Read The Rip-Off Page 4


  “Yes,” I said. “I guess someone is.”

  “In a dump? The city garbage dump? But—” His voice trailed away, comprehension slowly dawning in his eyes. Finally, he said, “Hang around a minute, Britt. I’ve got to make a few phone calls, and then we’ll have a good talk.”

  We sat in Claggett’s car, in the driveway of the Rainstar mansion, and he frowned in the darkness, looking at me curiously. “I don’t see how they can do this to you, Britt. Grab your property while you’re out of the state.”

  “Well, they paid me for it,” I said. “Around three thousand dollars after the bank loan was paid. And they gave me the privilege of staying in the house as long as I want to.”

  “Oh, shit!” Claggett snorted angrily. “How long is that going to be? You’ve been swindled, Britt, but you sure as hell don’t have to hold still for it!”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t see that there’s much I can do about it.”

  “Of course, there’s something you can do! This place was deeded tax-free to the Rainstars in perpetuity, in recognition of the thousands of acres the family had given to the state. It’s not subject to mortgage or the laws of eminent domain. Why, I’ll tell you, Britt, you go into court with this deal, and…”

  I listened to him, without really listening. There was nothing he could tell me that I hadn’t told myself. I’d argued it all out with myself, visualizing the newspaper stories, the courtroom scenes, the endless questions. And I’d said to hell with it. I knew myself, and I knew I couldn’t do it for any amount of money.

  “I can’t do it, Jeff…” I cut in on him at last. “I don’t want to go into the details, but I have a wife in another state. An invalid wife. I was suspected of trying to kill her. I didn’t, of course, but—”

  “Of course, you didn’t!” Jeff said warmly. “Murder just isn’t in you. Anyway, you wouldn’t be here if there was any real case against you.”

  “The case is still open,” I said. “I’m not so sure I’m in the clear yet. At any rate, the story would be bound to come out if I made waves over this condemnation deal, so I’m not making any. I, the family and I, have had nothing but trouble as far back as I remember. I don’t want any more.”

  “No one wants trouble, dammit,” Claggett scowled. “But you don’t avoid it by turning your back on it. The more you run, the more you have chasing you.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I said. “But just the same—”

  “Your father would fight, Britt. He did fight! They didn’t get away with piling garbage on him!”

  “They didn’t?” I said. “Well, well.”

  We said good-night.

  He drove off, gravel spinning angrily from the wheels of his car.

  I entered the house, catching up the phone on its first ring. I said, Hello, putting a lot of ice into the word. I started to say a lot more, believing that the caller was Manuela Aloe, but fortunately I didn’t. Fortunately, since the call was from Connie, my wife.

  “Britt? Where have you been?”

  “Out trying to make some money,” I said. “I wasn’t successful, but I’m still trying.”

  She said that she certainly hoped so. All her terrible expenses were awfully hard on her daddy; and it did seem like a grown, healthy man like me, with a good education, should be able to do a little something. “If you could just send me a little money, Britt. Just a teensy-weensy bit—”

  “Goddammit!” I yelled. “What’s with this teensy-weensy crap? I send you practically everything I get from the Foundation, and you know I do because you wrote them and found out how much they pay me! You had to embarrass me, like a goddamned two-bit shyster!”

  She began to cry. She said it wasn’t her fault that she was crippled, and that she was worried out of her mind about money. I should just be in the fix she was in for a while, and see how I liked it. And so forth and so on, ad infinitum, ad nauseum.

  And I apologized and apologized and apologized. And I swore that I would somehow someway get more money to her than I had been sending. And then I apologized three or four hundred additional times, and, at last, when I was hoarse from apologies and promises, she wished me sweet dreams, and hung up.

  Sweet dreams!

  I was so soaked with sweat that you would have thought I’d had a wet dream.

  Which was not the kind of dream one had about Connie.

  7

  Mrs. Olmstead set breakfast before me the next morning, remarking—doubtless by way of whetting my appetite—that we would probably have rat dew in the food before long.

  “I seen some chasin’ around the backyard yesterday, so they’ll be in the house next. Can’t be this close to a garbage dump without havin’ rats.”

  “I see,” I said absently. “Well, we’ll face the problem when it comes.”

  “Time t’face it now,” she asserted. “Be too late when the rats is facin’ us.”

  I closed my ears to her gabbling, finishing what little breakfast I was able to eat. As I left the table, Mrs. Olmstead handed me a letter to mail when I went to town, if I didn’t mind, o’ course.

  “But I was going to work at home today,” I said. “I hadn’t really planned on going to town.”

  “How come you’re all fixed up, then?” she demanded. “You don’t never fix yourself up unless you’re going somewheres.”

  I promised to mail the letter, if and when. I tucked it into my pocket as I went into the living room, noting that it was addressed to the old-age pension bureau. More than a year ago her monthly check had been three dollars short—by her calculations, that is. She had been writing them ever since, sometimes three times a week, demanding reimbursement. I had pointed out that she had spent far more than three dollars in postage, but she still stubbornly persisted.

  Without any notion of actually working, I went into the small room, at one time a serving pantry, which does duty as my study. I sat down at my typewriter, wrote a few exercise sentences, and various versions of my name. After about thirty minutes of such fiddling around, I jumped up and fled to my bedroom. Fretfully examined myself in the warped full-length mirror.

  And I thought, All dressed up and no place to go.

  There would be no call from PXA. If there was one, I couldn’t respond to it. Not after the ordeal I had been put through last night. No one who was serious about giving me worthwhile employment would have done such a thing to me. And it had to have been done deliberately. An outfit as cruelly efficient as PXA didn’t allow things like that to come about accidentally.

  I closed my eyes, clenched my mind to the incident, unable to live through it again even in memory. Wondering why it was that I seemed constantly called upon to face things that I couldn’t. I went back down to my study, but not to my typewriter. For what was there to write? Who would want anything written by me?

  I sat down on a small loveseat. A spiny tuft of horsehair burst through the upholstery, and stabbed me in the butt. Something that seemed to typify the hysterically hilarious tragedy of my life. I was pining away of a broken heart or something. But instead of being allowed a little dignity and gravity, I got my ass tickled.

  Determinedly, I stayed where I was and as I was. Bent forward with my head in my hands. Sourly resisting the urge to squirm or snicker.

  Poor Lo…

  “Poor Lo…”

  I chuckled wryly, poking fun at myself.

  “Well, screw it,” I said. “They may kill me, but they can’t eat me.”

  There was a light patter of applause. Hand clapping.

  I sat up startled, and Manuela Aloe laughed and sat down at my side.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I spoke to you a couple of times, but you didn’t hear me.”

  “B—but—but—” I began to get hold of myself. “What are you doing here?”

  “Your housekeeper showed me in. I came out here, because I was afraid you wouldn’t come to the office after the terrible time you must have had last night.”

  “Yo
u were right,” I said. “I wouldn’t have gone down to your office. And there really wasn’t much point to your coming out here.”

  “I did send a car to pick you up last night, Britt. I don’t blame you for being angry, but I did do it.”

  “Whatever you say,” I said.

  “I don’t know what happened to the driver. No one’s seen him since. Our people aren’t ordinarily so irresponsible, but it’s not unheard of. But, anyway, I am sorry.”

  “So much for the driver,” I said. “Now what about Albert?”

  “Albert,” she grimaced. “I don’t know whether it was booze or dope or just plain stupidity that made him do what he did. I don’t care, either. But he’s out of a job as of this morning, and he’ll be a long time in getting another one.”

  She nodded to me earnestly, the dark eyes warm with concern. I hesitated, wanting to swallow my pride—how could I afford pride? Remembering Connie’s demands for money.

  “There was something else,” I said. “Something that came to me when I was outside your office yesterday.”

  “Yes?” She smiled encouragingly. “What was that, Britt?”

  I hesitated again, trying to find some amiable euphemism for what was virtually an accusation. And finding excuses instead. After all, her office would logically have sound equipment in it; devices for auditing the tapes. And why, when I was so strongly drawn to this girl, and when I needed money so badly, should I continue to squeeze her for apologies and explanations.

  “Yes, Britt?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “No, I mean it. Thinking it over, I seem to have found the answer to my own question.”

  That wasn’t true. Aside from the woman’s being slapped, there was something else. The fact that PXA had milked me for all kinds of personal information as a condition for granting my loan. My likes and dislikes, my habits and weaknesses. Information that could be used to drive me up a figurative wall, should they take the notion.

  But I meant to give them no cause to take such a notion. And I am an incurable optimist, always hoping for the best despite the many times I have gotten the worst.

  Manny was studying me, her dark eyes boring into mine. Seemingly boring into my mind. And a sudden shadow blighted the room, and I was chilled with a sickening sense of premonition.

  Then she laughed gaily, gave herself a little shake, and assumed a businesslike manner.

  “Well, now,” she said briskly. “I’ve had a long talk with Uncle Pat, and he’s left everything to me. So how about a series of pamphlets on the kind of subjects you deal with for the Foundation?”

  “It sounds fine,” I said. “Just, well, fine.”

  “The pamphlets will be distributed free to schools, libraries and other institutions. They won’t carry any advertising. Just a line to the effect that they are sponsored by PXA, as a public service.”

  I said that was fine, too. Just fine. She opened her blond leather purse, took out a check and handed it to me. A check for thirty-five hundred dollars. Approximately twenty-nine hundred for the first month’s work, with the rest for expenses.

  “Well?” She looked at me pertly. “All right? Any questions?”

  I let out a deep breath. “My God!” I breathed fervently. “Of course, it’s all right! And no, no questions.”

  She smiled and stood up, a lushly diminutive figure in her fawn-colored pantsuit. Her breasts and her bottom bulged deliciously against the material, seemed to strain for release. And I thought thoughts that brought a flush to my face.

  “Come on.” She wiggled her fingers. “Show me around, hmm? I’ve heard so much about this place I’m dying to see it.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not much to see any more,” I said. “But if you’re really interested in ruins…”

  I showed her through the house, or much of it. She murmured appreciatively over the decaying evidence of past grandeur, and regretfully at the ravages of time.

  We finished our tour of the house, and Manny again became businesslike. “We’ll have a lot of conferring to do to get this project operating, Britt. Do you want an office, or will you work here?”

  “Here, if it’s agreeable to you,” I said. “I have a great deal of research material here, and I’m used to the place. Of course, if it’s inconvenient for you…”

  “Oh, we’ll work it out,” she promised. “Now, if you’ll drive me back to town…”

  The car she had driven out in was mine, she explained, pointing to the gleaming new vehicle which stood in the driveway. Obviously, I would need a car, and PXA owed me one. And she did hope I wouldn’t be stuffy about it.

  I said I never got stuffy over girls or single cars. Only fleets of them, and not always then. Manny laughed, and gave me a playful punch on the arm.

  “Silly! Now, come on, will you? We have a lot to do today.”

  We did have a lot to do, as it turned out. At least we did a lot—far more than I anticipated. But that’s getting ahead of the story. To take events in their proper order:

  I drove into town, Manny sitting carelessly close to me. I deposited the check in my bank, drew some cash and returned to the car—my car. It was lunchtime by then, so we lunched and talked. I talked mostly, since I have a knack for talk, if little else, and Manny seemed to enjoy listening to me.

  We came out of the restaurant into mid-afternoon, and, talking, I drove around until sunset. By which time, needless to say, it was time for a drink. We had it, rather we had them, and eventually we had dinner. When twilight fell, we were far out on the outskirts of town; parked by the lake which formed the bulwark of the city’s water system.

  Manny’s legs were tucked up in the seat. Her head rested on my shoulder, and my arm was around her. It was really a very nice way to be.

  “Britt…” she murmured, breaking the drowsy, comfortable silence. “I’ve enjoyed myself so much, today. I think it’s been the very best day in my life.”

  “You’re a thief, Manuela Aloe,” I said. “You’ve stolen the very speech I was going to make.”

  “Tell me something, Britt. How does anyone as nice as you are, as attractive and intelligent and bubbling over with charm—how does he, why does he…?”

  “Wind up as I have?” I said. “Because I never found a seller’s market for those things until I met you.”

  It was a pretty blunt thing to say. She sat up with a start, glaring at me coldly. But I smiled at her determinedly, and said I meant no offense.

  “But let’s face it, Manny. The Rainstar name isn’t worth much any more, and my talent never was. So the good looks and the charm et cetera is what I’ve sold, isn’t it?”

  “No, it isn’t!” she snapped; and then, hesitating, biting her lip. “Well, not entirely. You wouldn’t have got the job if you hadn’t been like you are, but neither would you have got it if you hadn’t been qualified.”

  “So it was half one, half the other,” I said. “And what’s wrong with fifty-fifty?”

  “Nothing. And don’t you act like there is either!”

  “Not even a little bit?”

  “No!”

  “All right, I won’t,” I said. “Providing you smile real pretty for me, and then lie down with your head in my lap.”

  She did so, although the smile was just a trifle weak. I bent down and kissed her gently, and was kissed in return. I put a hand on her breast, gave it a gentle squeeze. She shivered delicately, eyes clouding.

  “I’m not an easy lay, Britt. I don’t sleep around.”

  “What am I to do with you, Manny?” I said. “You are now twice a thief.”

  “I guess I’ve been waiting for you. It had to be someone like you, and there wasn’t anyone like that but you.”

  “I know,” I said. “I also have been waiting.”

  You can see why I said it, why I just about had to say it. She was my munificent benefactor and she was gorgeous beyond my wildest dreams, and she obviously wanted to and needed to be screwed. So what the hell else could I do?

  “B
ritt…” She wiggled restlessly. “I have a live-in maid at my apartment.”

  “Unfortunate,” I said. “My housekeeper also lives in.”

  “Well? Well, Britt, dear?”

  “Well, I know of a place…” I broke off, carefully amended the statement. “I mean, I’ve heard of one. It’s nothing fancy, I understand. No private baths or similar niceties. But it’s clean and comfortable and safe…or so I’m reliably told.”

  “Well?” she said.

  “Well?” I said.

  She didn’t say anything. Simply reached out and turned on the ignition.

  8

  More than a month went by before I met Patrick Xavier Aloe. It was at a party at his house, and Manny and I went to it together.

  Judging by his voice, the one telephone conversation I had had with him, I supposed him to be a towering giant of a man. But while he was broad shouldered and powerful-looking, he was little taller than Manny.

  “Glad to finally meet up with you, Britt, baby.” He beamed at me out of his broad darkly Irish face. “What have you got under your arm there, one of Manny’s pizzas?”

  “He has the complete manuscript of a pamphlet,” Manny said proudly. “And it’s darned good, too!”

  “It is, huh? What d’ya say, Britt? Is she telling the truth or not?”

  “Well…” I hesitated modestly. “I’m sure there’s room for improvement, but—”

  “We’ll see, we’ll see,” he broke in laughing. “You two grab a drink, and come on.”

  We followed him through the small crowd of guests, all polite and respectable-appearing, but perhaps a little on the watchful side. We went into the library, and Pat Aloe waved us to chairs, then sat down behind the desk, carefully removed my manuscript from its envelope and began to read.

  He read rapidly but intently, with no skimming or skipping. I could tell that by his occasional questions. In fact, he was so long in reading that Manny asked crossly if he was trying to memorize the script, adding that we didn’t have the whole goddamned evening to spend at his stupid house. Pat Aloe told her mildly to shut her goddamned mouth, and went back to his reading.