Clifford Simak - The Money Tree

'That rips it,' he said. 'We got to get out of here. He'll keep mulling it over and he'll up and call the cops and they'll haul us in…'

'We ain't done nothing, Chuck.'

'No, maybe not. But I don't like no cops. I don't want to answer questions. Not right now.'

She moved closer to him.

'He was right,' she said. 'You are all bloody. Your hands and shirt…'

'One leg, too. The rolla gave me a working over.'

The rolla stood up from behind a corner chair.

NO WISH EMBARRASS, he spelled out. ALWAYS HIDE FROM STRANGERS.

That's the way he talks,' said Doyle, admiringly.

'What is it?' asked Mabel, backing away a pace or two.

I ROLLA.

'I met him under the money tree,' said Doyle. 'We had a little fracas. He has something to do with the tree, guarding it or something.'

'And did you get some money?'

'Not much. You see, this rolla…'

HUNGRY, said the rolla.

'You come along,' Mabel said to Doyle. 'I got to patch you up.'

'But don't you want to hear…'

'Not especially. You got into trouble again. It seems to me you want to get in trouble.'

She headed for the bathroom and he followed.

'Sit down on the edge of the tub,' she ordered.

The rolla came and sprawled in the doorway, leaning against the jamb.

AINT YOU GOT NO FOOD? it asked.

'Oh, for heaven's sake,' Mabel exclaimed in exasperation, 'what is it you want?'

FRUIT, VEGETABLES.

'Out in the kitchen. There's fruit on the table. I suppose I have to show you.'

FIND MYSELF, the rolla said and left.

I can't understand that squirt,' said Mabel. 'First he chewed you up. Now he's palsy-walsy.'

I give him lumps,' said Doyle. Taught him some respect.'

'Besides,' observed Mabel, 'he's dying of starvation. Now you sit down on that tub and let me fix you up.'

He sat down gingerly while she rummaged in the medicine cabinet. She got a bottle of red stuff, a bottle of alcohol, swabs and cotton. She knelt and rolled up Doyle's trouser leg.

This looks bad,' she said.

'Where he got me with his teeth,' said Doyle.

'You should see a doctor, Chuck. This might get infected. His teeth might not be clean or something.'

'Doc would ask too many questions. We got trouble enough…'

'Chuck, what is that thing out there?'

'It's a rolla:

'Why is it called a rolla?'

'I don't know. Just call it that, I guess.'

'I read about someone called a rolla once. Rolla boys, I think it was. Always doing good.'

'Didn't do me a bit of good.'

'What did you bring it here for, then?'

'Might be worth a million. Might sell it to a circus or a zoo. Might work up a night club act with it.

The way it talks and all.'

She worked expertly and quickly on the tooth-marked calf and ankle, cleaning out the cuts and swabbing them with some of the red stuff that was in the bottle.

There's another reason I brought the rolla here,' Doyle confessed. 'I got Metcalfe where I want him.

I know something he wouldn't want no one else to know and I got the rolla and the rolla has something to do with them money trees…'

'You're talking blackmail now?'

'Nah, nothing like that. You know I wouldn't never blackmail no one. Just a little private arrangement between me and Metcalfe. Maybe just out of gratitude for me keeping my mouth shut, he might give me one of his money trees.'

'But you said there was only one money tree.'

'That's all I saw, was one. But the place was dark and there might be more of them. You wouldn't expect a man like Metcalfe to be satisfied with just one money tree, would you. If he had one, he could grow some others. I bet you he has twenty-dollar trees and fifty-dollar trees and hundred-dollar trees.'

He sighed. 'I sure would like to get just five minutes with a hundred-dollar tree. I'd be set for life. I'd do me some two-handed picking the like you never see.'

'Shuck up your shirt,' said Mabel. 'I got to get at them scratches on your ribs.'

Doyle shucked up his shirt.

'You know,' he said, 'I bet you Metcalfe ain't the only one that has them money trees. I bet all the rich folks has them. I bet they're all banded together in a secret society, pledged to never talk about them. I wouldn't wonder if that's where all the money comes from. Maybe the government don't print no money, like they say they do…'

'Shut up,' commanded Mabel, 'and hold still.'

She worked swiftly on his ribs.

'What are you going to do with the rolla?' she asked.

'We'll put him in the car and drive down and have a talk with Metcalfe. You stay out in the car with the rolla and if there is any funny stuff, you get out of there. Long as we have the rolla we got Metcalfe across the barrel.'

'You're crazy if you think I'll stay alone, with that thing in the car. Not after what it done to you.'

'Just get yourself a stick of stove wood and belt him one with it if he makes a crooked move.'

I'll do no such thing,' said Mabel. 'I will not stay with him.'

'All right, then,' said Doyle, 'we'll put him in the trunk. We'll fix him up with some blankets, so he'll be comfortable. He can't get at you there. And it might be better to have him under lock and key.'

Mabel shook her head. 'I hope that you are doing right, Chuck. I hope we don't get into trouble.'

'Put that stuff away,' said Doyle, 'and let us get a move on. We got to get out of here before that jerk down the hall decides to phone the cops.'

The rolla showed up in the doorway, patting at his belly.

JERKS? he asked. WHATS THEM?

'Oh, my aching back,' said Doyle, 'now I got to explain to him.'

JERKS LIKE HEELS?

'Sure, that's it,' said Doyle. 'A jerk is like a heel.'

METCALFE SAY ALL OTHER HUMANS HEELS

'Now, I tell you, Metcalfe might have something there,' said Doyle, judicially.

HEEL MEAN HUMAN WITH NO MONEY

Tve never heard it put quite that way,' said Doyle, 'but if that should be the case, you can count me as a heel.'

METCALFE SAY THAT WHAT IS WRONG WITH PLANET. THERE IS TOO LITTLE MONEY

'Now, that is something that I'll go along with him.'

SO I NOT I ANGRY WITH YOU ANY MORE.

Mabel said: 'My, but he's turned out to be a chatterbox.'

MY JOB TO CARE AND GUARD TREE. I ANGRY AT THE START.

BUT FINALLY I THINK POOR HEEL NEED SOME MONEY CANNOT BLAME FOR TAKING.

That's decent of you,' Doyle told him. 'I wish you'd thought of that before you chewed me up. If I could have had just a full five minutes-'

'I am ready,' Mabel said. 'If we have to leave, let's go.'

Doyle went softly up the walk that led to the front of the Metcalfe house. The place was dark and the moon was riding homeward in the western sky, just above the tip of a row of pines that grew in the grounds across the street.

He mounted the steps of mellowed brick and stood before the door. He reached out and rang the bell and waited.

Nothing happened.

He rang again and yet again and there was no answer.

He tried the door and it was locked.

'They flown the coop,' said Doyle, talking to himself.

He went around the house into the alley and climbed the tree again.

The garden back of the house was dark and silent. He crouched for a long time atop the wall and the place was empty.

He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and played it downward. It cut a circle of uncertain light and he moved it slowly back and forth until it caught the maw of tortured earth.

His breath rasped in his throat at the sight of it and he worked the light around to make sure there was no mistake.

There was no mistake at all. The money tree was gone. Someone had dug it up and taken it away.

Doyle snapped off the light and slid it back into his pocket. He slid down the tree and trotted down the alley.