Джеймс Кейн - Mildred Pierce

“Arresting him may be a little tough.”

“Haven’t we got laws?”

“He’s skipped.”

Wally shot a glance at Veda, who considered a few moments, then said: “I think you’d better tell her.”

“You see, Mildred, just happens we already thought of that. Two, three days, maybe a week ago, I took Veda over to the sheriff’s office and had her swear out a warrant for Sam. No statutory rape, nothing unpleasant like that. Just a little morals charge, and same afternoon, couple of the boys went over to serve it. He wasn’t there. And so far—”

“So that’s what she meant by officers!”

Veda stirred uneasily under Mildred’s accusing eyes. “Well Mother, if you’re talking about what I said last night, I didn’t know at that time that any officers had actually been there.”

Mildred turned on Wally. “It does seem to me that on a thing of this kind, a matter as serious as this, I should have been the first one you would have talked to about it. Why the very idea, of legal steps being taken without my knowing anything whatever about it!”

“Now just hold your horses a minute.”

Wally’s eyes became very cold, and he got up and marched up and down in front of Mildred before he went on. “One thing you might consider: I’ve got a little thing called legal ethics to consider. Sure, I’d have been willing to talk to you. We’ve talked plenty before, haven’t we? But when my client makes an express stipulation that I not talk to you, why—”

When Mildred turned, Veda was ready. “Mother, it’s about time you got it through your head that after all, I, and not you, am the main figure in this little situation, as you call it. I’m not proud of it. I readily admit it’s my own fault, and that I’ve been very foolish. But when I act on that assumption, when I try to relieve you of responsibility, when I try to save you unhappiness, it does seem to me you could give me credit for some kind of decent motives, instead of going off the handle in this idiotic way.’

“I never in all my life—!”

“Now, Mother, nobody was asking any help from you, and as Wally has taken my case as a great favor to me, I think the least you can do is let him tell us what to do, as I imagine he knows much more about such things than you do.”

As Mildred subsided, a little frightened at Veda’s tone, Wally resumed in the casual way he had begun: “Well, so far as his doing anything goes, I’d say the next move was up to them. Way I look at it, we’ve taken Round 1. When we got out that warrant, that showed we meant business. On a morals charge, all the jury wants to know is the age of the girl — after that it’s dead open and shut. When they got him under cover quick, that shows they knew what they’re up against. And what they’re up against is tough. So long as that warrant is out against him, he dare not come back to the state of California, he can’t go back to college, or even use his right name. Course there’s a couple of other things we might do, like suing the mother, but then we’re in the newspapers, and that’s not so good. I’d say leave it like it is. Sooner or later they got to lead to us, and the more we act like we don’t care, the prettier we’re sitting.”

“But Wally!”

Mildred’s voice was a despairing wail. “Wally! Time is going on! Days are passing, and look at this girl’s condition! We can’t wait! We—”

“I think we can leave it to Wally.”

Veda’s cool tone ended the discussion, but all that day and all that night Mildred fretted, and by next morning she had worked herself into a rage. When Tommy reported, at noon, she had him drive her over to Mrs. Lenhardt’s, to “have it out with her.” But as they whirled up the drive, she saw the house man that had let her in, that morning long ago, talking to the driver of a delivery truck. She knew perfectly well he would remember her, and she called shrilly to Tommy to drive on, she had changed her mind. As the car rolled around the loop in front of the house, she leaned far back, so she wouldn’t be seen. Then she had Tommy drive her to Ida’s, and telephoned Bert. Leaving Tommy in Beverly, she again picked up Bert at Mrs. Biederhof’s corner, and headed up to the hills.

Bert listened, and began shaking his head. “Gee Mildred, I wish you’d told me you had Wally Burgan in mind. I’m telling you, I don’t like the guy, and I don’t like the way he does business. Telling him to step on the gas is like — well, he’s been liquidating Pierce Homes for eight years now, hasn’t he? And they’re not liquidated yet. He’s not trying to get Veda married. He’s just running up a bill.”

They rode along, each trying to think of something, and suddenly Bert had it. “To hell with him! What we want is to find that boy, isn’t it? Isn’t that right?”

“That’s it! Instead of—”

“What this needs is a private detective.”

A hot, savage thrill shot through Mildred. At last she knew they were getting somewhere. Excitedly they talked about it, and then Bert told her to get him to a drugstore, or any place where he could get to a phone book. She stopped in San Fernando, and Bert hopped out before the car stopped rolling. He was back in a minute or two, a slip of paper in his hands. “Here’s three, with phone numbers and addresses. I’d say let’s go first to this Simons agency. I’ve heard of it, for one thing, and it’s right there in Hollywood, not too far away.”

The Simons Detective Agency was located in a small, one-story office on Vine Street, and Mr. Simons turned out to be a friendly little man with bushy black hair. He listened attentively as Bert stated the problem, and refrained from asking embarrassing questions. Then he tilted back in his chair and said he saw no particular difficulty. He got jobs of this sort all the time, and on most of them was able to show results. However, since time seemed to be of the essence, there would be certain expenses, and he would have to ask for an advance. “I’d have to have two fifty before I can start at all. First, to get the young man’s picture and other information I’ll need, I’ll have to put an operative to work, and he’ll cost me ten dollars a day. Then I’ll have to offer a reward, and—”

“Reward?”

Mildred suddenly had visions of a horrible picture tacked up in post offices. “Oh, don’t worry, Mrs. Pierce.” Mr. Simons seemed to divine her fear. “This is all strictly confidential, and nobody’ll know anything. Just the same, we work through our connections, and they’re not in business for their health. I’d say, on this, a $50 reward should be ample. Then there’s the printing of our fliers, and the pay of a girl to address a couple thousand envelopes and...”

Bert suggested that half the advance should be paid now, the other half when the boy was found, but Mr. Simons shook his head. “This is all money I’ll have to pay out before I can start at all. Mind, I haven’t said anything yet about my services. Of course, other places may do it cheaper, and you’re perfectly welcome to go where you please. But, as I always say, the cheaper the slower in this business — and, the riskier.”

Mildred wrote the check. On the way home, both of them applauded themselves handsomely for what they had done, and agreed it should be between themselves, with nothing said to Wally or Veda until they had something to “lay on the line,” as Bert put it. So for several days Mildred was ducking into phone booths and talking in guarded tones to Mr. Simons. Then one afternoon he told her to come in. She picked up Bert, and together they drove to the little frame office. Mr. Simons was all smiles. “We had a little luck. Of course it wasn’t really luck. In this business, you can’t be too thorough. We found out that when he left town, the young man was driving one of his stepfather’s cars, and just because I was about to put that information on the flier, now we’ve got something. Here’s the itemized bill, and if you’ll just let me have the check while the girl is typing out the address for you...”