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After the last box had been emptied, the final figure stood at ninety-three thousand dollars. Brad had been almost accurate in his estimate of what he had hidden away for what he had called a rainy day. Neither Joh
The visit to the lawyer’s office and the round of the banks had taken up most of the morning and Rudolph had to hurry to catch his plane, which was to leave Dallas for Washington at noon. As he rushed out of the suite, carrying his bag and small briefcase, he saw that the only bottles of the array in the salon that had been opened had been the one Coke he had taken himself and the fifth of bourbon that Brad had drunk from.
Brad had offered him the use of his car to take him to the airport. “This morning, anyway,” he had said, trying to smile, “I still got my Cadillac. Might as well enjoy it.” But Rudolph had refused and called for a taxi. As he climbed into the taxi he asked Joh
On the plane he did not eat the lunch nor drink the two Manhattans. He got the Comptroller’s estimates out of his briefcase and tried to work, but he couldn’t concentrate on the figures before him. He kept thinking about Brad, doomed, branded, bankrupt, with a jail sentence hanging over his head. Ruined for what? For a money-digging Hollywood tart. It was sickening. He loved her, Brad had said, it had been worth it. Love, the Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse. At least in Texas. It was almost impossible to associate Brad with the emotion. He was a man born, Rudolph saw now, for saloons and brothels. Maybe he had known it all the time and had refused to acknowledge it. Still, it was always difficult to believe in the existence of the love of others. Perhaps his refusal to accept the fact that Brad actually was capable of love was condescension on his part. He himself loved Jean, he thought, but would he face ruin for her? The answer had to be no. Was he then more superficial than the blubbering, sweating man in the ruffled shirt? And was he responsible in some way for the hideous day his friend was passing through now and the even more hideous days to come? When he had killed Brad’s chances with Calderwood on the steps of the Country Club, the afternoon of the wedding, had he subconsciously prepared Brad’s fate for him? When he had invested in Brad’s business, out of guilt, hadn’t he really known that one day Brad would revenge himself, and in the only way possible to Brad, by cheating? And had he not, in fact, wanted it to happen to rid himself finally of Brad because Brad had not believed him about Virginia? And even more disturbingly, if he had succumbed to Virginia Calderwood’s proposals and slept with her, would she have married Brad, and in marrying him, carried her husband out of the area of his friend’s protection? For there was no doubt about it—he had protected Brad through the years, first in calling him East for a job that dozens of other men could initially have done better, then in training him carefully (and overpaying him in the process) so that in Brad’s mind at least the idea of being awarded the top post in the firm was a reasonable one. At what point was it moral to stop protecting a friend? Never?
It would have been easier to allow Joh
When the bankruptcy was finally settled, he decided, he would somehow pension Brad off. Five thousand dollars a year, paid secretly, so that neither Brad’s creditors nor the government could touch it? Would the money, which Brad would so desperately need and have to accept, pay for the sting of having to accept it from a man who had turned his back on him?
The seat-belt sign went on. They were making the approach for the landing. Rudolph put the papers back into his briefcase, sighed, and hooked up his belt.
When he got to the Mayflower there was a message waiting for him from his secretary. It was urgent, the message read, for him to call his office as soon as possible.
He went up to his room, where nobody had bothered to supply any liquor, and called his office. Twice, the line was busy, and he nearly decided to abandon the attempt to reach his office and get in touch with the Senator who was most likely to help him in keeping Billy Abbott out of harm’s way in the United States army. It was not something that could be arranged over the phone and he hoped to make an appointment for lunch the next day and then take an afternoon plane for New York.
On the third try, he got his secretary. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Mayor,” Walter said, sounding exhausted, “but I’m afraid you’d better get up here right away. After the office closed last night and I’d gone home, all hell broke loose, I just found out about it this morning or I’d have tried to get through to you sooner.”
“What is it? What is it?” Rudolph asked impatiently.
“It’s all terribly confused and I’m not sure that I have the sequence of events all straight,” Walter said. “But when Ottman tried to go into the dormitory last night, they had it barricaded, the students, I mean, and they wouldn’t let the police in. President Dorlacker tried to get Ottman to call the police off, but Ottman refused. Then when they tried to get in again, the students began to throw things. Ottman got hit in the eye with a stone, nothing serious, they say, but he’s in the hospital, and the police gave up, at least for last night. Then other students organized a mass march and I’m afraid they demonstrated in front of your house. I went out to your house just awhile ago and the lawn is in frightful condition. Mrs. Jordache is under sedation and …”
“You can tell me the rest of the story when I get there,” Rudolph said. “I’m getting the first plane out of Washington.”
“I thought that’s what you would do,” Walter said, “and I took the liberty of sending Scanlon down with your car. He’ll be waiting at La Guardia.”
Rudolph picked up his bags and hurried down to the lobby and checked out. Billy Abbott’s military career would have to hang in abeyance for awhile.
Scanlon was a fat man who wheezed when he talked. He was on the police force, but was nearly sixty years old and was scheduled for retirement. He suffered from rheumatism and it was almost as an act of mercy that he had been assigned as chauffeur to Rudolph. As an object lesson in civic economy Rudolph had sold the former mayor’s car, which had been owned by the town, and used his own car.
“If I had it to do all over again,” Scanlon said breathily, “I swear to God I’d never sign on any police force in a town where there was college students or niggers.”
“Scanlon, please,” Rudolph said. He had been trying to correct Scanlon’s vocabulary since the first day, with little success. He was sitting up front with the old patrolman, who drove at a maddeningly slow pace. But he would have been offended if Rudolph took the wheel.
“I mean it, sir,” Scanlon said. “They’re just wild animals. With no more respect for the law than a pack of hyenas. As for the police—they just laugh at us. I don’t like to tell you your business, Mr. Mayor, but if I was you, I’d go right to the Governor and ask for the Guard.”