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“What do you want me to do,” Thomas asked, “walk? I got ten bucks to my name.”
Schultzy looked worriedly down at Quayles, who was begi
“It would serve you right if they filled you full of holes,” Schultzy said. “But you’ve been with me a long time …” He looked nervously up and down the hallway. “Here,” he said, taking some bills out of his wallet. “All I got. A hundred and fifty. And take my car. It’s downstairs, with the key in the ignition. Leave it in Reno in the airport parking lot and bus East from there. I’ll tell ’em you stole the car. Don’t get in touch with your wife, whatever you do. They’ll be after her. I’ll get in touch with her and tell her you’re ru
“Yes, Schultzy,” Thomas said.
“And I never want to hear from you again. Got that?”
“Yes.” Thomas made a move toward the door of his room.
Schultzy stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“My passport’s in there. I’ll be needing it.”
“Where is it?”
“In the top dresser drawer.”
“Wait here,” Schultzy said. “I’ll get it for you.” He turned the key in the lock and went into the room. A moment later he was back in the hall with the passport. “Here.” He slapped the booklet into Thomas’s hand. “And from now on try to think with your head instead of your cock. Now breeze. I got to start putting that bum together again.”
Thomas went down the steps, into the lobby, past the crap game. He didn’t say anything to the clerk, who looked at him curiously, because there was blood on his windjacket. He went out to the street. Schultzy’s car was parked right behind Quayles’s Cadillac. Thomas got in, started the motor and slowly drove toward the main highway. He didn’t want to be picked up this afternoon for a traffic violation in Las Vegas. He could wash the wind-jacket later.
Chapter 3
The date was for eleven o’clock, but Jean had phoned to say that she would be a few minutes late and Rudolph had said that was all right, he had a few calls to make, anyway. It was Saturday morning. He had been too busy to telephone his sister all week and he felt guilty about it. Since he had flown back from the funeral, he had usually managed at least two or three calls a week. He had suggested to Gretchen that she come East and stay with him in his apartment, which would mean that she would have the place to herself more often than not. Old man Calderwood refused to move the central office down to the city, so Rudolph couldn’t count on more than ten days a month in New York. But Gretchen had decided she wanted to stay in California, at least for awhile. Burke had neglected to leave a will, or at least one that anyone could find, and the lawyers were squabbling and Burke’s ex-wife was suing for the best part of the estate and trying to evict Gretchen from the house, among other unpleasant legal maneuvers.
It was eight o’clock in the morning in California, but Rudolph knew that Gretchen was an early riser and that the ringing of the phone wouldn’t awaken her. He placed the call with the operator and sat down at the desk in the small living room and tried to finish a corner of the Times crossword puzzle that had stumped him when he had tried it at breakfast.
The apartment had come furnished. It was decorated with garish solid colors and spiky metal chairs, but Rudolph had only taken it as a temporary measure and it did have a good small kitchen with a refrigerator that produced a lot of ice. He often liked to cook and eat by himself, reading at the table. That morning he had made the toast, orange juice, and coffee for himself early. Sometimes Jean would come in and fix breakfast for both of them, but she had been busy this morning. She refused to stay overnight, although she had never explained why.
The phone rang and Rudolph picked it up, but it wasn’t Gretchen. It was Calderwood’s voice, flat and twangy and old. Saturdays and Sundays didn’t mean much to Calderwood, except for the two hours on Sunday morning he spent in church. “Rudy,” Calderwood said, as usual without any polite preliminaries, “you going to be up here this evening?”
“I hadn’t pla
“I’d like to see you as soon as can be, Rudy.” Calderwood sounded testy. As he had grown older he had become impatient and bad tempered. He seemed to resent his increasing wealth and the men who had made it possible, as he resented the necessity of depending more and more upon dealing with financial and legal people in New York for important decisions.
“I’ll be in the office on Tuesday morning, Mr. Calderwood,” Rudolph said. “Can’t it wait until then?”
“No, it can’t wait until then. And I don’t want to see you in the office. I want you to come to the house.” The voice on the telephone was grating and tense. “I’ll wait until tomorrow night after supper, Rudy.”
“Of course, Mr. Calderwood,” Rudy said.
The phone clicked, as Calderwood hung up, without saying good-bye.
Rudolph frowned at the phone as he put it down. He had tickets for the Giant game at the Stadium for himself and Jean Sunday afternoon and Calderwood’s summons meant he’d have to miss it. Jean had had a boy friend on the team when she went to Michigan and she knew a surprising amount about football so it was always fun to go to a game with her. Why didn’t the old man just lie down and die?
The phone rang again and this time it was Gretchen. Ever since Burke’s death, something had gone out of her voice, a sharpness, an eagerness, a quick music that had been special to her ever since she was a young girl. She sounded pleased to hear Rudolph, but dully pleased, like an invalid responding to a visit in her hospital bed. She said she was all right, that she was being kept busy going through Colin’s papers and sorting them and answering letters of condolence that still came drifting in and conferring with lawyers about the estate. She thanked him for the check he had mailed her the week before, saying that when the estate was finally settled she would pay back all the money he had sent her.
“Don’t worry about that,” Rudolph said. “Please. You don’t have to pay back anything.”
She ignored that. “I’m glad you called,” she said. “I was going to call you myself and ask for another favor.”
“What is it?” he asked, then said, “Hold on a second,” because the bell was ringing on the intercom from downstairs. He hurried over to the box and pushed the button.
“There’s a Miss Prescott in the lobby, Mr. Jordache.” It was the doorman, protecting him.
“Send her up, please,” Rudolph said, and went back to the phone. “I’m sorry, Gretchen,” he said, “what were you saying?”
“I got a letter from Billy from school yesterday,” she said, “and I don’t like the way it sounds. There’s nothing that you can grasp in it, but that’s the way he is, he never really tells you what’s bothering him, but somehow I have the feeling he’s in despair. Do you think you could find the time to go and visit him and see what’s wrong?”