'Except with that blackmailer, eh?' Tolliver laughed. 'But I think you may be right, John. Now…'
They discussed the matter for a minute or two longer. Then, Tolliver looked at Dusty and stood up. 'There's no reason to keep Bill around for this, is there? There's nothing more you have to say to him?'
'Can't think of anything.' The manager shook his head. 'Thanks for coming down, Rhodes.'
'And remember,' Tolliver said, 'under your hat, Bill. You don't know anything about this matter.'
'Yes, sir,' said Dusty.
… Later, when it was too late to do much about it, it seemed to him that he should have seen the connection between the letter and Marcia Hillis and Tug Trowbridge and Bascom… and the threat they represented to himself. Later, he did not know he had been so blind as to fail to see. It was all so simple, simple and deadly. All the parts to the puzzle had been in his hands, and he had only to look at them.
That, however, was later. At the time, it was only an annoyance and one for which there was little excuse. His sleep had been broken into. He had been dragged downtown on a hot afternoon. And all because some nut, some guest probably with a hangover grouch, had written an anonymous note. That was all it amounted to when you got right down to it. If the hotel had any real doubts about Bascom, he wouldn't have stayed there ten years.
Dusty went home, found that his father had returned from his stroll or wherever he had been, and went to bed. It was now nearing six o'clock, but he was too tired and hot to eat. Too tired to sleep, for that matter. He heard his father moving about in the kitchen, closing and reclosing the refrigerator, rattling ice trays, setting a pan on the stove. It went on and on, it seemed. Interminably. It would – he began to drift into sleep – always go on. The heat and the noise… and… and his father. And nothingness.
A vivid image of his mother flashed into his mind, and he tossed restlessly. The image changed, a line here, a line there, and it was another woman: alluring, youthful, and above all warm and interested… and understanding.
He fell asleep, half-frowning, half-smiling.
FIVE
The night was about average for the Hotel Manton. Bascom seemed about the same as always, with little to say and that cranky and carping. If Tolliver had shown him the letter, and if it meant anything to him, he gave no sign of the fact.
Dusty drove straight home from work. Or, rather, he started to. Halfway there he remembered that his father was to see the optometrist and that he had no clean clothes. Wearily, cursing, he let the car slow. Of course, the cleaning and laundry might get back early today, but it also might not. And now that he'd taken a firm stand with his father, he'd better carry through with it. There was going to be no more of this putting off, letting him go on with his expensive and embarrassing shiftlessness. He'd been told to see the optometrist today, so today it would be.
Dusty drove back to town, eating breakfast while he waited for the stores to open. He bought a pair of summer trousers, a shirt and underwear, and started home again.
Mr. Rhodes was in the kitchen, dabbling ineffectually at the suds-filled sink. He lifted a platter from the dishwater, peering at his son reproachfully as he began to scrub it.
'Had a nice breakfast fixed for you, Bill,' he said. 'Bacon and eggs and toast, and-'.
'Sorry,' Dusty said, shortly. – 'Wash up, and put these on, Dad. I'll drive you down to the optometrist.'
'Thought sure you'd be here,' the old man went on. 'After buying all that stuff yesterday. If you'd told me you were going to be late,
'I'm telling you now!' Dusty snapped. 'I mean, I'm sorry, but»please hurry, Dad. I want to get to sleep. I'll drive you down, and you can come home by yourself.'
Mr. Rhodes nodded mildly, and put down the platter. 'This night work, son – do you really think it pays? You don't get your proper rest, and it costs more to-'
'I know. We'll talk about it another time,' Dusty cut in. 'Now, please hurry, Dad.'
He waited in the car while the old man got ready. Impatiently. Trying to stifle his irritation. Probably, he decided, his father was right. He made more money by working nights, but his expenses were higher. There was this car, for example; bus service was slow and irregular late at night, so the car was virtually a necessity. And that was only part of, the story. There were usually two sets of meals to fix- – or to buy away from home. There was his father, free to do as he chose and always in need of money. Still…
Dusty shrugged and shook his head. He wouldn't change jobs for a while, anyway. Not anyway until – and if – he went back to college. He didn't sleep well at night. He hadn't slept well since his mother's death, and, yes, even before that. Of course, it was hard sleeping in the daytime, but that was different. It wasn't like lying alone in the darkness and quiet, thinking and worrying and – and listening.
… He drove the old man downtown, and opened the car door for him. Mr. Rhodes started to slide out of the seat, hesitated.
'You know, Bill, we never did get around to talking about my case. I mentioned that letter the other night, and you said-', 'I haven't forgotten,' Dusty said. 'We'll see about it.'
'Well…' Mr. Rhodes looked at him thoughtfully, sighed and put a foot on the sidewalk. 'I thought I might go to a show after I get through here, Bill. If that's all right with you.'
'You do that,' Dusty nodded. 'Pick some place with air-conditioning.'
'Well, I-I'm not sure that-'
'I am,' Dusty said firmly. 'You must have enough money, Dad. You couldn't help but have.'
'Well… well, maybe,' the old man mumbled. 'I guess I have at that.'
He got out and trudged away. Dusty drove home, and went to bed. This was one day, he thought, he'd really get some sleep. He was so tired that… that…
He was asleep almost the moment that he climbed into bed. An hour later he was aroused by the laundry man.
He put the laundry away, and went back to sleep. Another hour passed – roughly an hour. And the man from the cleaner's came.
This time it was harder returning to sleep. He smoked a couple of cigarettes, got a drink of water, tossed and turned restlessly on the bedclothes. Finally, at long last, he drifted off into unconsciousness. And the phone rang.
He tried to ignore it, to pretend that it was not ringing. It rang on and on, refusing to be denied. Cursing, Dusty flung himself out of bed and answered it.
'Mr. Rhodes? Hope I didn't interrupt anything, but your father said I was to be sure to…'
It was the optometrist.
Dusty learned the amount of his bill, muttered a goodbye and slammed the phone back in its cradle. He returned to bed, but now, of course, sleep was impossible. His eyes kept popping open. His head throbbed with a surly, sullen anger. Unreasoning, focusing gradually on just one object… Why the hell did he have to go to a show today?
Why couldn't he ever do anything except make a damned nuisance of himself? All he thought of was his own comfort, his own welfare. Lying and sponging to get money for those –
Abruptly, Dusty got up. Sullenly ashamed, vaguely alarmed. He didn't really feel that way about his father. He couldn't be blamed much if he did, but he didn't. He didn't feel at all (hat way. He was just grouchy with the heat and work and not being able to sleep.
There was still some coffee on the stove. He drank a cup, smoking a cigarette with it, and went into the bathroom. Today was as good a time as any to see those lawyers. A good time to get it over with, since he couldn't sleep. He came out of the bathroom, dressed and headed for town.
… The building was an old faded-brick walkup, squatting almost directly across the street from the county courthouse. Dusty climbed the worn stairs to the second floor, and proceeded past a series of doors with the legend:
McTeague & Kossmeyer
Attorneys at Law
Entrance 200
Room 200 was at the end of the corridor, uncarpeted, high-ceiling barren of everything – it seemed to Dusty
