A Hell of a Woman

by Jim Thompson

  Well, we got into Illinois, and I’m practically dead of doughnut poisoning by that time. I’ve been working my can off, and all the time I have to eat in dumps, taking a lot of guff from the hired help just because I’m a kid and I can’t tip or anything. So just about then I began to get wise. I made a few call-backs myself, and then I jumped this crap artist. I wasn’t mean about it or anything. Just asked him how about shaking it out fair from now on. And that shows how little I knew of the ways of life. The son-of-a-bitch slugged me with a water pitcher, and then he kicked the hell out of me. And then he fired me off the crew. And I wanted to fight or argue about it or something, but somehow I just couldn’t. Getting slugged and kicked when I’d been trying to be nice—well, I couldn’t do anything for a while. Just hole up in my room and think.

  Well, pretty soon I joined up with another crew, and inside of a month I was manager of it. Me, just a kid, managing a crew, so I guess you can see I had what it took. But there were a couple of these punks that were always kicking, hinting maybe that I was crapping them on the can’t-confirms. So finally I got ’em alone in my room, and beat the sap out of them. And then I gave ’em the gate. But they still weren’t satisfied. It wasn’t enough that I had to go out and dig up a couple of more men. They wrote to the home office, and the next thing I know I’m yanked off the crew and I can’t ever work for that company again.

  It went on and on like that, every damn thing I tried. I work into a nice premium deal, and the superintendent robs me on territory. I buy gold, and the refinery gives me the cob; even the big buyers do it, by God. They try to kid me that my eighteen-karat is fourteen and that the fourteen is ten, and so on. And I’ll bet I was skinned out of thousands of dollars before I saw I was struggling against hopeless odds, and moved into another racket.

  It was that way with everything I did, the aluminum ware, the pots and pans, the premiums, the magazines: everything. One way or another, I’d get the blocks put to me; so I will mercifully spare you the sordid details. I often thought, I kept thinking, that if I had some little helpmeet to dwell with, the unequal struggle would not be so unequal. But I didn’t have any more luck that way than I did in the others. Tramps, that’s all I got. Three goddamned tramps in a row…or maybe it was four or five, but it doesn’t matter. It was like they were all the same person.

  Finally, I was working in this small city in the middle-west. Outside collection-sales. It could have been pleasant and remunerative, but my boss was just about the most no-good son-of-a-bitch I ever worked for. Character named Staples. He just wasn’t satisfied unless he was giving me a hard time, and when I go home at night, exhausted with the struggles against unequal odds, it’s more of the same. Because the babe I’m married to then, she’s out of this world, what I mean. The queen of the tramps, and a plenty tough bitch to boot.

  To get ahead of myself a little, she starts giving me a hard time one night, talking dirty to me and using bad language. So like I always do, I try to be reasonable and show her the error of her ways. I say it is not the best time to talk when a man just comes home from work, and perhaps we will both be in a better mood after we have a bite to eat. I say, will she please fix us a bite, and I will cheerfully help her. Well, for answer she gives me some more of the dirty talk. And when I try to pet her and soothe her down, gently but firmly, she somehow slips and falls into the bathtub.

  I helped her out and apologized, although I hadn’t done a goddamned thing. “I’m very sorry, Joyce,” I said. “Now, you just take it easy and I’ll fix us a nice dinner…” That’s the way I talked to her, but you know how much good it does trying to be nice to a tramp. She almost caved my skull in with a scrubbing brush. Then, when I leave the house to calm myself, she ruins all my clothes and pulls out. I guess she saw that she couldn’t get anything more out of me, and it was time to latch onto another sucker.

  Meanwhile, to go back and take events in their proper order, I have met one of the sweetest, finest little girls in the world. Her name is Mona, and she lives with a mean old bitch of an aunt. The old woman’s holding her prisoner, practically, working her tail off and making her do a lot of dirty things. She, this little girl, asks me to rescue her and let her be my helpmeet, and then we can live happily forever after. And touched by her plea, I agree to do so. I agree even before I know about all this dough the old woman had stashed away, which—when you come to think about it—is rightfully Mona’s, because the old bitch has given her a hard time every day for years. And if a little girl ever had a hundred grand coming, she did.

  Well, I go over to the house that night, and, hell, I wouldn’t have laid a finger on that old woman. But she keeps egging me on, talking dirty and giving me a bad time. So there just wasn’t any other way out.

  Well, just about then, maybe a few minutes later, this fellow Pete Hendrickson came in. I think maybe he was a Nazi or maybe a Communist—one of ’em that slipped over here during the war. But, anyway, he was a no-good bastard; he admitted being a bum, himself. And he would have given me a hard time, too. So there was only one thing to do about him.

  Well, I’d done it to him; and I was wearing gloves, but I wiped the gun off good and put it in the old woman’s hand. And just as I’d finished, this Mona shows up with the money.

  And she sees this Nazi or Communist or whatever he was, and she goes all to pieces. Acts like I was a criminal or something. Acted like I hadn’t done it all for her.

  Well, she pulled herself together when she saw how jarred I was, the notion I was getting. She said it was just a shock, seeing him there when she hadn’t expected to, that she just didn’t like to have it happen to anyone unless it was her aunt. And she was sorry and so on, and she’d do whatever I asked.

  So I’m a pretty understanding guy, and I kind of liked her for feeling that way. If she did actually feel that way. So everything was jake between us again.

  I told her what she was supposed to do, what to say to the cops. I told her it would be a leadpipe cinch, and in a couple of weeks we could get together. Then, I kissed her and left, taking the money with me.

  It—the money, I mean—was in a black leather bag, something like a file-briefcase or a doctor’s medicine kit. It was packed tight and it was heavy, about sixty or seventy pounds. And all the way home I was wondering where in the hell I could keep it. I was afraid to hide it in the house. That was a pretty bad neighborhood, and it would be just my luck to have some son-of-a-bitch break in and lift it. I finally decided to carry it with me, at least for a while. I could bury it down in the bottom of my sample case—throw out some of the samples if I had to—and keep it with me all day long.

  I got home, and took it into the house. I set my sample case up on the coffee table, opened the lid and tried fitting the bag inside. I kind of fiddled around with it, trying it this way and that way. I was sort of delaying the pleasure, I guess, letting my anticipation build up. And I guess probably I was a little afraid. Because with a hard luck guy like me, damned near anything can happen. That little satchel might turn out to be filled with bricks or magazines. Or some kind of booby trap that would blow my head off when…

  I opened it. It bulged open the second I pressed the catch, and I made myself look inside. And I sort of moaned, nickered like a colt going for its mother.

  It was there, all right. Packs and packs of paper-banded bills. Fives, tens, and twenties. I dipped my hands down into it, and brought them up again. And it was all money—no false packages, no junk: I didn’t have to count it. Hell, I could almost count it in my head…a hundred grand.

  A hundred grand!

  And Mona. I’d rescued her from her wicked aunt and meted out justice to this guy who had molested her, and I’d recovered this money which was rightfully hers. And soon we would shake the dust of this old land from our feet, depart this scene of my many tragic disappointments, and we would go to some sunny clime like Mexico. And, man, what a happy life we’d lead. Me and that sweet child, that honey babe, and a hundred thousand dollars.<
br />
  Or practically a hundred thousand. I’d probably have to feed a few hundred into my accounts to keep Staples happy.

  I dipped down into the money again, squeezing and rubbing it between my fingers, hating to let go of it. It was old, of course, but still clean and crisp. And, yeah, hell—you think I haven’t been around?—it was the real thing. I make no pretense of being a great mental genius, but there is one thing I cannot be fooled on, dear reader. The green goods. I cannot be deceived about counterfeit. You get stuck a few times like I have, when you are an innocent, trusting kid, and have to make it up out of your own pocket. And you learn to spot the goddamned stuff a hundred yards away.

  I took six bills, thirty dollars, from a packet of fives and stuffed them into my wallet. That would give me a good day at the store, and keep this unappreciative character, Staples, who was always giving me a hard time, from giving me a hard time.

  I dropped the rest of the pack back into the satchel, and started to fasten the catch. And I was a happy man, dear reader. I had won out in the unequal struggle, with every son-of-a-bitch in the country, even my own father, giving me a bad time. I had forged onward and upward against unequal odds, my lips bloody but unbowed. And from now on it would be me and Mona and all this dough, living a dream life in some sunny clime—Mexico or Canada or somewhere—the rest of the goddamned world could go to hell.

  But though I seldom complain, you have doubtless read between the lines and you know that I am one hard luck bastard. So, now, right as I stood on the doorstep of Dreams Come True, my whole world crumpled beneath me. I had all this dough and I had Mona—or I soon would have her—and then I looked up, and (TO BE CONTINUED).

  …She was in her nightgown. She was all prettied up like I hadn’t seen her since I don’t know when; and she wasn’t more than a dozen feet away. Standing in the entrance to the little hall that led back to the bedroom.

  Smiling at me, but sort of watchful. Kind of smile-frowning.

  Joyce.

  My wife.

  13

  I didn't think she’d seen the money. I wasn’t sure, but the lid of the sample case was up, you know, and it wasn’t likely that she would have.

  I let it drop casually—the lid, I mean—and locked it. I said, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I—” Her eyes flashed, but she held onto the smile—“I still had my key, Dolly.”

  “So you had a key,” I said. “So suppose you had a nickel. You got to make a telephone call with it?”

  “Please, Dolly. Don’t make it any harder for me than it is.”

  “And you never made anything hard for me, did you?” I said. “You didn’t do your goddamned best to wreck this house before you left. You didn’t screw up every goddamned stitch of clothes I had. You didn’t—”

  “I know. I’m sorry, Dolly. But I’ve thought things over, and if you’ll just listen to me—”

  “Listen, hell,” I said. “Listening to dames like you is what’s put me where I am today.” And then I shrugged and said, “All right, spill it. I’m listening.”

  I’d decided I’d better. Because maybe she had seen that dough, and anyway this was no time to get into a brawl. I had to live nice and quiet for the next few weeks. My nerves wouldn’t take anything else, and anything else—anything that might draw attention to me—just wasn’t safe.

  She hesitated, looking at me, a little suspicious I guess of the sudden change. I said, “Well, come on. Give. Sit down and I’ll get us a drink.”

  “I don’t think I want a drink.” She shook her head. “You’ve been drinking quite a bit, haven’t you, Dolly? There’s all kinds of bottles around and it looks like you slept in the bed with your shoes on. And—”

  I was staring at her. Not saying anything, just staring. She cut off with the nagging fast, stretched her smile.

  “Just listen to me, will you? I’m not back in the house an hour, and already I’m—you get us a drink, honey. Please.”

  I got a bottle out of the cupboard, and a couple of glasses. I came back into the living room; and she was sitting in the same chair Pete had sat in. And, well, it gave me an awfully funny feeling.

  I poured the drinks and handed her one. My hands shook, and I patted the lounge at my side. “Why so unsociable? Why not sit over here?”

  “We-el. You really want me to?”

  “What the hell? Sure.”

  “Well—” She sat down on the lounge kind of crossways to me. “Well, here I am.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “There you are, all right.”

  “I—I guess it would be too much to hope…I guess I shouldn’t ask if you’re glad to see me.”

  I let myself frown a little; thoughtful, you know. I took a sip of my drink, lighted a cigarette and passed her one.

  “Well, it’s kind of a funny deal,” I said. “A guy’s wife wrecks damned near everything he has, and then she takes off for a week—almost a week—and he thinks it’s all over. He doesn’t know where the hell she’s been, what she’s been doing with herself. She shows back up without any warning, and for all he knows—”

  “I’ve been in Kansas City, Dolly. I’d started back to Houston; I was going to get my old job back—”

  “Where’d you get the money?”

  “From the owner of the club. I called him collect after I left here that night, and he wired me two hundred to get back on.”

  “Oh.”

  “No, Dolly. Please don’t act like that, honey. You know I wouldn’t—couldn’t. You know there’s never been anyone but you.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” I said. “So you stopped off in K.C., huh?”

  “Yes, I had a four-hour layover there between trains, and then I was going on. But…” She paused a moment, looking down into her glass. “I don’t know quite how to put it, honey. Maybe it was getting off by myself for a while, being able to stand outside of things and look at them. I could see the whole picture that way, Dolly, the good and the bad, and it began to look a lot different to me. I began to wonder why things had turned out as they had. I wasn’t sure that I should come back, but I felt that I should at least think about it. So…so that’s what I did. I took a room in Kansas City, and I really thought. For the first time in months, I suppose. It was quiet and peaceful, and there wasn’t something to get me upset the minute I—”

  “Like me, for example?”

  “I’ve been more to blame than you, Dolly. Entirely to blame, I guess. I was responsible for the way I acted.”

  “Well,” I said, “I’m not throwing anything up to you, understand, but as long as you mention the subject yourself I…” I turned and looked at her, feeling the blood push up into my face. “What the hell you mean, you were responsible?”

  “Please, honey. I’m here to help you. I love you and I’m your wife, and it’s a wife’s place to stick by her husband.”

  I poured myself another drink, the neck of the bottle rattling against the glass. I threw it down at a gulp, and it calmed me down a little bit, but only on the outside. It didn’t change the way I felt.

  “You think I’m crazy, is that it?” I said. “Well, it wouldn’t be any goddamned wonder if I was. I’ve been knocking myself out for people almost from the time I began to walk, and all I got for it was a royal screwing. It’s like it was a plot, almost. The whole goddamned world sitting up nights to figure out how to give me a hard time. Every bastard and son-of-a-bitch in the world working together to—to—”

  I stopped. It was all true, by God, but somehow saying it out loud, saying it just then, it didn’t sound so good.

  “Well, anyway,” I said. “You’ve got to admit I’ve had plenty of hard luck.”

  “Of course you have, dear. So have a lot of other people.”

  “A lot of other people, hell! You name me just one person that’s got the rooking I’ve got. In his work and his home life and—”

  I stopped myself again.

  She slid over on the lounge, put one of her hands ov
er mine. “You do see it, don’t you, honey? And now that you understand and I understand, we can stop it before—We can do something about it.”

  I’d do something about it, all right. She may have thought she’d had a tough time before, but she hadn’t seen anything yet. I’d have her run out of here inside of a week, long before Mona and I were due to get together.

  “There’s…I don’t want to upset you, honey, but there’s something I want to ask.”

  “Yeah?” I said. “Well, go ahead.”

  “Maybe I’d better not. Not tonight. I’m sure you wouldn’t—uh—”

  “Come on. Spit it out.”

  “Well. About the money. I—Dolly!”

  I let go of her wrist, grinned and gave it a little pat. It had been a dumb thing to do, to cut her off before she had a chance to say whatever she was going to. But I just hadn’t been able to help myself.

  “’Scuse, please,” I said. “I guess seeing you in that nightgown I kind of lost my head. Now what about the money?”

  “We-el…nothing. Do you really like the gown, honey?”

  “Love it. What about the money?”

  She hesitated. Then, she smiled and shook her head. “Nothing, honey. No, really, it’s nothing. I was just going to say that—uh—well, I had quite a bit of money left from cashing in my ticket and all. And—uh—of course, I’ll have to pay it back, but we could use it for a while and…”

  She went on smiling at me, smiling into my eyes. And, of course, she was a goddamned liar like every other woman I’d ever known. But I couldn’t be sure she was lying now.