Fires That Destroy

by Harry Whittington

  “No, he isn’t.”

  “Couple of my boys saw him in Clearwater yesterday morning. Early. He grabbed a bus right back out here. My boys let him go. We knew where he was. That’s all that mattered.”

  Bernice was weak. This dangerous man was telling her that he had been searching for Carlos. She found herself remembering the cue-dust-white man called Mitch, and the fright in Carlos’ face. Mitch must have worked for this man. And he had run away from New York to escape them. Now they had found him down here. And worse than that, Bernice knew another truth. Carlos had been running away from her yesterday morning! But he had seen this man’s hired killers in Clearwater. That was why he had come back!

  She forced herself to speak. “I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  “I’m in no hurry. I can wait.”

  “Are you a friend of his?”

  “In a way. I was like a father to him. He done me some dirt, Mrs. Brandon. I may as well tell you that right off. My name is Bert Chester.”

  She shook her head. The name meant nothing. “I don’t believe I’ve heard him mention you.”

  “No. I guess he wouldn’t. I own a club up home. Club Holiday. Drinking. Dancing. Gambling. Ever hear of it?”

  “No.”

  “No. I guess you wouldn’t. But believe me, your husband knew about it. I used to try to keep him out. He was nuts about gambling and he wasn’t heeled for it. I didn’t want his business. He was always gettin’ in over his head and going on the cuff. Most always I managed to collect. But I don’t like that class of trade. Never did. Still don’t. Bartenders and gamblers size up a man pretty quick, Mrs. Brandon. Your husband measured up to a punk. Just made it. A punk spending money as though he had it. If I sound burned about it, Mrs. Brandon, I am burned. I use my boys’ time collecting his debts. He got into me for a sizable amount. Then he ran out. Naturally, I had to put a tracer on him. That’s mighty easy in the syndicate. Especially on a man like Carlos Brandon, who can’t stay away from gambling. When I found out where he was, I came down to collect. And that’s what I’ll do.”

  “He never mentioned that he owed you money.”

  “No. Why should he? You’ll find, Mrs. Brandon, that he ain’t the type to tell you much about himself. I bet he never told you about a widow named Vivian Barrows, did he?”

  “No.”

  Bert Chester laughed. “She was a dopey widow, out to be young with Carlos. Well, he took her for plenty. Until she wised up and hired a private eye to follow him. Then she threw him out, burned everything he owned, and tossed him on his ear. I picked him up and helped him because he owed me money. I got him in at the Citizen’s Bank. When he ran out on that job, he left me on the spot.”

  “You? What did you have to do with the bank?”

  He laughed. “Nothing, baby. But I knew a few people who did. It wasn’t hard to get your husband a minor job at the bank. He was in there where I wanted him. He was working for me to square that debt. He ran out.”

  “No. We got married. We came down here. On—our honeymoon.”

  “Yeah. I know all about it.” Bert Chester looked at her. “That’s one reason I came to talk to you. Thought it might help to talk to you first. Wanted to find out what the punk means to you. That’s why I told you about Vivian Barrows. I wanted you to know that he’s a two-timer. He’s made a career out of living on women who’ll take care of him. He’s a welcher. Ran out owing me money. I got him a job and he ran out on that. He’s a liar and a cheat and a fake. I tried to warn him not to run. I talked to him like a father. But he ran away. So that means he’s a fool as well as a four-flusher. Now I’m giving you a break, Mrs. Brandon. I’ve told you what I know about Carlos Brandon. I’ve leveled with you. You know what he is. If you want to, you can pack a bag, I’ll drive you to Clearwater. You can take a train anywhere you like. You won’t ever need to hear about him again. You won’t ever need to worry about him again.”

  Bernice stared at him. “What will happen to him?”

  “You heard what I been telling you about him?”

  “I heard you. What are you going to do to him?”

  “You know the truth about him, and you still care what happens to him?” Bert Chester shook his head. “It don’t make sense, sister. It just don’t make sense.”

  Bernice met his eyes. “I can’t help it. I love him. I couldn’t just walk out and leave him.”

  “He could walk out and leave you, baby. Just give him time and that’s what he’ll do.”

  “Probably he will.”

  Bert Chester cursed. “I’d like to know what it is that attracts women to punks like this guy, makes ‘em spend their lives taking care of ‘em, gettin’ ‘em out of scrapes so they can get in worse ones next time. All right. So now we can talk. You’re the only person who cares enough about Carlos Brandon to save him. I’m willing to let you.”

  She exhaled slowly.

  “One thing you got to do. Keep him down here. Tell him I said so. Tell him he never got away from me. Tell him we could have moved in on him sooner. Tell him the string’s run out with me. Keep him out of my way. If he ever comes back into any of my clubs, if I ever hear of him gambling in a place of mine—that’s all. That’s all for him.”

  “I’ll do it. I promise you I’ll do it.”

  “All right. Now there’s one more thing. He owes me three thousand dollars. Vivian Barrows agreed to pay it. But she kept delayin’ sendin’ me a check until the bust-up came between them. Then she called me and said she wasn’t going to pay his debts. She probably thought I’d have him killed and she wanted that, she wanted to be even with him for two-timing her. But I’m interested in money, and my rep. What I want is three grand. You pay me the three grand and Carlos is all yours. All yours.”

  “How will I know? You hate him. How do I know you won’t kill him after you have your money?”

  Bert Chester didn’t smile. “Let’s trust each other, sister. You got enough to worry about with Carlos. My word. You’ll have to take my word for it.”

  “Just a minute.”

  She went into the bedroom, closed the door behind her.

  Bert Chester looked at the uncomfortable chairs in the front room and decided to go on standing. He wanted a drink, but there was no liquor in the room.

  The bedroom door opened and Bernice appeared. She had a stack of green bills clutched in her hand.

  Bert Chester laughed. “Cash?”

  “Yes. Do you mind?”

  “No. This’ll save clearing a check through a bank.”

  She counted out the money into his hand. He bent the stack, folded it, and shoved it into his coat pocket.

  “Do I get a receipt?” Bernice said.

  He handed her the I.O.U. Carlos had signed in the Club Holiday.

  “Carlos is your receipt, baby.” He looked at her a moment and then went to the front door. His hand on the knob, he turned and looked at her. “I’ve seen some suckers in my time, sister. But God help me, you’re the damnedest sucker I ever met.” The door slammed.

  Bernice met her eyes in the living-room mirror. Well, she had made one more payment. And then she added, her mouth twisting, “Sucker.”

  Fourteen

  It was almost dark when Carlos slid to a stop before his cottage, showering gravel from beneath his rear tires.

  He slid out of the car, wadded a used Kleenex, and tossed it into the road. He whistled softly to himself as he went around the car and into the cottage.

  Bernice was standing in the center of the darkened front room. He caught his breath. Then he laughed and snapped on the light.

  “Ah, the wrath of God. What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. Why should anything be the matter? I love being cooped up here all day by myself. Did you have a good time?”

  “Swell.” He was thinking, I don’t care what’s eating you, baby. I just don’t want to hear about it.

  “You had company.”

  He hesitated, going tense. “That so? Who w
as it?”

  She came to him and put her hands on his arms. “Do you love me, Carlos? Do you love me?”

  “Sure. Look at me. I’m all goose pimples, baby. Tell me, who was here?”

  “I hope you love me, Carlos.”

  “All right! I said I loved you. Who was here?”

  “Because you cost me a lot of money.”

  Now his breath quickened and he felt the bottom drop out of his belly. He forced his voice to remain casual. “Do I? So what? You’ve got plenty of it.”

  “That’s it, Carlos. I don’t. We can’t go on like this. And I haven’t anything for you unless you love me.”

  He caught her hands in one of his and pulled them down, pressing back on her fingers.

  “I said, who was here?”

  “Bert Chester.”

  “What did he say?”

  “You’re hurting me.”

  “When will he be back?” His gaze flew around the room. “He’s not here now?”

  “No. He’s gone.”

  “We’ve got to get out of here, Bernice. Now. Tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s going to kill me.”

  “Why would he want to kill you?”

  His voice hardened. “Oh, something he thinks I did. He tried to give me a hard time in New York. But I told him off. I told him to stay away from me.”

  “He says you owe him three thousand dollars.”

  “All right! If you know what he wanted, why did you ask me?”

  “I just wondered if you could ever stop lying.”

  “So now you know. What did Chester say?”

  “He said to tell you to stay down here. He said if he ever saw you again he’d kill you.”

  “What about the three thousand dollars? What did he say about that?”

  “I paid it.”

  “That ends it?”

  “He said it did. If you stayed down here.”

  He breathed heavily through his open mouth. “Oh, God. What a hell of a thing. I tell you, I’m sorry you threw that money away like that.”

  “What?”

  “Why, he was bluffing. You know he was. Gamblers can’t collect, not crooks like Chester. Not if you’ve guts enough to fight ‘em. Everything in that place of his is crooked.”

  “He says you knew that before you gambled. He said he never wanted you to gamble.”

  “He’s just bluffing.”

  “He didn’t look like a man who was bluffing.”

  “O.K.! So I’m scared to death.”

  “Yes. I think you are.”

  “All right. And so you saved my life.”

  “Yes. I did.”

  “So what do you want me to do now? Kiss your shoes? Promise to be a good little boy?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Well, baby, it looks to me like you’ve been had. I never was afraid of Bert Chester. He’s nothing but a hoodlum.”

  “Is that why you ran away from New York? Is that why you came running back from Clearwater? Oh, I thought it was because you loved me. But I know better now. You don’t love anybody. You never could.”

  “We ran from New York because I thought we had something together. I’m not so sure now. You paying off on a gambling debt. Why didn’t you tell him to wait? Why didn’t you let me handle it? I never was afraid of him. You’ve been a sucker, baby.”

  “Yes, I know. I’ve already been told that.”

  He started by her toward the bedroom.

  “Where are you going, Carlos?”

  “Out.”

  She stood looking at him. She was remembering suddenly the anguish in Lloyd Deerman’s voice the night he had died. She could see him asking Bernice where she had been. She remembered her curt answer, “I went out.” When they don’t love you, you can’t make them love you. You can just hurt yourself, the way Lloyd had done. The way Bernice was hurting herself now.

  She knew that now she had begun to think about Lloyd, she wasn’t going to be able to get him out of her mind. She understood now the agony Lloyd had endured, loving her while she despised him. Seeing she was suffering as Lloyd had wasn’t going to help her forget him. Poor blind devil. All he’d wanted was love and affection. She’d given it to him! She’d run at him, her arms like thin battering rams. He had fallen, twisting and rolling...

  She knew she couldn’t stand to be alone again, especially not tonight.

  “Take me with you,” she begged.

  “Sorry, Bernice.” He shrugged her hand off his arm. “Not this time.”

  “Don’t go, then. Please don’t leave me. Carlos, listen to me. Anything you want. Anything you want to do, Carlos. Please stay with me. Just tonight. Please don’t go out again.”

  He stopped in the bedroom door and looked at her. “Sorry, baby. My plans are already made.”

  He watched the stiff way she walked across the room and sank down on the divan. She laid her head back and stared at the ceiling. Carlos shrugged. He went into the bathroom and started the shower. He was singing over the roar of the water. When he came out, Bernice was still sitting on the divan. She looked as though she hadn’t moved a muscle.

  He dressed carefully, admiring himself in the mirror, taking a lot of time so that he looked just right.

  Bernice’s purse was on the dresser. He opened it. There was only a ten-dollar bill in it. He grimaced as he shoved the money into his trousers pocket.

  When he started through the living room, Bernice turned her head on the couch. “Please, Carlos.”

  “I’ve told you, baby, I’m sorry as hell. But that’s the way it is.”

  He bent over to kiss her, but she turned her face away. His mouth tightened and he straightened up.

  “Don’t wait up for me,” he said.

  “Carlos.”

  He was at the front door. Immediately he glared across his shoulder.

  “Carlos, what kind of life do we have? What kind of life is this, with you running around, and me sitting here?”

  “Don’t try to hold me, baby. I’m used to being free. I can’t help it. That’s the way I want it.”

  “What am I to do?”

  “Look. Tomorrow night we’ll plan something big. How about it? Tomorrow night?”

  She didn’t answer. He waited a moment and then he went out, letting the door slam. He heard her sob. One painful sob. And then it was silent in the bright little cottage. Oh, the hell with it, he told himself. She’d spoil every damned thing he wanted to do if he’d let her.

  He slid into the car and started the engine. The smooth, powerful sound of it made him smile and he felt better.

  He put the car in reverse and moved along the court. He could feel the eyes of the other tenants on him. The hell with them. Old goats with nothing to do but mind somebody else’s business.

  A car moved across the court exit. Carlos slammed on his brakes. There were only inches between his bumper and the fender of the other car. The other car. It was big, dark blue, mud-splattered. The car Carlos had seen in Clearwater. Mitch’s car.

  Carlos felt his stomach turn over. For a moment he thought he was going to puke.

  Before he could move, Draper was standing at the door of his car. “Just let it sit, Carlos.”

  “It can’t just sit here.”

  “Get out.”

  “Are you crazy? There are people around here. You can’t get away with anything.”

  “Neither can you. Don’t make me mad, Carlos. Do like I said. Turn off the engine. Leave the keys in it and get out. Do it now.”

  Carlos fumbled at the ignition. Draper opened the door for him. When Carlos’ feet touched the pavement, his knees caved in and he almost fell.

  “Right over there. Right in the front seat, Carlos.”

  Mitch was behind the steering wheel. He looked at Carlos. He didn’t bother smiling. “Hi, Carlos.”

  “Hi, Mitch.” Carlos felt Draper crowd into the car beside him. He was pressed between Mitch and Draper. He began to sweat. Mitch put the car i
n gear and they sped along the darkened highway.

  “Look, Mitch. We paid it. Bernice paid the three grand. Bert said that was all he wanted.”

  “That’s right,” Mitch said. “That’s all he wanted. Wasn’t that all he wanted, Draper?”

  “Not exactly,” Draper said.

  “Oh, my God,” Carlos whispered.

  Draper was looking out the car window. “This looks all right.”

  “Nah,” Mitch said. “I know a place four or five miles down the beach. More private.”

  “What you guys going to do?”

  “Nothing, kid. You see, Bert has got his three grand. All he wants is to impress you a little.”

  “Look. I’m impressed.”

  Draper grunted. “He’s scared as hell, all right. That’s the truth.”

  “No,” Mitch said. “He impresses too easy. He forgets too easy. This time you ain’t going to forget, Carlos.”

  He swung the car left off the highway into a small dirt road that twisted through a grove of thick green matted bushes.

  They came out on a bare stretch of ground. Mitch parked the car. Draper got out.

  “O.K., punk,” Draper said. “Get out.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t be a damn fool. Get out!”

  Mitch touched his arm. “Get out, kid.”

  Carlos was too weak to move. Draper caught his arm and dragged him off the seat. Carlos’ knees banged on the running board and he sank to the ground.

  Mitch came around the car. He caught Carlos’ tie in his fist, twisting it. “Get up, Carlos.”

  As he twisted, Carlos’ face turned red, and abruptly he could no longer breathe. Mitch began to lift on the tie, and Carlos stood up, stretching tall.

  “That’s better,” Mitch said. He twisted the tie again. Carlos could feel his eyes bulge. His teeth ached all around his gums. It was as though the blood pressure were going to force them out of his head. Strangling, he tried to speak and flailed wildly with his arms.

  “Stand still,” Mitch said. He twisted the tie again, and when Carlos flung out his arms and jerked his head back trying to breathe, Mitch drove his knee into Carlos’ groin.

  As Carlos doubled over, Mitch drove his fist into Carlos’ blood-swollen face. The blow hurt every inch of Carlos’ head. It seemed to loosen his teeth, it seemed to drive his eyes from their sockets, and it sent the blood spewing into his ears, deafening him. It made him forget the agony of his scrotum.