Росс Макдональд - The Far Side of the Dollar

“It’s hard to say. He seems to be putting on the screws deliberately.”

She pushed her knitting to one side, and it fell on the floor unnoticed. Her faded pretty face wrinkled up as if she could feel the physical pressure of torture instruments. “He’s keeping us in hell, in absolute hell. But why?”

“He’s probably waiting for dark,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll be hearing from him soon. Twenty-five thousand dollars is a powerful attraction.”

“He’s welcome to the money, five times over. Why doesn’t he simply take it and give us back our boy?”

Her hand flung itself out, rattling the newspaper parcel beside her.

“Don’t fret yourself, Ellie.”

Hillman leaned over her and touched her pale gold hair. “There’s no use asking questions that can’t be answered. Remember, this will pass.”

His words of comfort sounded hollow and forced.

“So will I,” she said wryly and bitterly, “if this keeps up much longer.”

She smoothed her face with both hands and stayed with her hands in a prayerful position at her chin. She was trembling. I was afraid she might snap like a violin string. I said to Hillman: “May I speak to you in private? I’ve uncovered some facts you should know.”

“You can tell me in front of Elaine, and Dick for that matter.”

I noticed that Leandro was standing just inside the door.

“I prefer not to.”

“You’re not calling the shots, however.”

It was a curious echo of the man on the telephone. “Let’s have your facts.”

I let him have them: “Your son has been seen consorting with a married woman named Brown. She’s a blonde, show-business type, a good deal older than he is, and she seems to have been after him for money. The chances are better than even that Mrs. Brown and her husband are involved in this extortion bid. They seem to be on their uppers–” Elaine raised her open hands in front of her face, as if too many words were confusing her. “What do you mean, consorting?”

“He’s been hanging around with the woman, publicly and privately. They were seen together yesterday afternoon.”

“Where?” Hillman said.

“At The Barroom Floor.”

“Who says so?”

“One of their employees. He’s seen them before, and he referred to Mrs. Brown as ‘Tom’s girl friend, the older one.’ I’ve had corroborating evidence from the man who owns the court where the Browns are living. Tom has been hanging around there, too.”

“How old is this woman?”

“Thirty or more. She’s quite an attractive dish, apparently.”

Elaine Hillman lifted her eyes. There seemed to be real horror in them. “Are you implying that Tom has been having an affair with her?”

“I’m simply reporting facts.”

“I don’t believe your facts, not any of them.”

“Do you think I’m lying to you?”

“Maybe not deliberately. But there must be some ghastly mistake.”

“I agree,” Dick Leandro said from the doorway. “Tom has always been a very clean-living boy.”

Hillman was silent. Perhaps he knew something about his son that the others didn’t. He sat down beside his wife and hugged the paper parcel defensively.

“His virtue isn’t the main thing right now,” I said. “The question is what kind of people he’s mixed up with and what they’re doing to him. Or possibly what they’re doing to you with his cooperation.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Hillman said.

“We have to reconsider the possibility that Tom is in on the extortion deal. He was with Mrs. Brown yesterday. The man on the telephone, who may be Brown, said Tom came to them voluntarily.”

Elaine Hillman peered up into my face as if she was trying to grasp such a possibility. It seemed to be too much for her to accept. She closed her eyes and shook her head so hard that her hair fell untidily over her forehead. Pushing it back with spread fingers, she said in a small voice that sent chills through me: “You’re lying, I know my son, he’s an innocent victim. You’re trying to do something terrible, coming to us in our affliction with such a filthy rotten smear.”

Her husband tried to quiet her against his shoulder. “Hush now, Elaine. Mr. Archer is only trying to help.”

She pushed him away from her. “We don’t want that kind of help. He has no right. Tom is an innocent victim, and God knows what is happening to him.”

Her hand was still at her head, with her pale hair sprouting up between her fingers. “I can’t take any more of this, Ralph – this dreadful man with his dreadful stories.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hillman. I didn’t want you to hear them.”

“I know. You wanted to malign my son without anyone to defend him.”

“That’s nonsense, Ellie,” Hillman said. “I think you better come upstairs and let me give you a sedative.”

He helped her to her feet and walked her out past me, looking at me sorrowfully across her rumpled head. She moved like an invalid leaning on his strength.

Dick Leandro drifted into the room after they had left it, and sat on the chesterfield to keep the money company. He said in a slightly nagging way: “You hit Elaine pretty hard with all that stuff: She’s a sensitive woman, very puritanical about sex and such. And incidentally she’s crazy about Tommy. She won’t listen to a word against him.”

“Are there words against him?”

“Not that I know about. But he has been getting into trouble lately. You know, with the car wreck and all. And now you t-tell me he’s been dipping into the fleshpots.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, but I got the message. Where does the g-girl live, anyway? Somebody ought to go and question her.”

“You’re full of ideas.”

He had a tin ear for tone. “Well, how about it? I’m game.”

“You’re doing more good here, guarding the money. How did Hillman happen to pick you to bring the money, by the way? Are you an old family friend?”

“I guess you could say that. I’ve been crewing for Mr. Hillman since I was yay-high.”

He held out his hand at knee level. “Mr. Hillman is a terrific guy. Did you know he made Captain in the Navy? But he won’t let anybody call him Captain except when we’re at sea.

“And generous,” the young man said. “As a matter of fact, he helped me through college and got me a job at his broker’s. I owe him a lot. He’s treated me like a father.”

He spoke with some emotion, real but intended, like an actor’s. “I’m an orphan, you might say. My family broke up when I was yay-high, and my father left town. He used to work for Mr. Hillman at the plant.”

“Do you know Tom Hillman well?”

“Sure. He’s a pretty good kid. But a little too much of an egghead in my book. Which keeps him from being popular. No wonder he has his troubles.”

Leandro tapped his temple with his knuckles. “Is it true that Mr. Hillman put him in the booby – I mean, in a sanatorium?”

“Ask him yourself.”

The young man bored me. I went into the alcove and made myself a drink. Night was closing in. The garish bullfight posters on the walls had faded into darkness like long-forgotten corridor. There were shadows huddling with shadows behind the bar. I raised my glass to them in a gesture I didn’t quite understand, except that there was relief in darkness and silence and whisky.

I could hear Hillman’s footsteps dragging down the stairs. The telephone on the bar went off like an alarm. Hillman’s descending footsteps became louder. He came trotting into the room as the telephone rang a second time. He elbowed me out of his way.

I started for the extension phone in the pantry. He called after me: “No! I’ll handle this myself.”