with her eyes. “D-don’t you want to, Dolly? Was that why you said you were married—b-because you didn’t really like me? I called and called here, and no one—”
“No, I wasn’t lying to you,” I said. “My wife left me. She doesn’t figure in the deal any more, so that part’s swell. But…”
“She’ll kill me when she finds out, Dolly! She’ll know I took it, and—” She began to cry again, a low helpless sobbing that cut through me like a knife. “It’s a-all right, Dolly. I d-don’t mean to m-make you feel bad. I g-guess I should have known that you c-couldn’t really l-like—”
“Baby,” I said. “Listen to me, honey. Like isn’t the word for the way I feel about you. I love you, understand? You’ve got to believe that. That’s why we’ve got to go slow on this, because if we do it the wrong way—what you’re suggesting—we’ll never be together. They’ll have us both in jail.”
“But—”
“Listen to me. Let me ask the questions, and you answer ’em…You’re supposed to be out shopping tonight? Okay, the store was closed and you had to go on to another one. That takes care of that. Now, how about this dough your aunt had hidden. She doesn’t know that you knew about it, does she?”
“N-no. But—”
“Just answer the questions. Where did she keep it? How did you happen to find out about it?”
“Down in the cellar. Behind some old boards and boxes. I was down there one day, cleaning out the furnace, and she didn’t know I was there. She pulled the boards and boxes away, and there was a hole in the wall and the money was in it. In sort of a little suitcase. She took it out and counted it, mumbling and cursing—acting like she was half-crazy, a-and—she scared me to death, Dolly! I was afraid s-she might see me and—”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “The old miser act, huh? Did you ever see her down there again? When was the last time?”
“That was. It was the only time, about three months ago. The stairs are awfully steep, and I always go whenever there’s anything to—”
“Uh-huh, sure. Well, don’t you see, honey? It’s all right. Anyway, it’s all right for the present. Why, hell, it might be a year before she misses the dough.”
She saw what I was leading up to, and she started getting frantic all over again. It might not be a year. Or even a day. The old gal might be checking over the dough right this moment, and—
“Stop it!” I said. “Get me, baby? I said to stop, and that’s what I mean…Your aunt doesn’t know you took the money. She isn’t going to know it. I go back on the job Monday. I’ll have the three hundred-odd you got for me within a month or so. You’ll put it back in that satchel, and you’ll put this back tonight and—”
“No! I—”
“Yes! Don’t you see, honey? We haven’t got any choice. If you didn’t go home tonight, the old gal would look for her dough right away. It’s the first thing she’d think of. She’d know you’d taken it, and the police would pick you up in no time…You don’t want that, do you? You see I’m right, don’t you?”
“Y-yes.” She nodded reluctantly. “Y-you—you really do love me, Dolly?”
“I wish I had time for a demonstration,” I said, and I wasn’t just woofing. “But you’ve been gone pretty long as it is. I’ll drive you back over there, drop you off at the shopping center, and we’ll get together in a day or two. Have a hell of a time for ourselves.”
I stuffed the money back into her pockets
, petting and kidding her until she was smiling. She was still pretty nervous and scared, but she thought she could swing it all right. She had the downstairs bedroom. The old woman slept upstairs, and once she went up for the night she stayed up.
“It’s a cinch,” I said. “You won’t have a bit of trouble, baby. Now, let’s have one big kiss and then we’ll be on our way.”
We had it. I headed the car across town. She rode with her head on my shoulder, hardly saying a word; pretty well at peace with the world. And that was the way I wanted her, of course, but me, I wasn’t feeling so good.
Mona didn’t know how often her aunt counted her money. She’d only caught her at it the one time, but there were probably plenty of other times she didn’t know about. The old woman could be doing it right along, you know, when she sent Mona out to shop. It figured that she would, a dame that liked dough as well as she did. And if she did it before I got that three-forty-five back…
It wouldn’t take her five minutes to beat the truth out of Mona. Staples would have to return the money, and I’d be returned to jail. On a double rap, probably: the store’s charges and a charge of getting Mona to steal.
I wondered if maybe I wasn’t playing this the wrong way.
I couldn’t think of any other.
Of course, if the old woman had had any real dough, it would be different. If she’d had thousands instead of hundreds—enough to do something with, you know, enough so’s you wouldn’t mind sticking your neck out—well, I’d have known exactly what to do, then. She was a rotten, worthless old bitch. She had something coming to her, and I was just the boy to deliver it. And—and, hell! There didn’t have to be much risk. Some, sure, but not much. Because Pete Hendrickson had something coming to him, too; and if he wasn’t built to be a fall guy I’d never seen one.
Yes, sir, I knew just how I’d use Pete. A plan popped into my mind almost without me thinking. But for a few hundred—huh-uh. Or even a few thousand. When and if I ever pulled anything like that, I’d be playing for the jackpot. One big haul, and then Mona and—
