Read Online A Hell of a Woman (Crime Masterworks) by Jim Thompson - Free Book Online
Authors: Jim Thompson
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Low down white trash. Too miserly to let go of a buck, and not knowing what the hell to buy with it if she did let go. Sitting on a hundred thousand, and hustling her own niece for bean money.
Yeah, it figured.
I wanted it to be that way, so that's the way it was.
9
I PICKED up a few groceries the next morning, and had a real meal for a change. French toast with bacon, hashed brown potatoes, fruit cocktail and coffee. I ate and ate, grinning to myself, thinking by God they might think they could starve old Dolly to death but they had another goddamned think coming. To hell with those damned sloppy waitresses. To hell with that damned bitchy Joyce, and Doris, and Ellen and… and all those other tramps. Old Dolly could take care of himself until he got someone decent to do the job. And, brother, that happy hour was not far away.
I refilled my coffee cup, and lighted a cigarette. I sat back in my chair, relaxing. Pete Hendrickson was the next step. I'd look him up today on the quiet- naturally it wouldn't do to be seen with him-and
I choked, and banged down my cup.
Pete.
I didn't know where the guy lived.
The last address I'd had on him was the one he'd skipped from, you know, before he went to work at that greenhouse. And where the hell he might be living now, God only knew. He might not even have an address since he lost his job. He could be bunking in a boxcar somewhere or sleeping under a culvert.
I jumped up cursing, paced back and forth across the living room. I thought, _by God, I might have known it! I knock my brains out to shape up a sweet deal and someone screws it up for me!_
I don't know how long I paced around, cursing and ranting, before I finally got a grip on myself. Then, I got out the phone book, looked up the number of the greenhouse and dialed it.
I got the foreman on the wire.
I said, "Please, sor, iss Olaf Hendrickson speaking. Iss very important dot I speak to my brudder, Pete."
"Not here any more," he said. "Sorry."
"Perhaps you vould tell me vere-"
"Nope, nope," he said, curtly, before I could ask him the question. "Don't give out information like that. Not sure, anyway."
"Please, sor," I said. "Iss-"
"Sorry." He banged up the receiver.
Well, I'm a funny guy, though. People try to screw me up, to keep me from doing what I got to do, I go at it all the harder.
I looked at the clock. I shaved and brushed my teeth, and gandered the clock again. Eleven-fifteen. Just about right. I got in my car, and headed for the other side of town.
It was pretty close to noon when I got to this beer parlor, the one just down the street from the greenhouse. I picked up the name and address as I drove by, and stopped at a drugstore in the next block. I waited in my car until the noon whistles blew. Then, I got out and stood looking down the street.
My hunch had been right. Workmen were coming out of the greenhouse and making a beeline for the beer parlor. I gave them a few minutes to get inside and get settled. I went into the drugstore, then, and called the place from a booth telephone.
The phone rang and rang. Finally, someone snatched it off the hook, the proprietor or a bartender or maybe even a customer, and hollered hello.
"There's a fellow there named Pete Hendrickson," I said. "One of the boys from the greenhouse. Will you call him to the phone, please?"
He didn't answer me; just turned away from the phone and shouted, "Pete-Pete Hendrickson! Any of you guys named Hendrickson?"
Someone shouted something back, and someone else laughed; and this guy spoke into the phone again. "He ain't here, mister. Ain't at the greenhouse no longer, either."
"Gosh," I said. "I've just got to talk to him. Iwonder if there's anyone around who could tell me where-"
"Hang on," he said, pretty short, like I was giving him a hard time. "ANY OF YOU GUYS KNOW WHERE…"
They didn't. Or if they did, they weren't saying.
"Sorry, mister," this guy said. "Any other little thing I can do for you?"
I told him yeah.
Yeah, it figured.
I wanted it to be that way, so that's the way it was.
9
I PICKED up a few groceries the next morning, and had a real meal for a change. French toast with bacon, hashed brown potatoes, fruit cocktail and coffee. I ate and ate, grinning to myself, thinking by God they might think they could starve old Dolly to death but they had another goddamned think coming. To hell with those damned sloppy waitresses. To hell with that damned bitchy Joyce, and Doris, and Ellen and… and all those other tramps. Old Dolly could take care of himself until he got someone decent to do the job. And, brother, that happy hour was not far away.
I refilled my coffee cup, and lighted a cigarette. I sat back in my chair, relaxing. Pete Hendrickson was the next step. I'd look him up today on the quiet- naturally it wouldn't do to be seen with him-and
I choked, and banged down my cup.
Pete.
I didn't know where the guy lived.
The last address I'd had on him was the one he'd skipped from, you know, before he went to work at that greenhouse. And where the hell he might be living now, God only knew. He might not even have an address since he lost his job. He could be bunking in a boxcar somewhere or sleeping under a culvert.
I jumped up cursing, paced back and forth across the living room. I thought, _by God, I might have known it! I knock my brains out to shape up a sweet deal and someone screws it up for me!_
I don't know how long I paced around, cursing and ranting, before I finally got a grip on myself. Then, I got out the phone book, looked up the number of the greenhouse and dialed it.
I got the foreman on the wire.
I said, "Please, sor, iss Olaf Hendrickson speaking. Iss very important dot I speak to my brudder, Pete."
"Not here any more," he said. "Sorry."
"Perhaps you vould tell me vere-"
"Nope, nope," he said, curtly, before I could ask him the question. "Don't give out information like that. Not sure, anyway."
"Please, sor," I said. "Iss-"
"Sorry." He banged up the receiver.
Well, I'm a funny guy, though. People try to screw me up, to keep me from doing what I got to do, I go at it all the harder.
I looked at the clock. I shaved and brushed my teeth, and gandered the clock again. Eleven-fifteen. Just about right. I got in my car, and headed for the other side of town.
It was pretty close to noon when I got to this beer parlor, the one just down the street from the greenhouse. I picked up the name and address as I drove by, and stopped at a drugstore in the next block. I waited in my car until the noon whistles blew. Then, I got out and stood looking down the street.
My hunch had been right. Workmen were coming out of the greenhouse and making a beeline for the beer parlor. I gave them a few minutes to get inside and get settled. I went into the drugstore, then, and called the place from a booth telephone.
The phone rang and rang. Finally, someone snatched it off the hook, the proprietor or a bartender or maybe even a customer, and hollered hello.
"There's a fellow there named Pete Hendrickson," I said. "One of the boys from the greenhouse. Will you call him to the phone, please?"
He didn't answer me; just turned away from the phone and shouted, "Pete-Pete Hendrickson! Any of you guys named Hendrickson?"
Someone shouted something back, and someone else laughed; and this guy spoke into the phone again. "He ain't here, mister. Ain't at the greenhouse no longer, either."
"Gosh," I said. "I've just got to talk to him. Iwonder if there's anyone around who could tell me where-"
"Hang on," he said, pretty short, like I was giving him a hard time. "ANY OF YOU GUYS KNOW WHERE…"
They didn't. Or if they did, they weren't saying.
"Sorry, mister," this guy said. "Any other little thing I can do for you?"
I told him yeah.
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