Росс Томас - Cast a Yellow Shadow

The bed was still too large, but I surprised myself and fell off to sleep quickly. I dreamed about Fredl as I expected, but it was a pleasant dream. We were in a canoe floating down a crystal stream on a warm June day and I was enjoying myself because I didn’t have to paddle too hard. We were having a fine time and I was sorry when the knocking on the door woke me up.

I washed my face and brushed my teeth and went back into the livingroom. My watch said it was eight o’clock and only Sylvia was there. She was sitting on the couch, her feet tucked up under her.

“Where’s Padillo?”

“He went back to the hotel. He has to meet someone there at nine.”

“Mush.”

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“May I get you anything?”

“No, thank you. Why did you let me sleep so long?”

“He said it would help you pass the time. He called it fast time.”

We sat there talking about not very much for an hour or so. Sylvia made some sandwiches and we ate those and then the phone rang. It was nine-thirty.

I said hello and it was Boggs. “We have decided to give Dymec the letter,” he said. “It was not a unanimous decision. I was against it.”

“It’s a good thing you lost. Is my wife there?”

“Yes. But don’t try to make any more stipulations, Mc-Corkle.”

“I didn’t make them. Dymec made them. He’s getting nervous. I don’t think he trusts you very much and I didn’t do anything to discourage him because I don’t trust you at all. Put my wife on.”

“If anything happens to that letter—”

“I know,” I said. “You’ve made your case often enough.”

“I’ll make it again. Nothing must happen to that letter.”

“Tell Dymec that. He’ll have it.”

“I’ve told him.”

“When will he get it?”

“Tuesday.”

“All right. Let me talk to my wife.”

“You’ll talk to her when I’m quite through. The person who has this letter could conceivably sell it for a large sum. If this Dymec has any such idea, I suggest that you dissuade him.”

“He wants the letter because he doesn’t trust you. We want it because we don’t trust you. You don’t want us to have it because you don’t trust us. I’m the new boy on the block and I don’t know too much about this kind of business, but it seems to be built on mutual distrust and unless each side has its own leverage, then the whole deal’s likely to go up in smoke. That letter is our leverage — and Dymec’s leverage.”

“Let nothing happen to it,” Boggs said. “Here is your wife.”

“Fredl?”

“I’m here, darling. I’m all right and please try not to—”

They cut her off. I was supposed to tip her off that we would try to break her out on Tuesday. I couldn’t see how I could tip her off with only a word or two. It didn’t leave much room for the secret code. I replaced the phone, then picked it up again, and dialed a number. I gave the operator Padillo’s room and he answered.

“I just heard from Boggs,” I said. “He’ll give Dymec the letter.”

“Did you talk to Fredl?”

“Yes.”

“Is she all right?”

“Yes, but I can’t tip her off. They don’t give me enough time.”

“What did Boggs have to say?”

“We lied to each other about mutual trust. Dymec seems to be playing the letter straight with them.”

“I thought he would,” Padillo said. “It gives him a handle in case they get cute after it’s over.”

“What now?” I said.

“Mush just left. He’s getting the Winchester for Dymec.”

“You know what you’re going to do yet?”

“Most of it,” he said. “It depends on Price and Dymec and Magda. It still depends on who decides to jump where. I think I know.”

“Anything more for tonight?”

“I don’t think so. I’ll call the trio and tell them it’s set. That’ll give them the rest of the night and most of tomorrow to decide whose throat should be cut.”

“I’ll keep Sylvia here,” I said.

“That’s best. Say goodnight to her for me.”

“I will. I’ll be down at the bar around ten tomorrow. That early enough?”

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll see you then.”

I hung up the phone and turned to Sylvia. She was looking at me with her lips slightly parted, her brown eyes wide as if she thought that she might have been remembered in the will, but wasn’t really expecting too much.

“Padillo said to tell you goodnight.”

“Anything else?”

“Just that it would be best for you to stay here tonight.”

“That isn’t much, is it?” she said.

“I wouldn’t expect more.”

“No, I suppose I really shouldn’t.”

There wasn’t a great deal else for me to say so I went over to the bar and mixed a Scotch-and-water. Sylvia said she didn’t want one.

“You know him very well, don’t you?”

“Padillo?”

“Yes.”

“I know him fairly well.”

“Doesn’t he ever need anyone?”

“Like you?”

“Yes. Like me, damn it.”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”

“I did ask him.”

“What did he say?”

She was silent for a moment and when she spoke she seemed to be speaking to her hands which rested in her lap. “He said he didn’t have any more time to be lonely — that his time for being lonely had run out years ago.”

“What else did he say?”

“Something I’m not sure I understand.”

“What?”

“He said that he casts a yellow shadow. What does that mean?”

“It’s what the Arabs say, I think. It means he carries a lot of luck around. All bad.”

“Does he?”

“For others. For those who get too close.”

“I don’t believe in luck,” she said.

“That’s funny,” I said. “Neither does Padillo.”

I met Padillo at the saloon the next morning at ten and we spent an hour doing some work that needed to be done if we were to continue in the business of selling liquor and food to people who already bought too much of both. We went over some invoices and Padillo made a couple of suggestions that would probably save us a thousand or so a year. We called in Herr Horst and talked about a waiter who kept forgetting to come to work.

“I believe he drinks,” Herr Horst said, and added: “Secretly.”

“It’s not much of a secret if you know about it,” Padillo said.

“He’s a good waiter,” I said. “Give him one more chance, but tell him that’s just what it is.”

“It won’t do any good,” Padillo said.

“It makes me feel like a humanitarian.”

“I shall speak to him,” Herr Horst said. “Again.”

We discussed the week’s menu, decided to give a new wholesale produce dealer a try, went over the merits of two employee health and hospital insurance programs and decided on one, and agreed to run some small space advertisements in a concert program. It was more work than I had done in a week.

Herr Horst left and sent us in some coffee by a busboy. Pa-dillo sat behind the desk of the office; I sat on the couch.

“How’s your side?” I asked.

“Better, but I should get the bandage changed before tomorrow.”

“You want the doctor?”

“No. I’ll let Sylvia do it.”

“She’ll like that. She wants to do things for you.”

“She’ll make someone a good wife.”

“I think she’s been writing ‘Mrs. Michael Padillo’ just to see how nice it looks.”

“I’m too old or she’s too young or both.”

“She thinks you’re in your prime.”

“I passed that ten years ago. I was an early bloomer. Now it’s only a few years away from one of those places with planned leisure activities.”