A Hell of a Woman

by Jim Thompson

  “We-el”—he hesitated—“yes. I can’t say that I disagree with you. You’d attribute this, then, to merely another of the mental aberrations peculiar to our clientele? Spending their last dollar on—”

  “Like I say,” I said, “I don’t think about ’em at all. Don’t even try to figure them out. All I’m interested in is have they got the money, and can I get it away from ’em.”

  “Hear, hear!” He clapped his hands together. “Spoken like a true Pay-E-Zee man. Well, toodle-oo, dear boy, and pleasant dreams.”

  I started for the door again.

  He called to me again.

  “For God’s sake!” I said, whirling around. “What the hell you want now, Stape? It ain’t enough I knock myself out all day. I got to stand around here half the goddamned night talking to you.”

  “Why, Frank,” he pouted. “I do believe you’re annoyed with me! Is there something about this case that—uh—Did I say something that disturbed you?”

  I told him sure he disturbed me. He bothered hell out of me. Hanging onto me this time of night when I wanted to get home and get my shoes off, and get some grub under my belt. “I’ve been working all day, know what I mean? I haven’t been sitting around on my butt reading newspapers.”

  “I see,” he nodded. “You feel a slight twinge of conscience. Mrs. Farrell tipped you off to Pete’s whereabouts—didn’t she?—and he no doubt guessed as much and—”

  “So why should that bother me?” I said. “It all turned out all right. They both got killed.”

  He frowned, staring at me; turning a little pale. Then, he laughed, unwillingly, shaking his head.

  “Oh, Frank,” he said. “What will I ever do with you?”

  “Keep me standing around here a while longer,” I said, “and you won’t have to do anything. I’ll keel over from hunger.”

  “Unthinkable!…’Night, Frank.”

  “’Night, Stape,” I said. And I headed for home.

  He didn’t know anything—didn’t even guess anything. He was just staying in character, that was all, and I’d been stupid to get upset about it. Hell, hadn’t he done the same thing a hundred times before? Picked at me; tried to rattle me! nosed around like a skunk in a garbage dump. Not because there was anything to act that way about, you understand. Just because he was the boss and you had to hold still for it, and being on the make himself he figured everyone else was.

  Yeah, I should have counted on it tonight. He figured I’d had a hard day, and you could almost always count on it after a hard day.

  So…

  So there wasn’t anything to get up in the air about. Not a damned thing at all; and everything was jake. But still I was glad to get home. I was glad to have Joyce’s arms around me, holding me tight; to hear her whisper that I was her boy—mother’s boy—and she would never leave me again.

  She held me, reaching up to stroke my head; and finally we sat down at the table side by side. It was all ready, the dinner I mean. She’d put it on the table when she heard my car. It was good and it was hot; and we sat next to each other, squeezing hands now and then. And I hadn’t had much appetite before—hadn’t thought I could eat a bite—but I really stowed it away.

  She poured the coffee. I lighted two cigarettes, and gave her one.

  “You asked me something last night,” I said. “Now I’d like to tell you the answer.”

  “I’m glad, Dolly. I was hoping you would.”

  “You asked me if I was glad you’d come back. All I’ve got to say is you’re damned right I am.”

  “Oh?” She hesitated. Then she leaned forward and kissed me. “I’m glad that you’re glad, Dolly. It’s wonderful to be back.”

  She cleared away the dishes, and I helped her. She didn’t want me to, but I did, anyway. I wiped while she washed them; and then we moved into the living room. The light was turned down low. She curled up next to me on the lounge, her legs pulled up under her, her head resting against my shoulder.

  It was pretty nice, mighty peaceful and pleasant. I felt like if it could just be this way forever, I wouldn’t ask a damned thing more.

  “Dolly,” she said, and right at the same time I said, “Joyce.” We spoke together, and then we laughed, and she said, “Go ahead, honey. What were you going to say?”

  “Oh, nothing much,” I said. “Probably nothing will come of it.”

  “Of what?”

  “Well, it’s a chance to make some real dough, a pile of it. Anyway, it looks like a good chance. One of the fellows down at the store, one of the collectors, well, his brother-in-law is manager of a big gambling house out in Las Vegas. And the owners of the place haven’t been treating him right, see? He’s made ’em rich, and now they’re about to kick him out. So he wrote his brother-in-law, this collector down at the store, and told him that if he could get up some money, he—this manager—would place it with a shill, and let the shill win and—and—”

  She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t changed her position. But all of a sudden the room seemed to have gotten cold, and her shoulder felt stiff against mine.

  “Well,” I said, “I guess maybe that isn’t such a good idea. Might get in trouble on a deal like that. But there’s another proposition I run across, and—”

  “Dolly,” she said. “I have to know. Where did you get that money?”

  15

  I leaned forward and stamped out my cigarette in an ash tray. I stayed leaned forward while I lighted another one, and then I sat back again, and I yawned.

  “Man, am I tired! You about ready to turn in, honey?”

  “Dolly…”

  “What?” I said. “Oh, the money! I thought I told you about that. I caught a few old accounts at home last night, people that really owed us a wad, and—”

  “I saw it, Dolly. I don’t know how much there was, but I know there was a lot. A whole bag full.”

  I turned around and stared at her. I gave her the hard eye, trying to stare her down, and she didn’t flinch. There was a little frown on her forehead, but it wasn’t unfriendly. She didn’t look tough or like she might get tough. If she’d been that way, I’d’ve known what to do. But the way it was, I didn’t. I couldn’t’ve slugged her if I’d been paid to.

  I couldn’t do anything.

  The silence must have gone on for five minutes. Finally, she reached out and took one of my hands in hers. And spoke.

  “I came back to you, Dolly. It wasn’t easy after everything that had happened between us, but I felt that I had to. I loved you and I wanted to help you.”

  “Well,” I said, “you don’t hear me kicking, do you?”

  “Do you remember last night, honey? Don’t you think that after that—d-don’t you know that I love you and you can trust me, and that all I want is to help you?”

  “I tell you,” I said. “I’ll bet we get waked up pretty early in the morning. I notice they’ve got a couple of cars of gravel switched onto the siding out here, and they’ll probably be hooking onto ’em—”

  She stood up, smoothed down her house dress. She looked down at me, frowning slightly; gave me a little nod like a teacher dismissing a kid.

  “All right, Dolly. I guess there’s nothing more I can say. Perhaps it’s my fault for leaving you, going off in a tantrum when I should have known that you were—that a man who acted as you did was—wasn’t himself and might…Oh, Dolly! Dolly! What have you d-done…?”

  She threw her hands over her face and sat down on the lounge again, crying. Sobbing helplessly. And she seemed so alone, as lost and scared as I’d been last night.

  “Joyce,” I said. “Please, baby. What the hell? What are you acting that way for?”

  “Y-you…you know why. A-all that money—I hoped you’d tell me, that there’d be some innocent explanation. I d-didn’t know what it c-could be, but I hoped. And now I know that you can’t explain. Y-you’re afraid, and—”

  “Aw, now, wait a minute,” I said. “Wait just a minute, baby.”

  I tried
to pull her onto my lap. She moved her shoulders, shaking off my hands.

  I waited a minute, looking at her, listening to her. Feeling myself come apart inside. Then, I tried again, and that time I made it.

  “I wanted to tell you about it,” I said. “But I wasn’t sure I was going to get to keep it, see, so I thought I’d better hold off a few days. Otherwise you’d be counting on it, and then you’d be disappointed.”

  “I d-don’t…” She pulled her head away from my chest and looked at me. “What—how do you mean—?”

  “I found that money.”

  “Oh, Dolly!” She started to cry again. “Please. Not any more, I j-just can’t stand it if you lie to me any—”

  “I’m not lying. I know it sounds crazy as hell; I could hardly believe it myself. But it’s true.”

  “B-but it—”

  “I’m telling you. I’ll tell you if you give me a chance. You want me to tell you or not?”

  She sniffled, and looked at me again. I thought she was never going to stop looking, but finally she nodded.

  “A-all right, Dolly. But p-please don’t—if it isn’t true, d-don’t—”

  “Well,” I said. “I can’t guarantee that you’ll believe me. I’ve been afraid that no one would believe me, and that’s what makes it so hard to know what to do.”

  “I w-want to believe you, honey. There’s nothing I want more.”

  “Well, it happened last night. One of my accounts—a skip named Estill—I got a tip that he was living out on West Agnew Street. So I beat it out there, and the house was empty. If he’d ever lived in the place, he wasn’t any more. Well, I got my flash out of the car and went inside, and—”

  “Went inside?” She frowned. “Why?”

  “Why?” I said. “Well, you’d know if you’d ever done any collecting, honey; if you’d ever worked for an outfit like Pay-E-Zee. We always go in if we can get in. You might pick up a telephone number off the wall, you know, or maybe there’s been an old letter left behind. Something that will give you a lead on the skip.”

  “Oh,” she said; and her frown faded and some of the doubt went out of her eyes. “Go on, honey.”

  “So I went in, and I looked around from room to room and I couldn’t find a thing. Not a scrap of paper, or an address or nothing. It looked like—well, it almost looked like someone had gone to a lot of trouble to see that nothing was left behind. Like everything had been washed and scrubbed before they left. It was very screwy, know what I mean? It got me curious. So I kept on looking, and finally I found this—this little satchel, pushed way back on the shelf on one of the bedroom closets. I opened it up and looked inside, and I’m telling you, honey, it really threw me for a loop…”

  I paused to light a cigarette. I offered her one—giving her a quick size-up—and I took a long deep breath. She’d swallowed it all, so far. It was a pretty good yarn, and she was anxious to swallow it.

  “What did you say this man’s name was, honey? This man you were tracing when—”

  “Estill, Robert Estill. I’ve got his card right here in my pocket if you want to look at it.”

  She said, oh, no; but she hesitated a second first. So I took the card out and showed it to her. It was on the level—actually his card—which was a hell of a lot more than I could say for him. We’d got two payments out of him, and then he’d done the disappearing act.

  “I can show you the empty house, too,” I said—and I could have shown one to her. “It’s at 1825 West Agnew, and I can drive you out there right now.”

  “N-no, that’s not necessary. I—How much money is there, Dolly?”

  I started to lie, to tell her there was five or ten grand or some such figure. Because she might ride along with that where she might not with more. And once she’d started riding, the rest would be fairly simple. I could say—well, I could pretend like I’d invested part of the dough. Or gambled with it. Or—or done something to make myself a pile.

  But she wasn’t completely sold, yet. Not so sold, anyway, that it wouldn’t be awfully easy to unsell her. If she asked to look at the money, to count it—

  I told her the truth.

  She jumped and almost fell off my lap.

  “Dolly! Oh, my goodness, honey! A h-hundred thous—It must have been stolen! Or it could be kidnap money, or—”

  “It’s not marked,” I said. “I know that. I checked it over, but good!”

  “It’s bound to be something like that! It just has to be. You’ve got to take it to the police, Dolly!”

  “And suppose there is something shady about it—like there probably is? Where does that leave me, a guy like me—a floater with no friends or background? I’ll tell you what would happen. If they couldn’t beat me into signing some kind of confession, they’d just lock me up and keep me until they could dig up the right answers.”

  “But if you took the money in, that should prove that—”

  “I tell you, they’d never believe me! They’d think I just got scared and was trying to do a cover-up. That’s what makes it so hard, why I’ve been so worried. I won’t say that I don’t want to keep it, but what difference would it make if I didn’t? The story sounds screwy. I can hardly believe it myself, and I don’t reckon you believe it and—”

  I shoved her off my lap suddenly. I went into the kitchen and reached a pint out of the cupboard, and I took a long stiff slug from the bottle.

  I’d thought of something right while I was talking to her, something about the money. And it had rattled me like lightning on a tin roof. The dough wasn’t marked, I knew that. But suppose there was something actually shady about it, that it actually hadn’t belonged to the old woman? Suppose the cops or the FBI were on the lookout for certain serial numbers…

  I shivered. Then I remembered…and I sighed with relief. Mona had bailed me out of jail with part of the money four days ago. If the stuff was hot, I’d have known about it by now.

  I put the bottle back in the cupboard. I turned back around, and Joyce was there and she threw her arms around me.

  “I believe you, Dolly,” she said, her voice sort of desperate. “I believe every word of it.”

  “Well, gosh,” I said, “I’ll be frank with you, honey. I wouldn’t blame you much if you didn’t.”

  “W-what are you going to do, Dolly? We can’t keep it.”

  “Well I don’t know,” I said. “I mean, what else can we do? I won’t say that I don’t want to keep it, but even if—”

  “No! Oh, no, honey. There must be some way to—to—”

  “How? You name some way where I won’t have to go to jail, and probably get loused up for the rest of my life.”

  “We-el. Well, couldn’t you go out to that neighborhood and make some inquiries? Find out—”

  “Huh-uh! Attract a lot of attention to myself, and maybe have someone call the cops? Not me. I was out there after dark and no one saw me. I’m in the clear so far and that’s where I’m staying.”

  “But we just c-can’t—”

  “So tell me what we can do,” I said. “Just tell me and I’ll do it. You don’t want me to go to jail, do you?”

  “N-no. Oh, no, dear.”

  “If I thought it would do any good,” I said, “I would. But all I can see is getting fouled up. It wouldn’t help anyone. That much money, if it was stolen it must have been insured and the insurance money’s already been paid over. No one’s out anything but the insurance companies, and you know those birds. They already got half the money in the world. Got it from gypping people—foreclosing on farms and giving everybody a hard time. I see no reason why I should stick my neck out for some thieving insurance company.”

  She was silent. Thinking.

  I stooped down and kissed her on top of the head.

  “You and me, Joyce,” I said. “We never really had a chance, honey. It was always one goddamned dump after another, never having a nickel to spare…Hell, I tell you. You may try hard—you may patch things up temporarily—but you g
o on living like that, and sooner or later…”

  Her arms tightened. She whispered, “Oh, Dolly. Oh, I love you so much, honey.”

  “A hundred thousand,” I said softly, “and it belongs to us just as much as it belongs to anyone. A hundred thousand…A decent house. A place with lots of windows so that the sunlight could stream in, and…and decent furniture instead of junk. And a good car for a change. And no worries. Not being half out of your mind all the time, wondering how the hell to make both ends meet. And—”

  “And—?” she whispered.

  “Well, sure,” I said. “Why not? I’m all in favor of kids, if people can take care of ’em.”

  She sighed and hugged me closer.

  “I knew you’d feel that way, honey. You were always so good about so many things, I don’t know why I ever thought that—that—”

  Her voice trailed off.

  I waited, stroking her hair.

  “I don’t know, Dolly. I want to—I want to so much—”

  “Why don’t you look at it,” I said. “Feel it. Count it. Let’s count it together, honey, figure out how we can spend it. Like to do that, huh?”

  “Well—” She hesitated. “No! No, I’d better not. It’s hard enough to think straight as it is. Let’s—let’s just not talk about it any more. Let’s…let’s…”

  So we didn’t talk about it any more.

  I picked her up in my arms, and carried her into the bedroom.

  16

  I had a good night.

  I got off to a good start the next morning. Joyce was pretty thoughtful and a shade pale around the gills, as the saying is, but that was the way it should be. She was a swell kid—always been on the level and all—and naturally something that wasn’t strictly kosher would give her a jolt.

  I bought a paper on the way into town. I had to turn through it twice before I found the story about—well, you know—and it wasn’t really about that, then. It was just mentioned in passing in connection with a little squib about the old woman’s estate.