Irwin Shaw - Rich Man, Poor Man

‘I know all about it, Jordache,’ Quayles said. ‘About what?’ Thomas asked mildly, keeping his eyes on Quayles’s feet for the first hint of movement ‘About you and my wife.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Thomas said. ‘I’ve been screwing her. Did I forget to mention it?’

He was ready for the leap and almost laughed when he saw Quayles, that dandy and stylist of the ring, lead with a blind long right, a sucker’s punch if ever there was one. Because he was ready, Thomas went inside it easily, tied Quayles up, held on to him, with no referee to part them, and clubbed at Quayles’s body, with delicious, pent-up ferocity. Then, old street fighter with all the tricks, he rushed Quayles to the wall, ignoring the man’s attempts to writhe out of his grasp, stepped back just far enough to savage Quayles with an uppercut, then closed, wrestled, hit, held, used his elbows, his knees, butted Quayles’s forehead with his head, wouldn’t let him drop, but kept him up against the wall with his left hand around Quayles’s throat, and pounded at his face with one brutal right hand after another. When he stepped back, Quayles crumbled on to the bloodstained rug and lay there on his face, out cold.

There was a frantic knocking on the door and he heard Schultzy’s voice in the hall. He unlocked the door and let Schultzy in. Schultzy took the whole thing in with one glance. ‘You stupid bastard,’ he said, ‘I saw that bird-brained wife of his and she told me. I thought I’d get here in time. You’re a great indoor fighter, aren’t you, Tommy? You can’t beat your grandmother for dough, but when it comes to fighting for nothing you’re the all-time beauty.’ He knelt beside Quayles, motionless on the rug. Schultzy turned him over, examined the cut on Quayles’s forehead, ran his hand alongside Quayles’s jaw. ‘I think you broke his jaw. Idiots. He won’t be able to fight this Friday or a month of Fridays. The boy’sre going to like that. They’re going to like it a lot. They’ve got a big investment tied up in this horse’s ass - ‘ He prodded the inert Quayles fiercely. ‘They’re going to be just overjoyed you took him apart. If I was you I’d start going right now, before I get this -this husband out of the room and into a hospital. And I’d keep on going until I got to an ocean and then I’d cross the ocean and if I wanted to stay alive I wouldn’t come back for ten years. And don’t go by plane. By the time the plane comes down anywhere, they’ll be waiting for you and they won’t be waiting for you with roses in their hands.’

‘What do you want me to do,’ Thomas asked, ‘walk? I got ten bucks to my name.’

Schultzy looked worriedly down at Quayles, who was beginning to stir. He stood up. ‘Come on out into the hall.’ He took the key out of the lock and when they were both outside he locked the door.

‘It would serve you right if they filled you full of holes,’ Schultzy said, ‘but you’ve been with me a long time … ‘ He looked nervously up and down the hallway. ‘Here,’ he said, taking some bills out Of his wallet. ‘All I got. A hundred and fifty. And take my car. It’s downstairs, with the key in the ignition. Leave it in Reno in the airport parking lot and bus East from there. I’ll tell ‘em you stole the car. Don’t get in touch with your wife, whatever you do. They’ll be after her. I’ll get in touch with her and tell her you’re running and not to expect to hear from you. Don’t go in a straight line anywhere. And I’m not kidding when I tell you to get out of this country. Your life isn’t worth two cents anywhere in the United States.’ He wrinkled his seamy brow, concentrating. The safest thing is getting a job on a ship. When you get to New York go to a hotel called the Aegean. It’s on West Eighteenth Street. It’s full of Greek sailors. Ask for the manager. He’s got a long Greek name, but everybody calls him Pappy. He handles jobs for freighters that don’t fly the American flag. Tell him I sent you and I want you out of the country fast. He won’t ask questions. He owes me a favour from when I was in the Merchant

Marine during the war. And don’t be a wise guy. Don’t think you can pick up a few bucks fighting anywhere, even in Europe or Japan, under another name. As of this minute you’re a sailor and nothing else. Do you hear that?’

‘Yes, Schultzy,’ Thomas said.

‘And I never want to hear from you again. Got that?’

‘Yes.’ Thomas made a move towards the door of his room. Schultzy stopped him. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘My passport’s in there. I’ll be needing it’

‘Where is it?’

‘In the top dresser drawer.’

‘Wait here,’ Schultzy said. ‘I’ll get it for you.’ He turned the key in the lock and went into the room. A moment later he was back in the hall with the passport. ‘Here.’ He slapped the booklet into Thomas’s hand. ‘And from now on try to think with your head instead of your cock. Now breeze. I got to start putting that bum together again.’

Thomas went down the steps, into the lobby, past the crap game. He didn’t say anything to the clerk, who looked at him curiously, because there was blood on his windjacket. He went out to the street Schultzy’s car was parked right behind Quayles’s Cadillac. Thomas got in, started the motor and slowly drove towards the main highway. He didn’t want to be picked up this afternoon for a traffic violation in Las Vegas. He could wash the windjacket later.

The date was for eleven o’clock, but Jean had phoned to say that she would be a few minutes late and Rudolph had said that was all right, he had a few calls to make, anyway. It was Saturday morning. He had been too busy to telephone his sister all week and he felt guilty about it. Since he had flown back from the funeral, he had usually managed at least two or three calls a week. He had suggested to Gretchen that she come East and

stay with him in his apartment which would mean that she would have a plate to herself more often than not. Old man Calderwood refused to move the central office down to the city, so Rudolph couldn’t count on more than ten days a month in New York. But Gretchen had decided she wanted to stay in California, at least for a while. Burke had neglected to leave a will, or at least one that anyone could find, and the lawyers were squabbling and Burke’s ex-wife was suing for the best part of the estate and trying to evict Gretchen from the house, among other unpleasant legal manoeuvres.

It was eight o’clock in the morning in California, but Rudolph knew that Gretchen was an early riser and that the ringing of the phone wouldn’t awaken her. He placed the call with the operator and sat down at the desk in the small livingroom and tried to finish a corner of the Times crossword puzzle that had stumped him when he had tried it at breakfast.

The apartment had come furnished. It was decorated with garish solid colours and spiky metal chairs, but Rudolph had only taken it as a temporary measure and it did have a good small kitchen with a refrigerator that produced a lot of ice. He often liked to cook and eat by himself, reading at the table. That morning he had made the toast, orange juice and coffee for himself early. Sometimes Jean would come in and fix breakfast for both of them, but she had been busy this morning. She refused to stay overnight although she had never explained why.

The phone rang and Rudolph picked it up, but it wasn’t Gretchen. It was Calderwood’s voice, flat and twangy and old. Saturdays and Sundays didn’t mean much to Calderwood, except for the two hours on Sunday morning he spent in church. ‘Rudy,’ Calderwood said, as usual without any polite preliminaries, ‘you going to be up here this evening?’

‘I hadn’t planned to, Mr Calderwood, I have some things to do here over the weekend and there’s a meeting scheduled downtown for Monday and …’