“Huh? It’s a story I heard just — ”
Ruth shook her head. “Uh-uh. In the first place, you don’t know how to tell a good story. I’ve never seen you fail to step on the punch line. And in the second place, all your stories are too dirty.”
“But you like dirty stories.”
“Sure. But there are dirty stories and there are dirty stories. Know what I mean? Good ones and bad. There’s only one rule for a good dirty story: Is it funny? Yours aren’t funny. They’re just dirty. And I don’t like stories that get told just because they’re dirty and for no other reason.”
She turned back to her audience and told another story and then the men drifted away. She called the bartender over and ordered another Martini. She looked moodily out the window and said huskily, “I like fog.”
“I don’t mind it myself. We wouldn’t have all this beautiful green country around here without it.”
“I wasn’t thinking of that. I was just thinking of the fog itself. It’s sort of comforting. It limits how far you can see. It makes your world a little thing, nice and comfy. I like fog and a nice drink and a roaring fire and” — she turned to look at him — “a man with his arms around me. Let’s leave.”
Dean glanced back at the guests. “Not now. It’s too soon. Besides, I’m getting hungry.
She sighed. “Oh, well. Where to for dinner? The Lodge?”
“Good enough. We’ll stick around here for a while, though.”
“Dean.”
“Hmmm?”
“What about this Moore thing? What’s going to happen? Do you know?”
“No more than the others. But I have a few ideas. Steve is going to take over.”
“He doesn’t know too much.”
“He knows enough, with Freeman there to advise him and give him a hand.”
“He’s a nice person, that Steve. I like him.”
“Everybody does. Anyway, he’s taking over. I was talking with him today.”
“So then what?”
“It all depends. The old man’s interests were scattered far and wide. Steve will have to consolidate. If he handles it wisely, the outfit will be stronger than ever. Moore was spread out too far. Pull it in short and you have a tight organization no one can take pot shots at. Knowing Freeman, I’d say that’s probably the way they’ll go about it. But after that comes the big question. This business is dog eat dog, you know. If the shippers spot any weakness in Steve, or any timidity, they’ll gang up on him and break him and then scramble for the pieces.”
Ruth slanted a glance at him from the corners of her eyes. “You’re talking for yourself. They won’t gang up on Steve. For one thing, they all like him, and for another, they’d rather see the Moore outfit at the top than someone else I can name.”
“Oh, hell.”
She placed a hand over his and said, “I know you, Dean. Sometimes I think I know you better than you know yourself. All you mean is that you’re looking for a weakness and then you’ll step in. Aren’t you the next biggest in the business?”
“Well, I ship more than the others.”
“But you’d rather be Mr. Number One, wouldn’t you? I know. You resent all these people. You think sometimes they’re laughing at you because you came out of the fields and the sheds to stand over them. So you’re going to be Mr. Number One even if it kills you. You’re going to show them all.”
Dean smiled nervously and said, “Look. I’m strictly a businessman.”
“Oh, my aunt’s fanny. I know what you’re after, but I wish you’d change your mind. You’ll hurt someone. And I like Steve and Betty. She’s a nice person.”
“What the hell do they mean to you?”
“Plenty.” She looked dreamily off into space for a moment, then said, “When I married Ralph I was a cocktail waitress, and everyone knew it. You know what a bunch of snobs these people are. They weren’t going to take me to their bosoms. But I knew Steve, you see. He used to come in Gurry’s now and then and I’d serve him drinks and we’d kid each other and tell stories. We’re about the same age.”
“I didn’t know you knew him so well.”
“Oh, sure. Old friends. Anyway, I was getting nowhere with the people around here until the day Steve and Betty got married. Do you remember that wedding?”
“I heard about it.”
“That was one of the most ultra-ultra weddings ever put on in San Francisco. Strictly for the bluebloods. I think the invitations were printed by the mint. It was an exclusive affair limited to the social register, with one exception.”
Dean started to grin. “Don’t tell me. You?”
“That’s right. Stevie-boy knew how rough I was getting it, so he had Betty send me an invitation and I went to the wedding. That’s the kind of guy Steve is. And that did the trick. All these queens around here couldn’t figure out how in God’s name I got invited, but from then on they were afraid to ignore me. After that I was in like Flynn.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Then when Steve and Betty got back from their honeymoon they invited me to their first party, another big social do. You can take it from there, Junior. I’ve had no trouble since. So you see what I mean? I owe them something. And you,” she grinned, “you redheaded lug. I’m telling you now. Leave Steve alone. Give him a chance to get going. Please. Dean?”
He looked into her eyes and saw that she was deadly serious and felt a little uncomfortable. “Sure,” he said. He could not meet her eyes. He looked away and saw Jan watching him from the other room. She raised her hand and put her fingers together in an O.K. sign. Dean brushed a smile from his lips, but winked at her. The week end promised to be something special.
• • •
It was all that he had thought it would be. At midnight on Sunday he drove back from the Big Sur country, where he had taken over a cabin belonging to a friend of his. He was a bit tired, but pleasantly so. Jan was in the far corner of the seat, her legs drawn up and her eyes closed, apparently asleep. Dean looked at her and thought, Just a tramp, but she’s got it.
He spun the wheel easily and followed the strong beams of the headlights around the curves. He was in no hurry and he was lost in thought, wondering about Jan. He had enjoyed a good golf game that morning and so had been in a gay mood when he picked Jan up at the Lodge. They had stopped at every drinking spot on the way south to Big Sur. By the time they arrived at the cabin Jan had been potted. Her love-making, then, had been wild and unrestrained, all inhibitions forgotten. It had been a memorable occasion. Dean knew that he would not soon forget it.
He knew also that others enjoyed such extravagant favors. Yet he doubted that her own husband was any longer one of that select group. Their idyl had probably come to an end when they had been forced to divorce their other mates and get married. That had taken all the kick out of it.
Jan stirred and stretched her arms lazily and lifted her head to look at Dean. “Time?” she asked.
He glanced at the dashboard clock and replied, “Almost twelve.”
She yawned and sat up and placed a cigarette between slightly bruised lips. She punched in the lighter, waited for it to snap out, then touched the glowing coils to her cigarette. Her eyes were half closed, slumbrous, sated with passion. She slumped low on her spine and leaned her head against the back of the seat, the cigarette dangling from a corner of her mouth.
“The first time I went anywhere like this,” she said, “was when I was in high school. We went to a little place on the Russian River. A boy named Bill. I remember that, but I can’t remember his last name or what he looked like or anything else about him. It was just Bill. I seem to have an affinity for whoring around rivers. Do you think maybe that means anything? A psychiatrist could make quite a case out of it. The stream of life, you see. The parallel of sex and running water. There must be a connection. I could build it up big, but it wouldn’t mean anything. I whore around just as much with not a river in sight. That’s what happens when you try to make a
case of anything. The exceptions exceed the rule.”
She blew out a puff of smoke and glanced at him from the corners of her slanted eyes. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m tired.”
She laughed softly. “I certainly hope so. I’m rather battered myself. The bed in that cabin isn’t the softest thing in the world. Why don’t you carry one of those inflatable mattresses in your car?”
“Believe me, baby, it wouldn’t get used enough to make it worth while.”
“Oh, rot. You’re not fooling anyone, Dean. I’ve watched you navigating around for quite a while. You do all right for yourself. Then, of course, you always have Ruth.” She asked breathlessly, “How do we compare with each other?”
He shook his head. “Forget it.”
“Won’t talk, huh? All I want is the facts, sir. Just the facts.” She giggled and said, “But I guess she’s good. She’d have to be. I saw her this morning.”
“Where?”
“At the Moore funeral. Ruth was crying with the best of them.”
“She’s a sentimental person. Was it a big funeral?”
“Now, what do you think? Naturally, it was big. The procession was miles long. It was odd, too, the shabby jalopies in that parade, all the shed workers and field hands and truck drivers from Salinas. Hundreds of them. You’d think those people would stay away. From what I understand, they hated old Tom’s guts. He always paid as little as he could, he fought the unions every chance he got, and I’ve never heard of him giving a helping hand to any one of them.”
Dean grinned. “Maybe it wasn’t a sad occasion to them. They probably showed up to celebrate and make damned sure he was put six feet under.”
“You may be right. Now that I think of it, I don’t remember any of them shedding any tears. I guess you’re right. They all like Steve, though.”
“Everyone likes Steve.”
“Well, he’s the best thing that family ever turned out. You can’t help liking him. He and Sam had quite a talk Friday afternoon, by the way.”
Dean tensed, but he forced his hands to relax on the wheel. “Oh?”
“They’re old friends. Think a lot of each other.”
Dean asked casually, “What was it they were talking about?”
She looked at him sharply in the dim glow of the instrument panel. “I’ll make you a trade.”
“Sold.”
“All right. Steve is afraid he doesn’t know enough to run the complicated operations of the packing sheds. Vacuum packing is much simpler, and besides, he thinks that’s the coming thing.”
“He’s right. We all think the same way.”
“So-o-o, he wants to dump the shed operations and sell them out. He figures on concentrating their entire turnout on vacuum packing.”
Dean thought of it and frowned and shook his head. “Too big. There are only so many vacuum tubes in the valley. He’d have to take his turn at them and — ”
Jan interrupted with a shake of her head. “He’s thought of that, too. How many tubes does Metzner have in that new plant he just built?”
“Four.”
“That’s big, isn’t it?”
“The biggest in the valley.”
“That’s what I thought. Well, from what I heard, it seems that Metzner went overboard building that plant and now he’s in trouble with the banks.”
“I know.” Dean smiled, then said, “I’ve been watching and waiting.”
“Steve isn’t going to wait. He’s going to make Metzner an offer sometime this week, either to go in with him or to buy him outright.”
“Jee-zuss! I guess I’ve been underestimating Steve. It’s the smartest move he could make.”
“I thought you’d like to hear about it. Now for my trade. This is the time of year when furs go on sale. There’s an ermine I saw in San Francisco I’m dying to buy. But you know how Sam is at the beginning of a new season. He always worries. He won’t let me have the money now.”
Dean sighed. “O.K. How much cash do you have of your own?”
“A little over six thousand.”
“That’s plenty. There’s a young fellow in Salinas name of Jake Barletta — ”
“Oh, I know him. He was my ex’s shed boss.”
“That’s right. Now he’s on his own. So here’s the deal. He can get lettuce from friends of his, but he hasn’t enough money for shipping. Give him a call in the morning and tell him you’ll put up the money and split anywhere from five to ten cars with him. Say that I suggested it. He’ll be tickled silly to go for it.”
“You mean we split the profits?”
“Yes. You put up the money and he does all the work. It comes out. Now, the market dropped to four Friday, but went up to a weak four and a half Saturday. I think it’s going to firm and in the morning I’m offering at four-seventy-five. Tell that to Jake. Don’t settle for less. Go for the deal for three days in a row at that price and you’ll have your ermine coat.”
“You’re a sweetheart, darling.”
She leaned over to kiss his ear, then dropped back with her eyes again closed. She was thinking of the ermine coat and wondering why Sam never knew about deals like that. It was always Dean that knew the angles.
He fell into silence also, slowly tooling the car around the curves. When he came to a stop in front of Jan’s home she leaned over to crush a hard kiss on his mouth, her fingers biting into his shoulders. Then she stepped from the car and ran up the steps to the dark door leading to the garden patio. She turned and waved at him before she stepped inside.
Dean drove slowly homeward and eased the fat car into a not too fat garage. He walked out and stood in the driveway to look up at the stars. So Steve was going after the Metzner plant. If he got that and was able to dump the sheds, he could ride through any kind of storm. With the way the trend was going toward more and more vacuum packing, the Moore outfit would remain the biggest in the business.
But now Dean had something to think about and his brain had come alive. Now there was an angle to work on. There was only one thing to do if he ever hoped to be Mr. Number One, and now was the time to get started.
Steve Moore was in the way.
Chapter Four
HERMAN METZNER had always been a farmer, like his father and grandfather before him. They had left him a few thousand acres of beet lands below Gustine and he had also inherited a large block of acreage between Salinas and the Gabilans. He had been born and raised on the land, and after he had taken it over he had been content to grow beans and peas and broccoli and carrots and celery and a little lettuce. But when Tom Moore had started the big lettuce boom, Metzner had been one of the first to clear his produce land of all else and plant solely to lettuce. He had made more money in a few years than all of the Metzners before him.
For a long while he stayed with the land and concentrated on what he knew best, farming. He let the others buy and ship and sell, and the Metzner millions piled up. But three daughters came of age and got married and he gave them fabulous dowries and financed them on extended honeymoons. Then Mrs. Metzner became more than a little giddy and overcome with their wealth in her middle age and divorced him to marry a younger man. California courts being what they are, she took most of his cash. His two sons were left to him, but one was studying art and had no interest whatever in farming and the other was no good to himself or anyone else. The latter son finally killed a man in a hit-and-run case and was caught. The father spent everything he had left in cash to save him, but the son went to San Quentin just the same.
It was then that Metzner felt compelled to branch out. He took loans on his land, leased sheds, and went into the shipping end of the business, as well as the growing. He did not do badly, but the new venture was not big enough for him. He hungered to get his millions back. When vacuum packing came along, he realized its possibilities and decided to get aboard. It looked good to him. So he built the biggest vacuum plant in the valley.
To do so, however, he had to sell his beet land
s at Gustine to the Spreckles Company and take out heavy mortgages on his lettuce properties. He was optimistic about the venture because at that time the two vacuum plants in Salinas and the one in Watsonville were running at capacity. What he failed to realize was that most of the shippers had heavy investments in ice plants and ice packing sheds and, progress or not, they were going to protect their interests. They diverted as little of their cuttings as possible to the vacuum tubes.
Since the beginning of the season, only one of Metzner’s four tubes had been used. He could not meet his heavy bank notes by running at a quarter of capacity. He was falling behind and already the bankers were wringing their hands in anguish. If he fell too far behind, the bankers would inherit a vacuum plant they did not want and it would probably take Metzner the rest of his lifetime to recoup his losses in the growing fields.
He was in a bad situation, and knew it, when Dean Holt walked into his office that afternoon. Dean dropped into a chair across the desk from Metzner, crossed his legs carefully, and lighted a cigarette, appraising Metzner. The farmer was a small man of slight build, with a weather-beaten face out of which all the juices had been dried years before. He was bald, with a slight fringe of gray hair at his temples, but he had a habit of running his fingers back over his scalp as if he were playing with a mass of luxuriant hair. He always seemed surprised when his hand came in contact with the bare skin, as if he had just been scalped. He still chewed tobacco and kept a handy copper spittoon at the side of his desk. His clothes, too, were rather old-fashioned, generally of some rough tweed with the lapels cut high and the three buttons of the coat always buttoned.
Dean lifted his eyes and looked about. Metzner’s office was one of a long series, all partitioned by glass, so that Dean could see the full length of the operation. He saw vacuum engineers at work in one office, secretaries in another, and maintenance men, freight handlers, and brokers in other offices. There were a lot of people around, but the place was definitely not busy. Dean drew at his cigarette and hid a smile.
He and Metzner talked for a while about the market and conditions in general. At length Dean got to his feet to leave, as if he had just dropped in to pass the time of day. But at the door he paused with his hand on the knob and looked at Metzner. He nodded toward the window, through which the big shed could be seen, and said casually, “Just one tube going?”
Hunger and the Hate Page 6