David Alexander - Masters of Noir - Volume 2

“Why?”

“I’ve taken some money that doesn’t belong to me.”

“From whom?”

“Sam Fickens.”

“Your business partner,” she said.

“That’s right. You know we’ve been spending at a heavy clip, Doreen. The house was costly. A good buy, you don’t find many old colonials on an estate any more. But costly.”

“You’re sorry, Enos?”

“I’m not sorry for a thing,” I said. “Except that money ran short. Sam and I had this deal with the Birmingham company coming up. My share would cover the shortage. But the deal blew up. And Sam discovered the shortage the day before you and I left on this trip. He told me to go ahead and take the trip — and use it to figure out whether I want to make him sole owner of the company or spend a few years in prison.”

“Why, the dirty snake,” Doreen said, not without a degree of admiration in her voice. “It’s nothing short of blackmail.”

“True.”

“You’re not going to let him get away with it, are you?”

“What can I do?”

She looked at me oddly. “You’re asking me. You, a man, asking a woman?”

I colored a little. “I told you not to worry your head with it. I’ll figure something out.”

She lay back on her cot. I smoked a cigarette. I was lighting a second from it when she said, “Enos?”

“Yes?”

“If anything happened to Sam what would happen to the business?”

“I’d get his share. It’s not an unusual partnership arrangement.”

“Well, you didn’t hesitate when that cat was coming after you this afternoon, did you?”

I went cold under the muggy sweat on my body. “You mean kill Sam.”

“You’ve killed before, haven’t you?”

“That was war.”

“This is too. What’s the difference? A stranger with a yellow skin is out to kill you in a jungle. You kill him first. Everybody says wonderful, good guy, well done. Now a man is hunting you in a jungle of sorts — and with dirty weapons. You owe it to both of us to protect yourself.”

“The difference is in a little thing called the law, Doreen.”

She threw back her head and laughed, raised on her elbows and sat looking at me until I glanced away.

Then she turned on her side away from me. “I really thought I’d married a man with guts, Enos.” She sounded genuinely hurt, disappointed. And I’d been afraid of how she would react to the news that I’d embezzled some money.

I turned in, but I didn’t sleep. I lay there listening to the swamp, aware of her an arm’s length away.

Finally I said, “How would you go about it?”

“How’d you know I wasn’t asleep, Enos?”

“I could tell. I asked you a question.”

“Well, I’d do it with witnesses. Then I’d call the law, hand over the gun, and stand trial. That way, when you walk out of the courtroom, a free man, there can never be any kickbacks.”

“Just like that, huh? I’m going to confess to a murder and get off scot free?”

She sat up and turned to face me. Her face had changed. It was as if the angles and bones had shifted to form new shadows. She laughed, soft and low.

“Who said anything about murder, Enos? You know your people here in south Georgia. You know their code, the way they live, their outlook. Do you think a jury of such men will condemn another man for protecting the sanctity of his home?”

I wanted to tell her to stop talking right now. I didn’t want to think about killing Sam. He was a hard, greedy cookie without much mercy in his makeup, but he... Well, he had me in a corner.

He would use any weapon at hand. He’d proved that.

I’d worked hard. My part of the business was worth plenty. Sam was a swine, grabbing his chance to take it all.

It was really his fault. He was leaving me no out. He knew I wouldn’t face prison.

He’d asked for it...

He wasn’t in the office the day I got back to Mulberry. It was four o’clock before he came in. I heard him in the outer office talking to Miss Sims, our secretary, and then the door of our private office opened to admit him.

“Hello, Enos. Sims said you were back.”

He was a big, florid, meaty man. Meaty lips, hands, nose. His brows and hair were pale red. Sims had said he’d been out to the turpentine fields all day inspecting a new lease.

“How does the lease look?” I asked.

He gave me a smug grin. “You think the lease really concerns you, Enos?”

I studied his face. All I could see was a man gloating. “I’d hoped you’d softened your attitude, Sam.”

His laugh was his reply.

“You know I can make that few thousand up in a matter of weeks, Sam. We’ve been in business...”

“And business is business, Enos.” A sneer came into his eyes. “You should have thought of that. I needed a partner when we started this company.”

“And you don’t now?”

“Not a stinking crook. No, I don’t need that kind of partner.” He sat down behind his desk. “What’ll it be, Enos? Sign the papers? Or go to jail?”

“I don’t hanker to be locked up, Sam.”

“No,” he said acidly. “I was sure you wouldn’t. You’re too great a lover of life for that, too much the gladhanded popularity guy.”

It struck me that he hated me, had always hated me. To him, in this case, business was going to be a pleasure.

“I’ll make one last appeal, Sam...”

“Save it. I’ve said all I’m going to.”

“But I’ll say it anyhow. You know what my portion of the company is worth. Many times the few thousand I borrowed...”

“Stole, Enos, that’s the word.”

I drew in a breath while he sat and watched me and enjoyed himself.

“Well,” I said. “Surely you could pay a few thousand more...”

“You’ve had every dime you’re going to get for your share, Enos. That’s it. Now make up your mind. We either have the papers signed before noon tomorrow or I’m swearing out a warrant.”

I sat and looked at him for a minute. But I didn’t need to make a decision. It had been made all ready. It was seething in my blood and flashing hotly across my brain.

“Have you mentioned any of this to another living soul?” I asked.

“No.”

“If I make this sacrifice,” I said, “I’ll be doing it to keep my name absolutely clean.”

“I know that,” he said. “I know it’s my lever, my weapon, Enos. Made up your mind?”

I stood and nodded. “Come out to the house tonight. About eight. I have an errand to do, but Doreen will be there. You can chin with her if I’m late. Have a drink, if you like. I guess we might as well settle this with as little rancor as possible.”

“That’s sensible talk, Enos. I’m glad you’re taking it this well.”

“What can I do?”

“Not a damn thing,” he said in huge enjoyment. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there. Waiting for you.”

Early that evening I drove over to Macon to see a cousin who had been ill for some time. He was surprised and glad to see me. We made small talk for an hour or so. Business. My marriage. The weather. I left with a promise that I’d bring Doreen and we’d have a real old-fashioned Georgia watermelon cutting sometime soon.

I was back in Mulberry by nine-thirty. Driving through the elm and maple-lined back streets in the darkness I felt tension building in me. There was a thickness in my throat and a tingling in the tips of my fingers. The large, old houses, set beyond wide lawns, were peaceful, serene.

At the edge of town I turned left, picked up the sideroad that ran to The Willows, the fine old place I’d bought for Doreen.

I drove down the dark tunnel with weeping willows on either side. Then my headlights picked up the house, the wide veranda, the white columns. A portion of the downstairs was lighted.