One for Hell

by Jada M Davis

  “I’ll check at the café,” he said.

  Barrick stopped, but the lawyer went outside.

  “Ree,” Barrick said. “You’re Willa Ree?”

  “That’s right.”

  Barrick slid his eyes up and down Ree’s body. “We’re about the same size,” he said. “Would you have the guts to fight?”

  Ree’s laugh was honest. He was amused.

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  “This isn’t the time and place, son.”

  “What would you consider the time and place?”

  “Well, that’s a trade secret. I always pick my time and place.”

  “So I know. Tell me. Why’d you jump my brother?”

  “He jumped me. He was drunk and disorderly.”

  “That’s a lie, Ree, and you know it.” Barrick didn’t raise his voice. He seemed sure of himself. “You know it and you know I know it. He didn’t have time to get drunk.”

  “Run along, Barrick. Talk to your lawyer.”

  “You’re sure this isn’t the time and place?”

  “I’d like to oblige you.”

  Barrick’s lip curled. “You’re not tied.”

  “Run along home, Barrick.”

  “Is there any name you particularly dislike, Ree? Yellow? Bastard? Coward? Pimp?”

  Ree’s laughter caused the nurse to look up, frowning.

  “Barrick, it’s going to hurt me when I do have to take you.”

  “Try not to let it hurt too much. I’ll try to be as unpleasant as I can. Sure you wouldn’t like to step outside with me?”

  “Sorry.”

  Barrick puckered his lips.

  Spit squirted against Ree’s face, and rage was a seething bitter bubbling tide within him. He threw back his chair and went to his feet, but Swing’s hand was on his shoulder.

  “Not here, Ree! Not now! That’s what he wants!”

  Ree turned away.

  “Some other time, Barrick,” he said.

  Barrick hadn’t even taken his hands from his pockets. “Maybe you’d like to go back there and fight my brother, Ree. He’s conscious now.”

  “Good night,” Ree said.

  “Good night, you yellow-bellied bastard.”

  Ree followed Swing outside.

  “He’s a tough cookie,” Swing said.

  “Well, he talks tough.”

  “He’s tough, or he wouldn’t talk like that.”

  “I guess you’re right. Anyway, I’ll get a chance to find out soon enough.”

  “You’d better dodge him,” Swing said. “You’d better listen to me and dodge him. You’d have been ruined if you’d fought him tonight.”

  “Yeah, but he was asking for it.”

  “Sure, he was asking for it! He wanted it! He’d have had your ass in a sling if you’d hit him!”

  “I guess so.”

  “Well, no matter. You’re in enough trouble as it is. Halliday’s going to be madder’n a puppy with the piles when he hears about this. The guy don’t like any kind of direct action, and this was too damned direct! And it backfired!”

  “Swing, I’ll tell you what you do. First thing in the morning you get down to the Telegraph office and tell them Ed Barrick was arrested for being drunk and disorderly. Might as well say he resisted arrest, too.”

  “Will they print it? After all, Barrick was a newspaper man, and those guys stick together. Even if they’re rivals.”

  “The Barricks are a thorn in the Telegraph’s side. They’ll print it.”

  “Just the same, I think you’re nuts! I think you’d be better off to drop this whole thing where it is.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Swing! I’d be glad to drop it! But do you think the Barricks will forget it? Hell, they’ll print their story all over their paper tomorrow! I’ve got to beat them to the punch.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “I know so. If I drop it now, it’ll show I’m afraid and in the wrong. Barrick will have to appear before the judge and pay his fine like anybody else. Then he can howl all he wants—or try to sue, if he wants to.”

  “You think he’ll pay a fine? Why, man, he’ll fight!”

  “What with? It takes money to fight! Anyway, let him fight! His name will be mud!”

  “He’s been here longer than you have, Ree. His family was well thought of.”

  “We’ll spread enough rumors to ruin him.”

  Swing spread his hands. “You’re the boss. But I say you ought to drop it here and now.”

  “You give the story to the Telegraph.”

  “O.K.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Someone was pounding on the door. Again? It was dark, still dark.

  Was it the same night as last night, or another night?

  “For crying out loud!”

  He didn’t know whether he said it or thought it, but someone in the hallway muttered something.

  “Who is it?”

  “Swing. Open the door.”

  There was a foul fuzzy taste in his mouth and his eyes burned. He kicked back the sheet and went to the door. The floor was cool to his feet, and his body prickled with cold.

  Swing was a dark blob in the doorway.

  “What is it now, Swing?”

  “Turn on a light.”

  He found the switch. “What time is it?”

  “Five o’clock.” Swing closed the door behind him.

  “Well, hell!”

  “Halliday’s down at the Hall and spittin’ fire. He said for you to get down there.”

  Ree dressed.

  Halliday was standing on the steps of the Hall, his cigar glowing, his hat pulled low.

  “About time!” he grunted. “Come on inside.”

  Ree followed him up the steps, through the door, into the council room.

  “All right, Ree,” Halliday said. “I’m aware that you tried to fix things your way. We’ll let that go—for the moment. But Barrick’s going to sue the city, and we may all be ruined. Tell me what happened in the café.”

  Ree sat down on a table.

  “The man was drunk,” he said. “We went in for coffee and I took the stool next to him. He stood up and took a swing at me, and I got him in the crotch with my knee as I stood up. I was surprised, see. Startled. I remember swinging on him, more in reflex than anything else, and he went down.”

  Halliday’s eyes didn’t believe it.

  But that didn’t matter.

  “Tell me,” Halliday said, “tell me who saw it.”

  “Swing saw it. The waitress might have had her back turned, but I’m not sure.”

  “Anybody else in there at the time?”

  “No customers. The cook came running out after it was all over.”

  “All right! I suggest you get to that waitress and make sure she didn’t see it. Or make sure she saw it like it happened. Or like you say it happened! I’ll see that the Telegraph prints it our way and I’ll cover some of the other angles. I can’t keep Cliff Barrick quiet, but I may keep him from getting this thing into court. After all, Ree, you acted in self defense.”

  “That’s right.”

  “There’ll be a stink,” Halliday said. “Even if he doesn’t sue, Cliff Barrick will spread it all over that rag of his. And, too, you had the guy thrown in the can when he needed medical attention. That’s bad on the face of it.”

  “Yeah, Barrick can go to town on that one.”

  Halliday pursed his lips. “He can make it rough.”

  “Maybe not.”

  Halliday stared, shrugged.

  “Maybe you have an idea. If so, don’t tell me about it. I’m sticking by you now because I don’t have a choice. That’s the only reason. From now on, when you play rough you’re playing by yourself.”

  “O.K.”

  Halliday got up. “It’s going to take some hard work to fix this, Ree. I hope you’ll remember that the next time you feel like hitting somebody.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  �
�It’s easier to fight with your brains than your fists, son.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “All the time! The brainy boys get to the top fastest. Just remember that.”

  “Right.”

  “We’ll talk more about this later,” Halliday said.

  “I’ve got a job to do. See you.”

  Ree left with Swing.

  “You’re lucky,” Swing said.

  “Lucky. I’m lucky, he says.”

  “Yeah, lucky. Halliday can fix this thing, and you’re lucky to have him around.”

  “He can’t do anything else, Swing. If I go down I’ll take him with me. He knows that.”

  “That wouldn’t be playing it square, Ree. It’s not his fault, any of this mess, and it wouldn’t be right to drag him down with you.”

  “Listen, bud, I’m looking out for number one!”

  “So I see.”

  “That’s the only way to get anywhere. Look out for number one! You say I’m lucky to have Halliday around. Well, did you ever stop to think I might have picked him? Think I went into this thing blind?”

  “You played the angles.”

  “I played the angles! If you play in the big leagues you’ve got to have somebody to play interference.”

  “What am I? More interference?”

  “You’ll get yours.”

  “I intend to.”

  Ree drove to the café, parked at the curb. The place was well lighted, and he could see the waitress busy at the coffee urn.

  They went inside.

  “Coffee’ll be ready in a—”

  “We’ll wait,” Ree said.

  “So it’s you,” the girl whispered.

  Short black hair, cute freckles, three cornered eyes. Full lips, trim figure.

  Cute.

  Ripe.

  For plucking.

  “What’s your name?” Ree asked.

  The girl stared.

  “I’m Willa Ree.”

  “I know.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Barbara.”

  “Barbara which?”

  “Barbara Locke.”

  “You saw what happened here last night?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t see it?”

  “I had my back turned.”

  “You didn’t see Barrick hit me when I sat down?”

  “No.”

  “There’s a mirror, Barbara.”

  “I wasn’t looking! Anyway, it all happened so fast it was sorta like a blur, kind of! I was stacking cups! I wasn’t paying any attention, please, and I don’t want anything to do with it, not any of it, and please leave me alone, please!”

  “Did you know Ed Barrick?”

  “I knew his name. He came by for beer nearly every day.”

  “Would five hundred dollars make you remember anything?”

  The girl picked up two cups and went to the coffee urn. She filled the cups and placed them on saucers.

  Her hands trembled.

  “Cream?” she asked.

  “Never mind.”

  Swing cleared his throat. “I’ll take cream.”

  “Could you use five hundred dollars, Barbara?” Ree persisted.

  “Yes.”

  It was a whisper.

  Her breasts, tight against the once starched now limp white front of her uniform, rose and fell, rose and fell.

  She spilled the cream.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll get some more.”

  “Never mind,” Ree said.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “That it’s worth five hundred dollars to me if you can remember Barrick was drunk last night—and if you can remember seeing him take a swing at me when I sat down.”

  “Oh.”

  “Look—” Swing began, but Ree stopped him with a wave of his hand.

  The girl looked back at the kitchen, at the door.

  “I’ll—do it,” she said.

  “Fine! They’ll ask you some questions, but don’t worry about it. All you have to do is say Barrick came in here drunk. Say he staggered when he walked. Say his voice was thick when he asked for beer. Say I came in and took a seat and that Barrick said he wouldn’t sit by a lousy cop.”

  “But he didn’t—”

  “He called me a lousy cop outside, on the street, before he came in.”

  “Oh.”

  “You say he said that in here, though, and that he stood up and took a swing at me. Tell them I tried to dodge back and that my knee hit him. Then say I got to my feet and hit him with my fist.”

  “Is that all?”

  “You saw the rest. He fell and Swing helped him up and took him out.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll give you two hundred now and the rest when it’s over. All right?”

  “All right.”

  He took two one-hundred dollar bills from his billfold and slid them into her hand.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Thank you!”

  Swing didn’t speak until they got out of the car in front of the Hall.

  “Think you can trust her?” he asked.

  “Well, it’s more money than she ever dreamed of getting at one time.”

  “Yeah, I know. But Barrick’s lawyer may cross her up. She’s just a kid!”

  “She’s taken the money. Anyway, I’ll work on her a little. And that’ll be a pleasure.”

  Pounds was on the desk. He nodded.

  “Anything on the fire?” Ree asked.

  “Drunks.”

  They listened to the dispatcher droning instructions to a squad car until the staticky answers got on their nerves. Ree called Swing into his office.

  “I’ve got coffee on the hot plate,” Pounds called.

  “I’ll get some,” Swing said.

  Pounds poured black coffee into thick mugs, black and strong and hot, and went back to his work.

  “Now, then,” Ree said, “tell me how our business is stacking up.”

  “They pay off tonight, the tramps,” Swing said. “I’m making them shell out every week.”

  “What about gambling?”

  “That all narrowed down to one man.”

  “One man runs all these dives?”

  “And all the floaters. He rents the places and hires his help on percentage. He’s got hookups with the big boys out on the coast or in the Midwest, they say.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Fellow named Parnell. Milt Parnell. And he’s tough.”

  “Have you talked to him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He laughed. Said he’d talk to you—maybe. Said he likes Sheriff Messner, but he might talk to you.”

  “O.K. What about the bookies?”

  “They wouldn’t talk. Some connections. You bluff Parnell and you’ve got it all in the bag. But I don’t know. This Parnell is pretty sure of himself.”

  “We might have to get tough with him.”

  “He might bring an army of goons out here.”

  “They wouldn’t get far in this country.”

  “Maybe not, but you’d be working against somebody here in town. Parnell’s paying somebody. Maybe just the sheriff, maybe Halliday, the whole council and the mayor for all I know. Anyway, he damned sure wasn’t scared of me—I’ll tell you that right now!”

  “Messner must be giving him the O.K. If Parnell is representing the syndicate, they’re paying off. They don’t take chances. They’ve learned it’s cheaper to pay their way than to fight their way.”

  “You want I should make you an appointment with Parnell?”

  “Might as well, I guess.”

  “He’s big town, Ree, and tough. You want to watch your step.”

  “Well, I’m not a native of this burg, either.”

  Pounds stuck his head through the door. “Chief, Mr. Halliday wants to see you in the council room.”

  “Thanks. Come along, Swing.”
<
br />   “He didn’t ask for me.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Come along.”

  Swing followed, reluctantly.

  Halliday looked tired. There were new circles under his eyes. He needed a shave.

  “Well, boys,” he said. “I’ve been busy.”

  “So have we,” Ree replied. “I talked to the waitress. She saw it like I told you.”

  “Good! That’s a break!”

  “Do we need a break? Is it that bad?”

  “Well, we can use it. It’s going to be a big help. After all, we’d be in a hell of a jam if the waitress told a different story.”

  “Right.”

  “I’ve seen Arthur Fry and he’s agreed to help squelch it—if the waitress tells it like you did. He’ll talk to Barrick, try to discourage him. And he’ll talk to Barrick’s lawyer, and make him an offer.”

  “And what about the newspaper?”

  “S. P. Barney is the best friend I have,” Halliday said. “Besides, he doesn’t exactly love the Barrick boys. I got S. P. out of bed and he’s agreed to soft-pedal the whole thing. He’ll slant it our way as much as possible.”

  “That about fixes things, then.”

  Halliday shook his head. “There’s still Cliff Barrick. He’s got a newspaper to print things in, and he’ll print plenty. He’s got a lot of friends. I know him well enough to know he’s going to splash this thing. He may try to get this thing before a grand jury.”

  “Can he do it?”

  “He might. We can squelch it if he does—Fry would have to present it and the jury’ll follow his recommendations on the matter. I can see to that, because the district clerk’ll know who I want on the jury. But, the point is that you’re ruined if it goes that far. Even if you’re not indicted, you’re ruined. And I’ll be hurt. Hurt bad.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Pity you couldn’t have seen it last night before all this started. But that’s water under the bridge for the time being. What it narrows down to, Ree, is this: Cliff Barrick has got to be hushed up. And I don’t mean violence!”

  “Then how would you suggest?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I can’t reason with him, and I can’t scare him, so it looks like he won’t shut up unless I kill him.”

  Halliday looked up, startled. His face flushed. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and slammed his fist on the table.

  “Don’t ever say a thing like that to me again!”

  He shouted it.

  Ree laughed.

  “Don’t get so excited, Halliday. It was just my way of saying I can’t stop Barrick from printing his paper.”