1944 - Just the Way It Is (12 page)

In front of him, off the road, was a line of wire fence strung out across the dusty, barren fields. On the far side of the field, he could see a little cluster of buildings.

He climbed out of the car and leaving it by the side of the road, he jumped the wire fence and set out across the field.

The sun was hot and although he didn’t hurry, he was soon sweating. The dust bothered him too, spurting up over his shoes and filling the cuffs of his trousers.

Three-quarters of the way across the field, he could see the line of wooden shacks quite plainly. There were six of them. Five bungalows and a two-storied house. All the buildings were bleached white by the sun and rain and they seemed to sag like weary old men too tired to stand straight and too indifferent to lie down.

He was aware that there were people standing in the various doorways, watching him uneasily. He could feel their hostile, nervous looks even before he reached the shacks.

In the open doors, the women stood watching him. Behind them, children, who peered round their mothers’ skirts, stared at him with black intent eyes.

The men lounged by the broken gates of the shacks, like advance guards, prepared to take the first shock before an attack could reach their doors. They were a motley crew, dirty, bad and suspicious.

The one man who paid him no attention sat on the porch of the two-storied house. He was dressed in a dirty, torn overall and a dark shirt, an old battered hat rested on the back of his head. It was difficult to guess his age. Duke thought maybe he was forty or maybe he was sixty. He couldn’t tell. But, he was big and powerful, with tremendous shoulders and a big chestnut coloured beard.

He sat in the shade, whittling a piece of wood with a long thin knife.

Duke looked at the other men and decided that this fella would be the boss, if they had such a person in a dump like this. He walked up to the rotten gate, lifted the latch and eased it tenderly back. One of the hinges had broken and the other was hanging by a screw.

He walked up the flat mud path, feeling the eyes of the others on him, making him a little uncomfortable.

The big bearded man didn’t look up. He went on whittling at the wood.

‘Mornin,’ Duke said. ‘Are you the headman of this outfit?’

‘Suppose I am?’ the big fellow returned, without looking up. ‘Would that be any of your business, mister?’

‘Depends what sort of headman you are,’ Duke returned, resting his foot on the porch and pushing his hat to the back of his head. ‘Maybe you and I can do a little business.’

The big man looked up sharply. ‘Listen, mister,’ he said, coldly. ‘You’re wasting your time. I’ve had a dozen guys out here in the last two weeks talking business. I ain’t interested in business. All I’m interested in is keeping Pinder’s End for these folks here.’ He jerked his thumb to the tenants who stayed just out of hearing, watching with dumb, cold attention.

‘I’m Harry Duke,’ Duke said. ‘Maybe you’ve heard of me.’

The big man showed interest. ‘From Bentonville, huh?’ he said. ‘What do you want out here?’

Duke lowered himself carefully on to the dusty porch. ‘I’m interested in Pinder’s End,’ he said, slowly. ‘Like a lot of people, but not in the same way. I heard the place’s been sold and you’ve all got notice to quit.’

‘That’s right,’ the big man said. ‘What’s it to you?’

‘Are you going?’ Duke asked.

The big man scratched his head. He put his hat on again carefully and shrugged. ‘I guess so,’ he said. ‘They’ve been trying to get us out for the last year. Well, it looks like we’ll have to go this time. So long as no one bought the place we were safe enough. We paid the rent and they couldn’t get us out. Now, it’s bought. I guess there ain’t anything we can do but get out.’

Duke lit a cigarette. ‘The guy who bought Pinder’s End cut his throat last night,’ he said, watching the big man closely. ‘The title deeds of this place are floating around and haven’t turned up yet. It’d pay you to stick until they’re found.’

‘What’s the game, mister?’ The big man looked at him with interest. ‘What are you getting out of this?’

Duke shook his head. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘At least, I don’t think so. You see Timson, the fella who bought Pinder’s End, was murdered. I want to find the guy who killed him. If you stick and refuse to move, they’ll have to bring an action to get you out. The title deeds will be asked for and the fella who produces them is the fella who killed Timson.’

The big man got to his feet. ‘Come inside,’ he said. ‘This wants thinking about.’

Duke followed him into the dark house. The wallpaper was peeling off and hanging in long strips from the wall. There was a damp smell in the place and the boards creaked under his feet. Most of the windows were boarded up and he couldn’t see at all after the blinding sunlight on the porch. He had to follow the big man by sound.

‘Casy’s the name,’ the big man said, leading him into a small room at the back of the house. It was roughly furnished but clean and Casy waved him to an old rocking chair while he took from a cupboard an earthenware jar and two mugs.

‘Applejack any good to you?’ he asked.

‘Sure,’ Duke said, relaxing in the rocking chair and flicking his ash into the empty fireplace. ‘You guys are living the hard way, ain’t you?’

Casy shrugged. ‘One time it was all right,’ he said. ‘That was five years ago. We all had farms and we didn’t do too badly. Now, Fairview, I guess, is on the skids. The ground out here’s no good anymore. It’s just the way things go. Maybe, if we did leave, we’d do a lot better, but the women and the kids don’t like changes.’

Duke found the applejack very strong. He controlled a coughing spasm only by an effort of will. ‘All I want you guys to do is to stick. I’ll look after the law end of it. I’ll get the best lawyer in Bentonville to fight for you and I’ll pay for it,’ he said, putting the mug down on the floor beside him. ‘Someone wants Pinder’s End badly. Another party wants it too. The second party wants it badly enough to do murder. I want to find out why. Have you any ideas?’

Casy laughed. ‘Look at the place,’ he said. ‘You go out and look at it. Even
we
don’t want it.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Duke said, ‘I don’t know anything about soil, or buildings, but from first glance, this place is just a desert, but someone knows different and I want to find out why. There couldn’t be a mine around here, I suppose?’

Casy laughed. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘There couldn’t be. No, mister, this place is finished. It’s not worth a damn.’

Duke finished his applejack with a little grimace. ‘Well, all right,’ he said, ‘there must be a reason for buying it. I’ve got to find that out. All I want you to do is to stick tight. Will you do that?’

Casy scratched his beard. ‘We’ve got orders to quit,’ he said, uneasily. ‘What do I do with them?’

‘Let me have ‘em,’ Duke said, ‘I’ll turn ‘em over to a smart lawyer and he’ll fight it for you. You don’t have to do anything else. Just dig your toes in and let me do the fighting. Will you do that?’

Casy thought about it, then he said, ‘Well, I guess so. I’ve heard about you. You’ve got a tough reputation and I’ve heard that you keep your word. You play with us and I’ll see that the rest of the folks around here play with you.’

Duke got to his feet. ‘Get me these orders and I’ll fix things,’ he said.

Casy nodded. ‘You wait here, mister,’ he returned, ‘I won’t be long,’ and he went out, leaving the door open.

Duke sat down in the rocking chair again and lit another cigarette. His mind was busy. Berhman would look after the law end of it. There was no smarter lawyer in Bentonville. It was just the kind of fight Berhman loved.

When he had got Berhman on the job, he’d go over to see Bellman. He was sure that Bellman had started all this. Then there was this guy Spade. Spade the mystery man. He scowled at his cigarette. After cigars, cigarettes were just punk, he thought.

This fella Casy looked as if he might be a help. He was a fighter. A blind man could see that. If he could keep all these other punks tight in Pinder’s End, Duke felt he would be doing something. At least, whatever Bellman or Spade or even Schultz wanted to do, couldn’t be done with that mob sitting on Pinder’s End.

What the hell did they want to do? If he knew that he’d know everything. What could be at the bottom of this dump? It must be something big, Duke was sure of that. If it wasn’t a mine, what could it be?

He stroked his nose thoughtfully. This house was old, he thought, every movement made by the wind sounded like a giant’s tread. He listened to the creaking boards and thought he wouldn’t like to live here on his own.

Sitting there, in the dimly lit room, he suddenly became uneasy. He didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because he was used to bright lights and the sound of voices that always drifted up from the poolroom. Here, there were only the creaking of old boards and the soft whimpering of the hot wind that blew against the dry, bleached sides of the house.

He sat listening to the sounds. Then, quite suddenly, he felt the hairs on his neck bristle. Just above him upstairs, someone coughed. It was a quiet strangled cough as if the someone was anxious that no one should hear him.

Duke sat forward in his chair, his ears straining and his eyes intent. He could hear nothing except for the creaking of the house and he wondered if he was imagining things. Then a sound of a soft footfall came to his straining ears. Someone was walking very quietly above his head.

He stood up and tiptoed across the room. He stood listening at the door. Footfalls came distinctly as if someone was moving about upstairs, but moving with extreme caution.

It was pitch dark in the passage. The broken window in the hall had been boarded up and it let in no light.

Duke felt a trickle of sweat run down behind his ears, but he paid no attention. It was hot and still in the house. Faintly, he could hear the children playing outside and fainter still, he could hear the footfalls above him.

His eyes brightened as he felt for his gun. The smooth butt felt good in his hand. He pushed the door open gently, but it creaked. The sound seemed to echo through the house and he paused, his head on one side, his hand on his gun.

There was an abrupt silence in the house. He stood listening, but nothing moved. Whoever it was up there was listening too. It might be Casy’s wife, of course, he reasoned. It might be someone Casy was boarding. In which case, he’d look a prize

fool, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Something told him that whoever it was had nothing to do with Casy. It might even be Spade. A hard little grin came to his lips. Well, if it was Spade, then he’d get a hell of a shock.

He took two swift steps into the passage. The old boards creaked under his weight. He cursed the house under his breath. It was impossible to move without telegraphing his actions.

He stood in the pitch-black hall, trying to remember where the stairs were. He had caught a glimpse of them as he had come in when the front door was open. Could he get up the stairs without warning whoever it was up there? He doubted it and if he was the kind of guy Duke thought he was, he’d start shooting.

To be caught on a staircase wasn’t Duke’s idea of a picnic. All the same, he was going up and no one would stop him.

He levered his gun out of the holster and took another step forward. It was like being a blind man, groping after another blind man. He touched his pocket and felt for a match, then decided against it. By the time the match had flared up, he would be picking hot lead out of his guts.

He didn’t know if the stairs went straight up or whether they curved. He didn’t know even if they were steep. Whoever it was up there probably knew the run of the house and that was an advantage.

His groping foot touched the first stair and very cautiously he put his weight on it. It was solid and he mounted to the next stair. It was groping all the time in thick, hot darkness. His hand found the wall and touched the hanging wallpaper. It rushed under his touch and he took his hand away quickly.

He groped with his other hand and felt the banister rail. It moved when he took hold of it. He guessed it would come away from the wall if he put any weight on it. That was no use, so he lowered his hands to the stairs and went up very slowly on his hands and knees.

When his hands felt the top stair, he remained still, listening. Out in the yard he heard a child calling, ‘Chrissie,’ impatiently and shrilly. He hoped it would find Chrissie and shut up. The thin piping voice blotted out the sounds he was listening for. Then as if the child had decided to be on his side, it stopped calling and the house fell silent again.

Still he didn’t move. He remained crouched at the head of the stairs, the .38 in his right hand and his left hand steadying himself. He stared into the thick curtain of darkness, looking for a crack of light which might lead him to a room without a boarded window, but either the doors were light-tight or else the upstairs windows were all boarded up, because there was not a glimmer of light anywhere.

The smell of damp, the rustling of the ribbons of wallpaper in the draught, the whispering sound of the wind gave him an eerie feeling. A board creaked sharply quite near him, making him start. He looked into the darkness wondering if his eyes were playing him tricks. It seemed as if one part of the wall was much blacker than the surrounding darkness. Almost, he argued, as if someone was standing there within five feet of him.

He was in a jam because he didn’t dare shoot in case it was one of Casy’s friends. He didn’t want to speak because, if it was someone after him, it would be inviting a shot. So he remained crouched there, sweating freely and trying to penetrate the darkness.

While he crouched, his ears strained towards the black patch. At first he could hear nothing, then very softly a sound came to him. He had to listen for several seconds before he identified it. Not far from him, someone was breathing.

It was an unpleasant sound and Duke again felt the hair on his neck bristle. He lowered himself further down on the stairs, moving inch by inch and making no noise, then pushing out his .38 towards the dark patch against the wall, he said in a cold, hard voice, ‘Stay where you are, or I’ll blast hell out of you.’