Read Online Ross Macdonald - 1960 - The Ferguson Affair by Ross MacDonald - Free Book Online

jerked him
toward me, and hit him with my right hand on the jut of the jaw. I had always
wanted to hit a Colonel.
                 This
one drew himself erect, marched stiffly to Bidwell’s desk, made a teetering
half-turn on his heels, and sat down ponderously in Bidwell’s chair. He opened
his mouth to speak, like an executive about to lay down company policy, then
smiled at the foolishness of it all, and passed out. The swivel chair spilled
him backward onto the floor.
                 “Now
look what you’ve done,” Bidwell said. “He’ll sue us.”
                 “We’ll
sue him first.”
                 “Impossible.
You can’t bring suit against twenty million dollars. He’s capable of hiring the
best lawyers in the country.”
                 “You’re
talking to one of them.” I was feeling slightly elated, after hitting a
Colonel. “That’s the kind of suit I’ve always dreamed of bringing.”
                 “But
he didn’t do anything to me,” Bidwell said.
                 “You
sound disappointed.”
                 Bidwell
looked at me glumly. “No doubt I should thank you for saving my life. But, frankly,
I don’t feel thankful.”
                 I
squatted by the recumbent man and got the gun out of his pocket. It was a cute
little snub-nosed medium-caliber automatic, heavy with clip. I held it up for
Bidwell to see.
                 He
refused to look at it. “Put it away. Please.”
                 “So
you got his gun,” somebody said from the doorway. “I talked him into handing
over one gun, couple hours ago. But I guess he had another one in the car.”
                 “Go
away, Padilla,” Bidwell said. “Don’t come in here.”
                 “ Yessir .”
                 Padilla
smiled and came in. He was a curly-headed young man with a twisted ear, wearing
a white bartender’s jacket. He looked over Ferguson with a professional eye.
                 “There’s
a cut on his chin. You have to hit him?”
                 “It
seemed like a good idea at the time. Mr. Bidwell would rather have been shot.
But this is a nice rug. I didn’t want them to get blood all over it.”
                 “It
isn’t funny,” Bidwell said. “What are we going to do with him?”
                 “Let
him sleep it off,” Padilla answered cheerfully.
                 “Not
here. Not in my office.”
                 “ Naw , we’ll take him home. You tell Frankie to take over the bar, we’ll take him home, put him to bed. He won’t
even remember in the morning. He’ll think he cut himself shaving.”
                 “How
do you know he won’t remember?”
                 “Because I been making his drinks. He killed a fifth of
Seagram’s since six o’clock. I kept pouring it into him, hoping that he’d pass
out any minute. But he’s got a stomach like a charred oak barrel bound with
brass.”
                 He
stooped and touched Ferguson’s stomach with his finger. Ferguson smiled in his
sleep.

  Chapter
7
                 PADILLA
KNEW WHERE Ferguson lived. He said that he had driven his blue Imperial home
before. I went along for the ride, and the answers to some questions.
                 “Were
you acquainted with Larry Gaines?”
                 “Used-to-be lifeguard? Sure. I figured him for a no-good,
but it was not my business. I had a call-down with him first week he was here,
back in September. He tried to buy a drink for a sixteen-year-old girl. I told
him, get out of my bar and stay out.”
                 Padilla
pressed a button which opened the left front window of the car. He spat into
the night air and closed the window again, glancing over his shoulder at
Ferguson. “Don’t want to give him wind in his