1976 - Do Me a Favour Drop Dead Read online

  Back in my room, I lay on the bed and considered the information I had acquired. One thing was now certain: Marshall was going to inherit a million dollars, and it also seemed certain that his aunt wasn’t going to last more than a few weeks.

  It looked as if I had arrived on the scene at exactly the right time.

  I would have liked to know how this million had been invested and what income it yielded. Olson would know, but I couldn’t ask him. Marshall might know, but the chances were he didn’t. Still I might try a gentle probe the next time I met him, but how to meet him unless I met his train? That, I decided, could be dangerously obvious. My mind then switched to Mrs. Marshall.

  Before I went to jail, women had shared most of my leisure time. I had been stupid enough to have married a woman eight years older than myself. After a couple of years, I had lost interest in her and had begun to look elsewhere. I discovered lots of willing girls much younger, much more attractive than my wife. After a year of continuous cheating, she finally caught up with me. I couldn’t afford a divorce at that time so, after a lot of talk and eating humble pie, I managed to kid her it would never happen again, made the usual promises and eventually convinced her I was on the level and would remain that way.

  Then I was drafted to Vietnam. I had a ball out there. The Vietnamese girls were as accommodating as they were gorgeous. Back home again, I found life with my wife deadly dull after the nightlife in Saigon. Once more I began to cheat, then the merger thing blew up and I went to jail. By then, my wife had had enough of me and had found someone else. She got a divorce. At least, I didn’t have to pay alimony.

  Apart from a few whores to relieve the pressure, I had kept away from women simply because I couldn’t afford to take them around, feed them, take them to movies before I could get into their beds. Now for the first time I wondered if my sex technique might win me something.

  From what I had heard, Mrs. Marshall lived like a hermit.

  Unless she was a nutter, she surely would welcome male attention. It was just possible, if I handled her right, I could get more information from her than from her husband. The problem, of course, was how to contact her.

  I had nothing to do on Monday, the following day. Marshall was certain to be in Frisco. Suppose, I told myself, I drove up to his house to inquire how he was. . . introducing myself as the good Samaritan who had driven him safely back home from the railroad station? Just a neighbourly call. What was the matter with that for an idea?

  I thought about it, then decided again it was too obvious. I had to be patient. There was still plenty of time. Until his aunt died and Marshall got the money, I must wait.

  Getting off the bed, I put on swim trunks, collected a towel and went down to the beach.

  It seemed everyone in Wicksteed had the same idea. I had to pick my way over bodies to get into the sea. I swam amongst screaming, laughing youngsters, fat middle-aged women, scraggy middle-aged men and a number of real oldies.

  This was not my idea of fun.

  As I was walking across the sand towards Mrs. Hansen’s house, I heard my name called. Looking around, I saw Joe Pinner seated in a deck chair under the shade of a palm tree. He waved to me.

  As I walked up to him, he said, ‘Howdy, friend,’ and pointed to an empty deck chair by his side. ‘Rest your legs if you haven’t anything better to do.’

  I sat down beside him.

  ‘The wife’s just gone home,’ he said as if to explain why he was here on his own. ‘She can’t take too much sun. I hear you got fixed up with Bert. How are you liking it?’

  ‘I like it fine, and thanks, Mr. Pinner.’

  He stroked his Mark Twain moustache, a twinkle in his eyes.

  ‘I told you . . . this is a nice little town: the best on the Pacific coast.’ He dug into a plastic bag and produced a cigar.

  ‘Want one of these?’

  ‘Thanks, no.’ I had brought along my cigarettes. We lit up and stared at the crowd on the beach.

  ‘Sam McQueen, our Sheriff, called on me, asking about you,’ Pinner said, easing his bulk in the deck chair. ‘That’s his job. He’s a fine man. I gave you a good reference. I hear he talked to you.’

  ‘Yes, he seems a nice guy.’

  ‘You can say that again.’ He blew smoke. ‘Tom Mason tells me you’ve been neighbourly. You helped Frank Marshall out of a fix.’ He eyed me. ‘Frank needs a lot of help right now. His friends are all rallying around.’

  I flicked ash off my cigarette.

  ‘Why is he so special, Mr. Pinner?’

  ‘Before very long, he is going to be the most important citizen in this town whether he likes it or not.’ Pinner frowned at his cigar. ‘The fact is our Town planning committee - I’m a member - has been hatching an important scheme for some time. Before Mrs. Fremlin got really bad, we put this scheme up to her, but she wasn’t interested. I guess when you are as ill as she is, you don’t get interested in future schemes, but she told us, when she passed on, she was leaving all her money to her nephew, Frank, and it would be up to him to do what he thought best.’

  ‘May I ask what the scheme is, Mr. Pinner?’ I asked cautiously.

  ‘Why sure. It’s no secret. The one thing we lack in this town is an amusement park, plus a hotel. We reckon if we could raise a half a million, we could build an amusement park that would attract a whale of a lot of tourists. This town needs tourists. We already have three hotels here, but they aren’t much. We need a hotel that caters for the medium rich. I’ve guaranteed the committee a hundred thousand. Ten more public spirited citizens will put up fifty thousand each. That takes care of the load, but we want Marshall to put up at least three hundred thousand. Once he agrees, we can really put Wicksteed on the tourist map.’

  ‘Sounds a great idea,’ I said. ‘How does Frank react?’

  Pinner pulled at his cigar, frowning.

  ‘That’s our problem. I don’t have to tell you Frank’s a drunk. He gives damn-all about anything except the bottle, but we are working on him. I think we can talk sense into him, given time, but we have to be careful he doesn’t do anything foolish. He would be the chairman of our committee once we became operative. He would have to be chairman with his big stake, and knowing Frank, he would insist on being chairman. I and the rest of us keep telling him it’s a fine investment, but his argument is he hasn’t got the money yet and he’ll only begin to think about it when he does get it.’

  ‘In the meantime, you can’t make plans?’

  ‘That’s it. Not only that, the cost of materials keeps rising. While we wait, our scheme becomes more and more costly. Frank could easily raise a loan right now on his expectations. We could begin our planning without waiting for Mrs. Fremlin to pass on if only he would agree, but he’s being bull headed about it. He knows he couldn’t invest his money better than to sink it in this town, but he’s too goddamn drunk these days to talk business. How he manages to run that estate office of his in Frisco beats me. His secretary must be doing all the work.’

  ‘Quite a problem,’ I said. ‘Have you talked to his wife? Some women can influence their husbands. Can’t she influence him?’

  Pinner snorted.

  ‘None of us has ever met Mrs. Marshall.’ He tugged at his moustache. ‘She keeps very much to herself. She hasn’t ever come into town. I hear she does the shopping on the phone.’

  ‘Do you mean no one here has ever seen her?’

  ‘That’s right. According to Frank, he met her in Frisco, married her and brought her to live in that big, lonely house. I’ve talked to him, telling him it isn’t right for her to live alone the way she does. Between you and me, she is as important to Wicksteed as Frank is. If anything happened to him, she would get his money. It would be a hell of a thing if she collected that million and then walked out on this town. That’s what worries us. That’s why we keep urging the ladies here to try to contact her and that’s why we are also keeping an eye on Frank.’

  ‘What did he say when you talked to hi
m about his wife?’

  ‘He just laughed.’ Pinner made a gesture of disgust. ‘He said his wife liked being on her own and for the ladies to mind their own business.’

  ‘Has he been married long?’

  ‘Three years. . . before he started to drink.’

  ‘I suppose there are no children?’

  ‘No children and no relations. He’s the last of the Marshalls. He did have a sister, but she died a few years back. No, if anything happened to him, his wife would get the lot.’ He stubbed out his cigar in the sand. ‘Since you saved him from that sonofabitch Ross, we have been talking about what’s best to do. We now have arranged to meet the train every evening to make sure Frank is fit to drive home. We’ve made up a roster. There’s Tom Mason, Harry Jacks, Fred Selby and me. We are going to take it in turns to be at the station. We reckon Frank will appreciate being taken care of and he could reciprocate by listening to reason.’

  ‘It’ll be a bit rough on whoever it is to have to walk back eight miles,’ I said, ‘but maybe you think it’s all in a good cause.’

  ‘No one’s walking back,’ Pinner said. ‘We’ve got this organized. Whoever takes him back will telephone and one of us will go out and pick him up.’

  ‘Is it that important?’ I asked, staring out to sea.

  ‘Yeah. It wouldn’t help if Olson tries to raise a loan on Frank’s expectations for the bank to find out Frank is a drunk. Apart from that, he might kill himself in his car.’

  ‘Yes.’ I paused, then went on, ‘I haven’t anything to do in the evenings. Suppose I help out? I could meet him at the station any night that would fit in with your roster.’

  He clapped a heavy hand on my knee.

  ‘That’s what I call real neighbourly. How about Tuesday nights? Tom is doing the Monday stint. If you get stuck out there, you call Tom and he’ll pick you up. If he gets stuck, he’ll call you. How’s about it?’

  ‘That’s fine with me.’

  As I walked back to Mrs. Hansen’s house, I decided Wicksteed’s planning committee was just as anxious to get its greedy hands on Marshall’s money as I was, but I preferred my chances to theirs.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Joe Pinner’s scheme to protect Marshall from a drink-drive charge exploded as I walked into the hall of Mrs. Hansen’s house.

  She came fluttering out of the living room, obviously in distress.

  ‘Oh, Mr. Devery, I’m so glad you’re back!’ she exclaimed. ‘Mr. McQueen is trying to contact my brother. There is no telephone in the church. Could I ask you to help?’

  ‘Why, sure. What is it?’

  ‘It’s Mr. Marshall. He has had a car accident.’

  Here it is, I thought. The drunk has dropped into the grave he has been digging for himself.

  ‘Is he hurt?’

  ‘No . . . I don’t think so, but he is under arrest. Mr. McQueen said it will be a drink-drive and assault charge and my brother should be there. Isn’t it terrible?’

  ‘Where is the church, Mrs. Hansen?’

  ‘It’s on Pinewood Avenue. The first turning on the left at the end of this road.’

  ‘I’ll get your brother.’

  I ran up the stairs, threw on a sweatshirt and slacks and then pounded down to my car.

  I found Olson coming from the church, surrounded by kids.

  When he saw me, he waved the kids away and joined me as I got out of the car.

  ‘Sheriff McQueen is asking for you, Mr. Olson,’ I said. ‘Marshall is in trouble . . . a drink-drive and assault charge. He’s now at the station house.’

  For a brief moment, Olson lost his cool. His eyes popped wide open, then he recovered himself and became all lawyer.

  ‘Thank you, Mr. Devery. How unfortunate.’

  This, I thought, was the understatement of the week, ‘It sure is,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll go at once.’

  I watched him drive away, then seeing a call booth by the church, I went in, found Joe Pinner’s number in the book and called him.

  ‘This is Devery,’ I said when he came on the line. ‘Marshall is in trouble. He’s facing a drink-drive and assault charge. He’s at the station house right now and Olson is on his way.’

  ‘Sweet suffering Pete!’ Pinner moaned. ‘I’ll get over there. Thanks, Devery,’ and he hung up.

  It occurred to me that it wouldn’t do me any harm to spread the news further. So I looked up Tom Mason’s home number and broke the news to him.

  He reacted the same way as Pinner had done.

  ‘Good grief!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ll get down there right away. Will you join me, Keith?’

  I played it modest.

  ‘Why, sure, if you think I can be of use.’

  ‘All Frank’s friends should be there,’ Mason said. ‘This is serious.’

  Yet another great understatement.

  I said I would be there.

  When I arrived outside the station house, a big crowd was milling around. Three newsmen and four photographers were on the scene like vultures waiting for a meal.

  Joe Pinner, a cigar stuck in his face, was standing by his black Caddy. I walked over to him.

  ‘What goes on, Mr. Pinner?’ I asked.

  He pushed his Stetson to the back of his head.

  ‘Olson is handling it.’ He dragged at his Mark Twain moustache. ‘What a goddamn mess just when we thought we had it organized! Tom is in there, talking to McQueen.’ He paused, rolled his cigar around in his mouth, then added, ‘Tom is McQueen’s cousin. He has a pull.’

  We stood around as the crowd built up.

  ‘This is a hell of a thing,’ Pinner said after a while. ‘The press will give it a spread and the publicity could sink our loan.’

  Never mind Marshall, all he was worrying about was the loan.

  Tom Mason came through the crowd and joined us. The newsmen surged forward and flashlights popped. There was a yell for a statement. Obviously enjoying his moment of importance, Tom waved them away.

  ‘You guys talk to the Sheriff. I’ve got no comment.’ He caught hold of Pinner’s arm and pulled him towards Pinner’s car. I drifted along with them.

  ‘That was real good of you, Keith, to have called me,’ Tom said. ‘Let’s get in and I’ll give you the set-up.’

  We got in the car. Pinner turned on the air conditioner and wound up the windows. A small crowd milled around, staring in at us.

  ‘How bad is it?’ Pinner asked as he settled his bulk behind the driving wheel. I was sitting at the back.

  ‘Couldn’t be worse,’ Tom said. ‘This afternoon, Frank drove to the hospital to see his aunt. According to him, he was so upset by her condition, he had to have a little drink. You know what that means. He probably knocked back half a bottle. Anyway, that sonofabitch Ross was waiting for him. I guess Frank lost his head and he took a poke at Ross. He knocked out a couple of teeth.’

  ‘Sweet grief!’ Pinner moaned.

  ‘You can say that again.’ Mason shook his head. ‘Olson is trying to fix it with Sam, but it’s tricky because Ross is yelling blue murder. He wants Frank in jail.’

  ‘They wouldn’t do that?’ Pinner looked horrified. ‘If Frank goes to jail, the loan is sunk.’

  ‘Yeah, and Sam knows it. He’s as interested as we are. The way he is talking to Olson, I reckon there’s going to be a fix. I guess the worst that can happen is Frank will lose his licence to drive.’

  ‘Who the hell cares?’ Pinner snapped. ‘But you’re sure he won’t go to jail?’

  ‘If Sam can take care of Ross, he won’t, but it’s not going to be easy.’

  There came a tapping on the car window. A cop was beckoning to me. I stared at him, then lowered the window.

  ‘You Devery?’ he demanded.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mr. Olson wants you.’

  I looked at Pinner and then at Mason who were staring at the cop.

  ‘What goes on?’ Pinner demanded, lowering his window.

  ‘I wouldn’t
know,’ the cop said indifferently. ‘Mr. Olson said to fetch this guy and that’s what I’m doing.’

  ‘You’d better go, Keith,’ Mason said.

  ‘Sure.’

  I got out of the car and walked with the cop to the station house. I had to shove my way through the gaping crowd, the newsmen and through a barrage of flashlights.

  I was led into the Sheriff’s office where Olson, McQueen and Marshall were sitting around a desk.

  After a quick look at Olson and McQueen, I turned my attention to Marshall. He was dozing and I could see he was pretty drunk.

  Olson said, ‘Frank . . . Mr. Devery is here.’

  Marshall shook his head, opened his eyes, peered at me, shut them, opened them again and then grinned.

  ‘Hi, Keith! I want you to drive me home.’

  I looked from him to McQueen who gave a resigned nod.

  Then I looked at Olson who also nodded.

  ‘If you would be so kind, Mr. Devery,’ Olson said. ‘I have taken care of the formalities.’ Turning to Marshall, he went on, ‘All right, Frank, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Unless I see you first,’ Marshall said and heaved himself to his feet. He staggered, then grabbed hold on my shoulder.

  ‘Screw the lot of you,’ he said, then to me, ‘Come on, pal. Let’s get the hell out of here.’

  I went with him into the hot sun. The moment we appeared, the newsmen surged forward, and there was a murmur from the crowd.

  Marshall was impressive. He was like a whale among the minnows. Shoving his way through the crowd, muttering four-letter words, he reached my car and got in. I could see Pinner and Tom Mason gaping. I slid under the driving wheel, started the motor amid blinding flash explosions.

  I drove away and headed towards Marshall’s house. I kept checking my driving mirror, but no one was following us.

  Marshall slumped against the off-side door and every now and then he snored.

  When we finally reached the bottom of the dirt road leading to the house, he came awake.

  ‘Anyone following us, Keith?’

  I checked my driving mirror.