One for Hell

by Jada M Davis

  Swing scribbled on the wall. “Leaves eight hundred and forty.”

  “O.K. Halliday gets half, so that leaves me four hundred and twenty. You get half of that.”

  Swing whistled. “Not bad for a week, but the whores do better.”

  “We’ll do better when we start making the gamblers and bookies come through.”

  “That reminds me, Ree. You’re supposed to see Parnell.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I told him you’d see him. He wouldn’t talk to me. Said he’d have to be guaranteed protection by someone with authority before he pays a cent.”

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  Swing divided the money into stacks while Ree dressed. Ree took some envelopes from a bureau drawer and marked them. He put Messner’s cut in one envelope, sealed it, and slipped Halliday’s cut into another.

  “Let’s go. Stop somewhere for coffee.”

  “I hope this keeps up forever,” Swing said. “I’ll buy a house and a new car.”

  “Buy a new car and start people talking. You’d better be careful how you throw money around.”

  Swing laughed. “We’re counting our chickens before they’re hatched.”

  “They’ll hatch, sonny boy. They’ll hatch. Just stick by me, that’s all.”

  “I’ll stick.”

  Ree had hotcakes and black coffee.

  “I’ll deliver these envelopes and meet you at the office,” he told Swing. “You know, I hardly know the routine of that damned department. Don’t know what I’d do without you and Pounds.”

  “Don’t worry about the department. You get everything organized and we’ll take care of the routine. Anyway, you’re the chief. All you have to do is supervise.”

  “Well, you keep the wheels turning and you’ll be in clover. We’re just playing penny ante now. Wait’ll we break that gambling setup.”

  He walked to the courthouse and entered the sheriff’s office. Blondie, the deputy he’d socked for teasing the Negro woman, was seated on the desk. He scowled and grunted at Ree’s greeting.

  “Where’s the sheriff?” Ree asked.

  “In there.” Blondie pointed at Messner’s office.

  Ree opened the door without knocking. Messner was reading a newspaper.

  “Morning, sheriff.”

  “Howdy, Ree.”

  He tossed an envelope on the desk.

  “There’s your cut from the girls, figured at ten per cent. Do you want to check the figures?”

  “I’ll take your word. How much does it come to?”

  “Five hundred and sixty.”

  Messner whistled. “That’s better than I was doing.”

  “We’ve got more girls in town now. I did all the work and only made two hundred and ten.”

  “Maybe you’re paying your friends too much.”

  “I want them to be happy.”

  “Well, I’m not going to cry about your troubles, Ree. After all, it was my deal to start with.”

  “I’m not bitching. I’d rather have crumbs than go hungry.”

  “You’ll do better when we get everything organized.”

  “I intend to. What say we have a talk with this Parnell guy.”

  “Parnell?”

  “You know the man, sheriff. Don’t spoof me, and don’t be coy. It doesn’t become you. He’s running all the games in town.”

  “He’s a tough customer.”

  “So what? You’re not afraid of him, so what?”

  “He represents the syndicate.”

  “So what?”

  “That’s dynamite, that’s so what!”

  “Way out here in the sticks?”

  The sheriff grinned. “Well—we’ll talk to him. But I suggest we use a flat fee instead of a percentage. He’s paying off all over the state as it is.”

  “How about a couple of thousand a week?”

  “Too much. This is not a big town, son, and we can’t get that kind of money.”

  “A thousand?”

  “If he’ll pay it. I’m not guaranteeing he’ll pay it.”

  “He’ll pay.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “We’re the law. We can close him down.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “Hell yes, I’m sure! Aren’t you?”

  “Well... maybe. Again, maybe not. It takes more than a chief of police and a sheriff to make a thing like that stick.”

  “We’ll get cooperation.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll call him today and tell him we want to talk.”

  “O.K.”

  “I’ll give you a ring.”

  “O.K.”

  Blondie stared as he passed through the outer office.

  “Friend,” Ree said, “you look like a poodle with the piles.”

  “Any time you want trouble,” Blondie said, “you just say the word.”

  “Word.”

  “Be careful, Ree. You’re liable to wind up in a ditch with your little toes turned up.”

  “I’ll be careful, son. You wouldn’t care to step outside, would you?”

  “No, thanks just the same. The sheriff says it’ll be my job if I get in any more brawls.”

  Ree spat on the floor and walked out.

  Halliday was in his office, and Ree handed him the envelope.

  “Very good,” Halliday said after he had counted the money. “We should do very well when you get things organized. Okay, take it easy from now on out. You had a narrow escape. People are talking, and one more mistake will get the whole town on your tail.”

  “I’ll tread lightly.”

  “Do that. Oh, one more thing. Cliff Barrick made bail and he’s out. He may want trouble.”

  “I’ll dodge him.”

  “Run from him if you have to. We can’t prosecute him for jumping you and he knows it. We can’t stand the publicity. Knowing that, he may jump you again. He may want trouble, just so he can tell his story in court. And he can still tell his story in print. We’re not out of the woods yet. He may be able to sue, if he can get that waitress to tell things his way. So dodge him.”

  “I said I’d dodge him,” Ree snapped.

  “Good.”

  “I’ve seen Messner about the gambling racket. A guy named Parnell has things sewed up. We’re going to soak him a thousand a week.”

  “How’ll we split?”

  “We didn’t talk about that, but I suggest a three-way cut. We can split with the others out of our own cuts, any way we like.”

  “Fair enough, but Messner may hold out for more dough.”

  “I can handle Messner. I think.”

  “O.K. Work it out.”

  Messner trotted up the steps to Fry’s office, nodded to his secretary and barged in without knocking.

  Fry looked up and frowned.

  “How’s the honest county attorney today?” Messner greeted him.

  “As honest as he was yesterday.”

  “But not as honest as he was before the election.”

  “What can you do?” Fry spread his hands. “It’s the company I keep. My political bedfellows. Corrupt sheriffs and police and county judges.”

  “I’ve never asked,” Messner said, “but I know you give the judge part of your take. Does he cut you in on any of the county take? Like road funds and the like?”

  “Ask the judge.”

  Messner shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got something for you.”

  “Tainted money?”

  “Well, it’s money.” He tossed an envelope on the desk. Fry picked it up and slid it into an inside coat pocket.

  “Willa Ree came through with that a little while ago. That’s good old tart money.”

  “Well, that gives you some of your money back,” Fry said. “Personally, my wife takes care of me. When I have to pay for it at the window I’ll do without.”

  “That’s funny, Fry. Coming from you, that’s funny!”

  Fry grinned tightly.

  “Let’s ch
ange the subject.”

  “O.K. Ree’s planning to cut in on gambling.”

  “He won’t get very far. I don’t care for him cutting in on the whores. That’s penny ante stuff. But he’s going a little out of his depth when he hits gambling. That’s been a good return.”

  “The big boy’ll stop him cold. I strung him along, but the big man will push him down hard.”

  “What if he doesn’t.”

  “What can Ree do?”

  “He could make some raids.”

  “We can stop that. We might have to get Halliday to put the clamps on him, but we can stop it.”

  “And if Halliday can’t handle him?”

  “Fire him. Get rid of him. We can’t have a man we can’t control.”

  “He’s an eager cookie.”

  “He’s dangerous! Look at the trouble he’s been in already! It’s a damned wonder the whole town’s not on our ear—and may be yet, if the Barrick kids tell their side of the story in the newspapers!”

  “The Barrick boys shouldn’t be given the opportunity to print their story,” Fry said. “Halliday oughta be able to put the screws on that rag. The kids can’t have much money. They tell me they’re operating on a shoe string.”

  Messner removed his hat and massaged his scalp, the fingers working rapidly, making a dry scratching sound.

  “There’s something about Ree that bothers me,” he said. “Damned if I don’t think he’s got a pretty bad record somewhere. And—Wesley disappeared too damned slick to suit me.”

  “It’s fishy,” Fry agreed.

  “More than that. Wesley’s car was found out at the edge of town. There was blood on the seat.”

  “You think Ree and Wesley had trouble? Think Ree may have bumped him?”

  “Well, would Wesley go off and leave all his personal belongings in his room? And a bank account he’s never touched? What do you think?”

  “I think we ought to damned well find out! I think we ought to sweat Ree until we do find out! I think we ought to get rid of Ree before he drags us all down!”

  “I think you’re right.”

  Sam Byrd was sitting at his desk working a crossword puzzle when Halliday entered. He grunted, but didn’t look up. Halliday took a roll of bills, circled by a thin rubber band, and stuck it in Byrd’s shirt pocket.

  “What’s that?”

  “Money, Sam. It’ll buy a lot of liquor.”

  “That’s all it’s good for.”

  “This money came from Ree. He’s working out pretty good, but he’s too ambitious. He wants to move in on gambling.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, if he can swing it. He can pull more out than Messner’s been getting, but I don’t think Messner’s going to sit around and let Ree move in.”

  “He didn’t yelp about the whores, did he?”

  “No, but Messner’s smart. He threw that to Ree hoping it would satisfy him and keep him quiet.”

  “Well, if there’s trouble, leave me out of it. All this was your idea, anyway. You’ve got to have the last ounce of blood. Can’t be satisfied with big stuff, you’ve got to have screw money.”

  Halliday made a moist clucking sound with his tongue.

  “You’re being vulgar, Sam.”

  “Well, hell! Can’t you see trouble brewing? You get Ree started on this, knowing he’d be bound to clash with Messner some time! What did you expect?”

  “To tell the truth, Sam, I didn’t know. For one thing, I wanted him to organize things another way. It didn’t occur to me that he’d be spending his time on small stuff like prostitutes.”

  “You wanted him to rob and steal, crack safes and knock off honky-tonks,” Byrd said. “That’s what you had in mind, wasn’t it?”

  Halliday didn’t answer.

  “You know something?” Byrd asked. “I think Ree did pull some jobs in this town.”

  “No!”

  “Don’t be sarcastic. I’d hate to think you had anything to do with it.”

  “We’ve been friends a long time, Sam.”

  “I wonder.”

  Halliday stalked out.

  Ree sat in his office, doors closed, and felt the walls closing in. He thought, and the more he thought the more he thought, and the more he thought about. The more he thought, the more convinced he was it was time to clear out.

  Something was behind him, close behind, breathing down his neck and ready to reach out and grab. It was time, good time, past time, to clear out.

  He wanted to run, get up and run blindly and wildly, until the panic cleared out of his mind and body and he could think clearly.

  Instead, he sat and thought.

  Run without a plan and whatever it was, whoever it was, behind him would trip him up.

  He knew that.

  The town was a net, was a web, was a prison.

  Time was running out.

  He knew, perhaps by instinct, that the bubble was about to burst. Halliday, Messner, Fry... Byrd, and all the rest... would turn on him when the chips were down. That he knew. Only a bubble had prolonged the bursting of the bubble, and even Laura could prick that bubble.

  And the Barrick boys—and Wesley, four little three little Indians, and he’d been lucky they hadn’t pinned him down by now.

  The girl, Barbara, might talk.

  That was a stupid thing to have done!

  He could have gone to Laura. She would have relented, if he’d worked on her enough. Anyway, it would have been better to pay for it than take it away from a girl like Barbara.

  Laura still thought he’d killed Wesley, but something had kept her from talking. That something... could it be love?

  Only Halliday had kept the Barrick boys from suing the city. And even Halliday couldn’t keep them from printing their stories.

  The hours ticked away, and as they ticked away, slowly ticked away, Ree made his plans.

  First, the forty thousand. He would get the forty grand from Laura’s father.

  How?

  By force, if necessary.

  It would be worth it. He had to take the forty thousand to do what he wanted to do, add it to the money he had and do what he wanted to do.

  Once he had the money, he’d see Laura and ask her to go away with him.

  That was important.

  She must go with him, far away with him. For one thing, she’d guessed where the forty grand came from.

  And... besides... she was much of a woman.

  But, if she wouldn’t go?

  She’d go.

  She’d better go.

  He thought of the little waitress, Barbara.

  Last night she had insisted he pay her the three hundred he’d promised. Her voice had been dead, her eyes dull and lifeless, though she had responded with passion after he’d placed her on the bed.

  He had laughed at her.

  “You think I’m just talking,” she said, “but I’ll kill you.”

  “Don’t kid me,” he said. “You enjoyed it as much as I did.”

  “That doesn’t make it right,” she said.

  “Aw, hell,” he said. “Quit kidding. You were no virgin.”

  “That has nothing to do with it,” she said. “It was still rape.”

  And then he said a foolish thing. Glibly and without thinking. The words just spilled out.

  “Might makes right,” he said.

  She fingered the panties and bra he’d torn from her body. Sitting in the middle of the bed, legs drawn up under her, naked and unashamed, making no attempt to cover her nakedness. There were tears hiding behind her eyes, but they were held back.

  “I’ll kill you,” she said.

  “Kill me in bed, then. Kill me with your body. Kill me with passion and I’ll die gladly.”

  “If I thought that would kill you—”

  “You’d have fun murdering me.”

  Thinking of her now, remembering her small body, the tiny wide-apart up-thrust breasts, her hair loose around her shoulder
s, desire came again. He shut his eyes and saw her, and beside her—on the easel of his mind—he painted Laura.

  Two perfect women.

  If Laura refused to go with him, he’d take Barbara.

  Time ticked away as he dreamed his plans. Five o’clock came and he saw himself winging across the sea. Five-thirty ticked away, and he was in Mexico City; then Brazil, Paris, places he’d never been, might never see.

  Six o’clock came and he was in his office at the Hall again, surrounded by trouble, submerged in trouble, up to his neck in trouble.

  A fine September mist was fogging the windows.

  This crazy flat country. Still hot in September.

  He went up-town and ate in a greasy spoon café, sitting near the window and watching the mist cover the street outside with a gleaming sheen of wet. Street lights were turned on early, and neon blossomed on store front vines of wire.

  As he left the café, he saw Cliff Barrick, arm in a sling, standing on the other side of the street. Halliday had told him Barrick had made bail, but he had pushed it back into his mind and covered it, buried it, hidden it, scratched dirt over it. Forgotten it.

  Cliff Barrick disappeared around a corner, and Ree went across the street to the car.

  Forty miles to Rockford.

  The asphalt was shining black under the film of rain. Lights of approaching cars were dim and round and ghostly. The motor purred comfortably, punctuated by the click-clack of windshield wipers. It was lonely, friendly lonely and cozy, in the rain and the night.

  Few cars drove the streets of Rockford, and few dotted the curbs. He drove around the town, a window down and one elbow stuck out into the wind. The tires swished, swished, rhythmically.

  There were lights in the church, and many cars were parked at the curb. He pulled in, switched off motor and lights.

  Music—organ music and singing.

  On and on, voices singing, voices sweetly singing off key and shrill and loud, but sweetly sweetly singing. On and on, voices sweetly singing, and organ soft and droning behind the voices, a curtain of throaty music for sweetly singing voices.

  The song ended.

  And then the organ again, and the voices.

  He got out of the car, slamming the door with savage violence, sudden and surprising savage violence, and walked across the wet grass to stand near a window. Rain was soft on his face, intimate and soft and caressing, but wet, and warm as tears.