Books by Harold Robbing 3 page

He stepped aside to let me enter. "Hello, Master Cord." He greeted me in his soft Creole English.

"Hello, Robair," I said, turning to him as he closed the door. "Come with me."

He followed me silently into my father's study. His face impassive, he closed the door behind him. "Yes, Mr. Cord?"

It was the first time he had called me Mister, instead of Master. I looked at him. "My father is dead," I said.

"I know," he said. "Mr. Denby called."

"Do the others know?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I told Mr. Denby that Mrs. Cord was out and I haven't said anything to the other servants."

There was a faint sound outside the closed door. Robair continued speaking as he moved swiftly toward it. "I figured you would want to break the sad news yourself." He threw the door open.

There was no one there. He stepped quickly out the door. I followed him. A figure was hurrying up the long staircase that curved around the entrance hall to the upper floor.

Robair's voice was low but held the whip of authority. "Louise!"

The figure stopped. It was Rina's personal maid.

"Come down here," he commanded.

Louise came down the steps hesitantly. I could see the terrified look on her face as she approached. "Yes, Mr. Robair?" Her voice was frightened, too.

For the first time, Robair let me see how he kept the servants in line. He moved almost lazily but his hand met her face with the impact of a pistol shot. His voice was filled with contempt. "How many times do I tell you not to listen at doors?"

She stood holding her hand to her face. The tears began to run down her cheeks.

"Now you get back to the kitchen. I’ll deal with you later."

She ran toward the kitchen, still holding her face. Robair turned back to me. "I apologize for her, Mr. Cord," he said, his voice once more deep and soft. "Ordinarily, my servants don't do such a thing, but that one is pretty hard to keep in her place."

I took out a cigarette and almost before I had it in my mouth, Robair struck a match and held it for me. I dragged deep. "That's all right, Robair. I don't think she'll be with us much longer."

Robair put out the match and carefully deposited it in an ash tray. "Yes, sir."

I looked at the staircase speculatively. Oddly enough, I hesitated.

Robair's voice came over my shoulder. "Mrs. Cord is in her room."

I looked at him. His face was an impenetrable butler's mask. "Thank you, Robair. I’ll go up and tell her."

I started up the staircase. His voice held me. "Mr. Cord?" I turned and looked down at him.

His black face gleamed. "What time shall I serve dinner, sir?"

I thought for a moment. "About eight o'clock," I answered.

"Thank you, sir," he said and started for the kitchen.

I knocked softly at Rina's door. There was no answer. I opened it and walked in. Her voice came from the bathroom.

"Louise, bring me a bath towel."

I walked into the bathroom and took a large towel from the stack on the shelf over her dressing table. I started for the enclosed bathtub just as she slid back the glass door.

She was gold and white and gleaming with the water running down her body. She stood there for a moment surprised. Most women would have tried to cover themselves. But not Rina. She held out a hand for the towel.

She wrapped it around her expertly and stepped from the tub. "Where's Louise?" she asked, sitting down at the dressing table.

"Downstairs," I answered.

She began to dry her face with another towel. "Your father wouldn't like this."

"He'll never know," I answered.

"How do you know I won't tell him?"

"You won't," I said definitely.

It was then that she began to sense something was wrong. She looked up at me in the mirror. Her face was suddenly serious. "Did something happen between you and your father, Jonas?"

She watched me for a moment; there was still a puzzled look in her eyes. She gave me a small towel. "Be a good boy, will you, Jonas, and dry my back? I can't reach it." She smiled up into the mirror. "You see, I really do need Louise."

I took the towel and moved closer to her. She let the big bath towel slide down from her shoulders. I patted the beads of moisture from her flawless skin. The scent of her perfume came up to me, pungent from her bath warmth.

I pressed my lips to her neck. She turned toward me in surprise. "Stop that, Jonas! Your father said this morning you were a sex maniac but you don't have to try to prove it!"

I stared into her eyes. There was no fear in them. She was very sure of herself. I smiled slowly. "Maybe he was right," I said. "Or maybe he just forgot what it was like to be young."

I pulled her off the seat toward me. The towel fell still further until it hung only by the press of our bodies. I covered her mouth with mine and reached for her breast. It was hard and firm and strong and I could feel her heart beating wildly beneath it.

Maybe I was wrong but for a moment, I thought I could feel the fires in her reaching toward me. Then, angrily, she tore herself from me. The towel lay unheeded on the floor now. "Have you gone crazy?" she spit at me, her breast heaving. "You know at any minute now he could come walking through that door."

I stood very still for a second, then let the built-up pressure in my lungs escape in a slow sigh. "He'll never come through that door again," I said.

The color began to drain from her face slowly. "What— what do you mean?" she stammered.

My eyes went right into hers. For the first time, I could see into them. She was afraid. Just like everyone else that had to look into an unknown future. "Mrs. Cord," I said slowly, "your husband is dead."

Her pupils dilated wildly for a moment and she sank slowly back onto the seat. By reflex, she picked up the towel and placed it around her again. "I can't believe it," she said dully.

"What is it that you can't believe, Rina?" I asked cruelly. "That he's dead or that you were wrong when you married him instead of me?"

I don't think she even heard me. She looked up at me, her eyes dry, but there was a gentle sorrow in them — a compassion I never knew she was capable of. "Was there any pain?" she asked.

"No," I answered. "It was quick. A stroke. One minute he was as big as life and roaring like a lion, and the next— " I snapped my fingers. "It was like that."

Her eyes were still on mine. "I'm glad for his sake," she said softly. "I wouldn't have wanted him to suffer."

She got to her feet slowly. The veil came down over her eyes again. "I think you'd better go now," she said.

This was the familiar Rina, the one I wanted to take apart. The distant one, the unattainable one, the calculating one. "No," I said. "I haven't finished yet."

She started past me. "What is there to finish?"

I seized her arm and pulled her back toward me. "We're not finished," I said into her upturned face. "You and me. I brought you home one night because I wanted you. But you chose my father because he represented a quicker return for you. I think I've waited long enough!"

She stared back at me. She wasn't afraid now. This was the ground she was used to fighting on. "You wouldn't dare!"

For an answer, I pulled the towel from her. She turned to run from the room but I caught her arm and pulled her back to me. With my other hand, I caught her hair and pulled her head back so that her face turned up to mine. "No?"

"I'll scream," she gasped hoarsely. "The servants will come running!"

I grinned. "No, they won't. They'll only think it a cry of grief. Robair's got them in the kitchen and not one will come up unless I send for her."

"Wait!" she begged. "Please wait. For your father's sake?"

"Why should I?" I asked. "He didn't wait for me." I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. Her fists and hands scratched at my face and beat against my chest.

I threw her on the bed, the white satin cover still on it. She tried to roll off on the other side. I grabbed her shoulder and spun her back. She bit my hand and tried to scramble away when I pulled it back. I placed my knee across her thighs and slapped viciously at her face. The blow knocked her back on the pillow. I could see the white marks left by my fingers.

She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them, they were clouded and there was a wildness in them that I had never seen before. She smiled and her arms went up around my neck, pulling me down to her. Her mouth fastened against mine. I could feel her body begin to move under me.

"Do it to me, Jonas!" she breathed into my mouth. "Now! I can't wait any more. I've waited so long." Her searching fingers ran down my hip and found my core. She turned her face into the pillow, her movements becoming more frenetic. I could hardly hear her fierce, urgent whisper. "Hurry, Jonas. Hurry!"

I started to get up but she couldn't wait for me to get my clothing off. She pulled me down again and took me inside her. She was like a burning bed of coals. She drew my head down to her neck.

"Make me pregnant, Jonas," she whispered into my ear. "Make me pregnant like you did to those three girls in Los Angeles. Put your life into me!"

I looked into her face. Her eyes were clear and there was a taunting triumph in them. They reflected none of the passion of the body beneath me. Her arms and legs tightened around me.

She smiled, her eyes looking into mine. "Make me pregnant, Jonas," she whispered. "Like your father never would. He was afraid someone would take something away from you!"

"What— what?" I tried to get up but she was like a bottomless well that I couldn't get out of.

"Yes, Jonas," she said, still smiling, her body devouring me. "Your father never took any chances. That's why he made me sign that agreement before we got married. He wanted everything for his precious son!"

I tried to get up but she had moved her legs in some mysterious manner. Laughing, triumphant, she said, "But you'll make me pregnant, won't you, Jonas? Who will know but us? You will share your fortune with your child even if the whole world believes it to be your father's."

She rose beneath me, seeking and demanding my life force. In a sudden frenzy, I tore myself from her, just as my strength drained from me. I fell across the bed near her feet.

The agony passed and I opened my eyes. Her head was turned into the pillow and she was crying. Silently I got to my feet and left the room.

All the way down the hall to my room, I kept thinking, my father cared, he really cared. Even if I didn't see it, he loved me.

He loved me. But never enough to show it.

By the time I got to my room, the tears were rolling down my cheeks.

I WAS ON THE TINY INDIAN PINTO THAT I HAD WHEN I was ten years old, galloping insanely across the dunes. The panic of flight rose within me but I didn't know what I was running from. I looked back over my shoulder.

My father was following me on the big strawberry roan. His jacket was open and blowing in the wind and I could see the heavy watch chain stretched tight across his chest. I heard his voice, weird and eerie in the wind. "Come back here, Jonas. Damn you, come back!"

I turned and urged the pinto to even greater speed, I used my bat unmercifully and there were tiny red welts on the horse's side from where I had hit him. Gradually, I began to pull away.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, Nevada was beside me, riding easily on his big black horse. He looked across at me calmly. His voice was low. "Go back, Jonas. It's your father calling you. What kind of a son are you, anyway?"

I didn't answer, just kept urging my horse on. I looked back again over my shoulder.

My father was pulling his horse to a stop. His face was very sad. "Look after him, Nevada." I could hear him only faintly, for there was a great distance between us. "Look after him, for I haven't the time." He turned the strawberry roan around and began to gallop away.

I stopped my pony and turned to look after him. He was already growing smaller in the distance. Even his outline was fading in the sudden tears that leapt to my eyes. I wanted to cry out after him, "Don't go, Father." But the words stuck in my throat.

I sat up in bed, my skin wet with perspiration. I shook my head to get the echo of the dream out of it. Through the open window I could hear the sound of horses coming from the corral in back of the house.

I went over to the window and looked out. The sun was at five o'clock and casting a long morning shadow. Down in the corral, several of the hands were leaning against the fence, watching a rider trying to break a wiry bay colt. I squinted my eyes against the sun.

I turned from the window quickly. That was the kind of medicine I needed. Something that would jar the empty feeling out of me, that would clean the bitter taste from my mouth. I pulled on a pair of Levi's and an old blue shirt and started from the room.

I headed down the corridor to the back stairs. I met Robair just as I came to them. He was carrying a tray with a glass of orange juice and a pot of steaming coffee. He looked at me without surprise.

"Good morning, Mr. Jonas."

"Good morning, Robair," I replied.

"Mr. McAllister is here to see you. I showed him into the study."

I hesitated a moment. The corral would have to wait. There were more important things I had to do. "Thank you, Robair," I said, turning for the front staircase.

"Mr. Jonas," he called after me.

I stopped and looked back at him.

"If you're goin' to talk business, Mr. Jonas, I find you always talk better if you got something in your stomach."

I looked at him, then at the tray. I nodded and sat down on the top step. Robair set the tray down beside me. I picked up the glass of orange juice and drained it. Robair poured the coffee and lifted the cover from the toast. I sipped at the coffee. Robair was right. The empty feeling was in my stomach. It was going away now. I picked up a slice of toast.

If McAllister noticed the way I was dressed, he made no comment about it. He came directly to the point. "The ten per cent of minority stock is divided as follows," he said, spreading some papers on the desk. "Two and one half per cent each, Rina Cord and Nevada Smith; two per cent each, Judge Samuel Haskell and Peter Commack, president of the Industrial Bank of Reno; and one per cent to Eugene Denby."

I looked at him. "What's the stock worth?"

"On what basis?" he asked. "Earnings or net worth?"

"Both," I answered.

He looked down at his papers again. "On the basis of average earnings the past five years, the minority stock is worth forty-five thousand dollars; on the basis of net worth maybe sixty thousand dollars." He lit a cigarette. "The earning potential of the corporation has been declining since the war."

"What does that mean?"

"There just isn't the demand for our product in peacetime that there is in war," he answered.

I took out a cigarette and lit it. I began to have doubts about the hundred thousand a year I was paying him. "Tell me something I don't know," I said.

He looked down at the papers again, then up at me. "Commack's bank turned down the two-hundred-thousand-dollar loan your father wanted to finance the German contract you signed yesterday."

I put the cigarette out slowly in the ash tray. "I guess that leaves me a little short, doesn't it?"

McAllister nodded. "Yes."

My next question took him by surprise. "Well, what did you do about it?"

He stared at me as if I were psychic. "What makes you think that I did?"

"You were in my father's office when I got there and I know he wouldn't call you just to settle with that girl's parents. He could have done that himself. And you took the job. That meant you were sure of getting your money."

He began to smile. "I arranged another loan at the Pioneer National Trust Company in Los Angeles. I made it for three hundred thousand, just to be on the safe side."

"Good," I said. "That will give me the money I need to buy out the minority stockholders."

He was still staring at me with that look of surprise in his eyes when I dropped into the chair beside him. "Now," I said, "tell me everything you've been able to find out about this new thing my father was so hot about. What was it you called it? Plastics?"

ROBAIR SERVED A RANCH-STYLE BREAKFAST: STEAK AND eggs, hot biscuits. I looked around the table. The last plate had been cleared away and now Robair discreetly withdrew, closing the big doors behind him. I drained my coffee cup and got to my feet.

"Gentlemen," I said, "I know I don't have to tell you what a shock it was yesterday to find myself suddenly with the responsibility of a big company like Cord Explosives. That's why I asked you gentlemen here this morning to help me decide what's best for the company."

Commack's thin voice reached across the table. "You can count on us to do what's right, son."

"Thank you, Mr. Commack," I said. "It seems to me that the first thing we have to do is elect a new president. Someone who will devote himself to the company the same way my father did."

I looked around the table. Denby sat at the end, scribbling notes in a pad. Nevada was rolling a cigarette. He glanced up at me, his eyes smiling. McAllister sat quietly next to him. Haskell and Commack were silent. I waited for the silence to grow heavy. It did. I didn't have to be told who were my friends.

"Do you have any suggestions, gentlemen?" I asked.

Commack looked up at me. "Do you?"

"I thought so yesterday," I said. "But I slept on it and this morning I came to the conclusion that it's a pretty big nut to crack for someone with my experience."

For the first time that morning, Haskell, Commack and Denby brightened. They exchanged quick looks. Commack spoke up. "That's pretty sensible of you, son," he said. "What about Judge Haskell here? He's retired from the bench but I think he might take the job on to help you out."

I turned to the Judge. "Would you, Judge?"

The Judge smiled slowly. "Only to help you out, boy," he said. "Only to help you out"

I looked over at Nevada. He was smiling broadly now. I smiled back at him, then turned to the others. "Shall we vote on it, gentlemen?"

For the first time, Denby spoke up. "According to the charter of this company, a president can only be elected by a meeting of the stockholders. And then only by a majority of the stock outstanding."

"Let's have a stockholder's meeting, then," Commack said. "The majority of stock is represented here."

"That's a good idea," I said. I turned to the Judge, smiling. "That is if I can vote my stock," I added.

"You sure can, boy," the Judge boomed, taking a paper from his pocket and handing it to me. "It's there in your father's will. I had it admitted to probate this morning. It's all legally yours now."

I took the will and continued. "All right, then, the director's meeting is adjourned and the stockholder's meeting is called to order. The first item on the agenda is to elect a president and treasurer of the company to replace the late Jonas Cord."

Commack smiled. "I nominate Judge Samuel Haskell."

Denby spoke quickly. Too quickly. "Second the nomination."

I nodded. "The nomination of Judge Haskell is noted. Any further nominations before the slate is closed?"

Nevada got to his feet. "I nominate Jonas Cord, Junior," he drawled.

I smiled at him. "Thank you." I turned to the Judge and my voice went hard and flat. "Do I hear the nomination seconded?"

The Judge's face was flushed. He glanced at Commack, then at Denby. Denby's face was white.

"Do I hear the nomination seconded?" I repeated coldly.

He knew I had them. "Second the nomination," the Judge said weakly.

"Thank you, Judge," I said.

It was easy after that. I bought their stock for twenty-five thousand dollars and the first thing I did was fire Denby.

If I was going to have a secretary, I didn't want a prissy little sneak like him. I wanted one with tits.

Robair came into the study, where McAllister and I were working. I looked up. "Yes, Robair?"

He bowed his head respectfully. "Miss Rina would like to see you in her room, suh."

I got to my feet and stretched. This sitting at a desk for half a day was worse than anything I'd ever done. "O.K., I’ll go right up."

McAllister looked at me questioningly.

"Wait for me," I said. "I won't be long."

Robair held the door for me and I went up the stairs to Rina's room. I knocked on the door.

"Come in," she called.

She was sitting at her table in front of a mirror. Louise was brushing her hair with a big white brush. Rina's eyes looked up at me in the mirror.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked.

"Yes," she answered. She turned to Louise. "That's all for now," she said. "Leave us."

The girl nodded silently and started for the door. Rina's voice reached after her. "And wait downstairs. I’ll call when I want you."

Rina looked at me and smiled. "She has a habit of listening at keyholes."

"I know," I said, closing the door behind me. "What is it you wanted to see me about?"

Rina got to her feet. Her black negligee swirled around her. Through it I could see she was wearing black undergarments, also. Her eyes caught mine. She smiled again. "What do you think of my widow's weeds?"

"Very merry-widowish," I answered. "But that isn't what you asked me up for."

She took a cigarette and lit it. "I want to get out of here right after the funeral."

"What for?" I asked. "It's your house. He left it to you."

Her eyes met mine through a cloud of smoke she blew out. "I want you to buy the house from me."

"What'll I use for money?"

"You'll get it," she said flatly. "Your father always got it for the things he wanted."

I studied her. She seemed to know exactly what she was doing. "How much do you want?" I asked cautiously.

"One hundred thousand dollars," she said calmly.

"What?" I exclaimed. "It isn't worth more than fifty-five."

"I know," she said, "But I'm throwing in something else ‑ my stock in the Cord Explosives Company."

"The stock isn't worth the difference!" I exploded. "I just bought twice as much this morning for twenty-five thousand!"

She got to her feet and walked over to me. Her eyes stared coldly up at me. "Look, Jonas," she said coldly, "I'm being nice about it. Under the Nevada law, I'm entitled to one-third your father's estate, will or no will. I could break the probate of the will just like that if I wanted to. And even if I couldn't, I could tie you up in court for five years. What would happen to all your plans then?"

I stared at her silently.

"If you don't believe me, why don't you ask your lawyer friend downstairs?" she added.

"You already checked?" I guessed.

"Damn right I did!" she snapped. "Judge Haskell called me as soon as he got back to his office!"

I drew in my breath. I should have known the old bastard wouldn't let go that easy. "I haven't got that kind of money," I said. "Neither has the company."

"I know that," she said. "But I’m willing to be reasonable about it. I’ll take fifty thousand the day after the funeral and your note endorsed by the company for ten thousand a year for the nest five years."

I didn't need a lawyer to tell me she'd had good advice. "O.K.," I said, starting for the door. "Come on downstairs. I’ll have McAllister prepare the papers."

She smiled again. "I couldn't do that."

"Why not?" I demanded.

"I'm in mourning," she said. "How would it look for the widow of Jonas Cord to come downstairs to transact business?" She went back to her vanity table and sat down. "When the papers are ready, send them up."

IT WAS FIVE O'CLOCK WHEN WE GOT OUT OF THE TAXI in front of the bank building in downtown Los Angeles. We went through the door and walked back to the executive offices in the rear of the bank. McAllister led me through another door marked private. It was a reception room.

A secretary looked up. "Mr. McAllister." She smiled. "We thought you were in Nevada."

"I was," he replied. "Is Mr. Moroni in?"

"Let me check," she said. "Sometimes he has a habit of leaving the office without telling me." She disappeared through another door.

I looked at McAllister. "That's the kind of secretary I want. She's got brains and a nice pair of boobs to go with them."

He smiled. "A girl like that gets seventy-five, eighty dollars a week. They don't come cheap."

"Yuh gotta pay for anything that's good," I said.

The secretary appeared in the doorway, smiling at us. "Mr. Moroni will see you now, Mr. McAllister."

I followed him into the inner office. It was large, with dark, wood-paneled walls. There was a big desk spang in the middle of it and a small man with iron-gray hair and shrewd dark eyes sitting behind it. He got up as we came into the room.

"Mr. Moroni," McAllister said, "this is Jonas Cord."

Moroni put out his hand. I took it. It wasn't the usual soft banker's hand. This one was hard and callused and the grip was strong. There were many years of labor contained in that hand and most of them had not been behind a desk. "It's good to meet you, Mr. Cord," he said with a faint trace of an Italian accent.

"My pleasure, sir," I said respectfully.

He waved us to the chairs in front of his desk and we sat down. McAllister came right to the point. When he had finished, Moroni leaned forward across his desk and looked at me. "I’m sorry to hear about your loss," he said. "From everything I've heard, he was a very unusual man."

I nodded. "He was, sir."

"You realize, of course, this makes quite a difference?"

I looked at him. "Without trying to stand on a technicality, Mr. Moroni, I thought the loan was being made to the Cord Explosives Company, not to either my father or me."

Moroni smiled. "A good banker makes loans to companies but he always looks at the man behind the company."

"My experience is limited, sir, but I thought the first objective of a good banker was to achieve adequate collateralization for a loan. I believe that was inherent in the loan agreement that Mr. McAllister made with you."

Moroni smiled. He leaned back in his chair and took out a cigar. He lit it and looked at me through a cloud of smoke. "Mr. Cord, tell me what you believe the primary responsibility of the borrower is."

I looked at him. "To make a profit on his loan."

"I said the borrower, Mr. Cord, not the lender."

"I know you did, Mr. Moroni," I said. "But if I didn't feel I would make a profit on the money you're going to lend me, there'd be no point in my taking it."

Date: 2015-12-24; view: 482