October 16, 2010

Nothing In Her Way by Charles Williams(6)

I could see that routine was out. As she’d said, they’d
known they were sold as soon as they took a look at the
car. I had to try something else.
“Cathy?” I asked in surprise. “How would I know?”
“Oh, I see. She’s not with you?” he murmured
politely.
“No,” I said. “I went off and left her in El Paso. She’s
lucky I didn’t strangle her. Leaving me there in
Wyecross to get away the best way I could.”
“Two down,” he said boredly. “Now, if you’re sure
you’re finished with that one, we’ll get on with it. You
left Reno together just a week ago, if that’s any help to
you, so where is she?”
He had me. He knew all the answers. I lit a cigarette
to stall for time. “You don’t think I’m going to tell you,
do you?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think so. As a matter of
fact, you probably won’t have to. If you’ll just tell her
you saw me and give her a message, she’ll probably call
me.”
“She won’t,” I said. “But let’s have the message.”
“Tell her if I don’t get my share of that money, I’m
going to call Lachlan.”
He had us. He had us right over the barrel. One word
to Lachlan and the whole thing would blow up and drift
away in a cloud of smoke before it even got started. I
sat there looking at the wreckage of all our plans with a
sort of numb helplessness, and it was a long minute
before the full implication of it hit me.

“What do you mean, Lachlan?” I snapped. “What do
you know about him?”
Nothing in Her Way — 103
“Why, practically all there is to know,” he said calmly.
“After all, she and I were planning the deal together
until she picked you up in New Orleans.”
I felt the anger burning inside me. So nobody knew
about it except us! Lachlan was ours.
“And just in case you think I don’t know where he is
now,” Bolton went on smugly, “I’ll dispel that little
illusion. He’s back at his apartment in the Montlake. He
came in yesterday.”
“All right,” I said helplessly. “I’ll tell her.”
I’d tell her plenty, I thought.
“Just ask her to call me at the Sir Francis Drake.”
“And you think she’s going to split that money with
you? After the way you and Charlie double-crossed us?”
It didn’t bother him at all. “That was Charlie’s idea,”
he said with urbane composure. “And as far as splitting
the money’s concerned, I don’t see that she has much
choice in the matter.” He smiled. “Do you?”
I didn’t. There was no use arguing about it. He held
the cards. I wondered what she’d do. Nobody could
make her give up that much money, and nobody could
make her give up Lachlan. It was a variation of the
irresistible force and the immovable object. Either way
it was unthinkable. I looked out across the Bay Bridge
with its cables shining in the sun. There was no use
searching for a way out. There wasn’t any. Suddenly I
thought of something else, a question I’d never been
able to get her to answer.
“By the way,” I said, “since you seem to know
everything, there’s something I wish you’d clear up for
me. Who is Donnelly?”
He glanced at me, slightly puzzled. “Don’t you
know?”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t ask if I did.”
“He’s a hophead, for one thing. Used to peddle the
stuff, till he got to using it himself, or maybe it’s the
other way around. Kind of a handyman for a gang
around Chicago, and later in New York.”
“How bad is he?”
Nothing in Her Way — 104
He shook his head slightly. “It’s always hard to say.
You have to know how much of the stuff he has in him
at the time, and a number of other variable factors.
Unloaded, so to speak, and without a gun, he’s about as
harmful as the Easter bunny. He may be a little cracked
at times, I think, and seems to hate women. Probably
his hormones are out of kilter. I don’t know. All you
have to do is guess all these factors at any precise
moment.”
I felt a little sick. “But where does he get this dream
that Cathy owes him some money? Out of the pipe?”
Bolton picked up the glass and looked at it, frowning
a little. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t know for sure, of
course, but it looks to me as if for the first time in his
life he might be on the right side of something. It all
depends on the way you look at the ethics of gambling
debts.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, legally, they have no status, of course.
Gamblers, I understand, look at the matter differently.”
“They do,” I said curtly. “But get to the point.”
“All right. It’s a simple thing. You knew Lane was a
bookie, I guess, and that he was killed by a holdup
man? Well, the day he was killed he accepted a bet
from Donnelly for four hundred dollars on some horse
named—I don’t remember now. Silver Stream or Slip
Stream or something like that. Donnelly’s a terrific
plunger and all the money he doesn’t spend for dope
goes to the ponies. But once in a while he gets hold of a
good tip and makes a killing. This horse was one of
them. He was a long shot, and maybe Lane took it and
laid it off somewhere and maybe he didn’t. Nobody
knows, because that night Lane was killed right in front
of his house in Connecticut as he and Cathy were
getting out of the car. The horse had come in and paid
a little better than twenty to one. She says Lane didn’t
accept any such bet as that. Donnelly says he did. Take
your choice.”
“Do you think Donnelly had anything to do with
killing him?”
Nothing in Her Way — 105
Bolton shook his head. “No. They caught the man
who did it. Donnelly couldn’t have had anything to do
with it, anyway. He was in jail.”
“In jail? Well, how’d he make the bet?”
“Earlier. The police picked him up on suspicion of
something around noon that day, and it was several
weeks before he was in circulation again. And that’s the
reason he didn’t have the betting slip to back up his
claim. He says the police lost it when they took all his
stuff away from him at the jail.”
“It sounds fishy to me,” I said.
He shrugged. “As I say, I wouldn’t know. The only
thing I’m sure of is that I’m glad it’s not me he’s after.”
I felt a little cold, thinking about it. “So Donnelly
wants eight thousand. And how much is it you’re
after?”
“Thirty-two thousand, five hundred. I’m presenting
Charlie’s bill, too.”
I stood up. “I wish you both luck,” I said. “You’ll need
it.”
“You think so?” He smiled coolly. “Just give her my
message.”
I went off and left him sitting there. Everything was
ruined. And on top of that, she had lied to me. I was
burning with anger as I stalked over to the Montlake.
She wasn’t in the apartment. I waited, walking up
and down the living room, smoking one cigarette after
another. I don’t know how long it was. It was the sound
of bumpers clashing that finally took me to the window.
I looked down and I could see her. She was trying to
park the Cadillac. If it had been anyone else I’d have
said she was drunk, but I knew she couldn’t be because
she never drank that much. She was trying to put the
car in a parking space at least two cars long and she
was as clumsy at it as a rhinoceros in a tearoom. She
would bang into the car in front and then go slamming
back to crash into the one behind, and she never did
get close to the curb. I watched her coldly, wondering
what it was this time. She could put that Cadillac
Nothing in Her Way — 106
anywhere a parking-lot attendant could, and in half the
time.
Then I saw what it was. Another car had apparently
just pulled up a minute or two before, nearly up at the
end of the block. It was a foreign car of some kind, and
I could see the man getting out. Even nine floors up I
recognized the Texas hat and the arrogant walk. It was
Lachlan. He looked toward the bumper-crashing and
walked back to her instead of going in the doorway. I
could see them talking, and then she slid over in the
seat while he walked around and got in behind the
wheel. He eased it into the parking place and they both
got out. They were directly below me and I could see
the white blur of her face, tipped up a little, thanking
him and smiling. Then they came on inside the
doorway.
In a few minutes I heard her key in the apartment
door. I sat down on the arm of a big chair. She came in
smiling, her eyes shining with excitement, and ran over
to kiss me.
“Mike, darling. I was hoping you’d be back. I did it.”
I said nothing.
She went on, babbling with amusement. “It was easy.
Just a slight variation on an old theme.” She began to
notice something was wrong. She looked at me
questioningly. “Darling, what’s the matter?”
I reached out and caught her arm and pulled her
toward me. “Nobody knows about Lachlan except us,” I
said roughly. “He’s ours, our own private project.”
“Darling,” she protested, “of course nobody knows.”
She took another look at my face then, and I didn’t
have to spell it out for her.
“So Bolton is in town?”
“Why’d you lie to me?”
I let her hand go and she sat down, looking at the
floor. At last she glanced pleadingly up at me. “Please
try to understand, Mike. Don’t you see? I’d found
Lachlan at last, after all those years. And I didn’t even
know where to start looking for you, to help me. I had
Nothing in Her Way — 107
to have somebody, because I couldn’t do it alone, so I
got Bolton.”
What difference did it make? I thought wearily. The
whole thing was washed up anyway. “Well, for your
information,” I said, “you’ve got Bolton. Right around
your neck. Unless you want to hand him thirty-two
thousand dollars.”
“What!”
“He says if you don’t call him, he’s going to call
Lachlan and tip him off.”
She raised her head and stared at me. “Oh, he is?”
she asked. She was getting that thoughtful look in her
eyes again. “And just where is Mr. Bolton?”
“At the Sir Francis Drake.”
“And he wants me to call him? Well, isn’t that nice?”
She stood up.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
She smiled. “Why, I’m going to call him, Mike. That’s
what he wanted.”
I just sat there and watched her. She picked up the
telephone and asked for the hotel.
“Mr. Bolton,” she said sweetly. “Mr. Judd Bolton.
Would you ring him, please?” Then she looked at me,
completely deadpan, and winked.
“Hello, Judd. How are you? This is Cathy,” she said.
What now? I thought. It was old college chum greeting
old college chum after an absence of five years. “Mike
just now told me you were in town and said you wanted
to see me. Of course, dear. Come on over. Dr. and Mrs.
Rogers. We’re in Nine-A at the Montlake. Hurry over
and we’ll pour you a drink.”
After she had hung up she called the desk and asked
the clerk to send a boy up with some Western Union
blanks. When they came she sat down at the coffee
table and wrote out three or four telegrams. I merely
shook the ice in my drink and waited. There was no use
even trying to guess what was going to happen.
He came up about twenty minutes later. I let him in,
we nodded coolly to each other, and I went out in the
Nothing in Her Way — 108
kitchen to fix him a drink. When I came back Cathy was
still sitting at the coffee table with her telegrams and
he was smoking a cigarette and smiling complacently
from a big chair across from her.
“Lovely place you have here,” he said. “Nice view.”
“Yes, isn’t it?”
“Nice of you to ask me over.”
“Not at all,” she said sweetly. “We’re just sorry we
didn’t know sooner you were in town. I understand you
were thinking of trying to get in touch with us through
Mr. Lachlan.”
I sat down at the other end of the sofa, stretched out
my legs, and watched them. Bolton held all the cards.
You could see that in the complacent and almost
patronizing way he was beginning to put the pressure
on. He had us, and he knew it. He’d sweat us for a few
minutes first, though, just for laughs.
“Oh, I didn’t really think that would be necessary,” he
said smoothly. “I was sure you’d agree to my
proposition as soon as you had a chance to examine it.”
“Why, certainly, Judd,” she said. “But how can I agree
to it if I don’t know what it is?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it.” He gazed
thoughtfully at the end of his cigarette like a banker
getting ready to grant a two-million-dollar loan. “It
would be a shame to give up this Lachlan deal, now
that you’ve got so much invested in it. So why don’t we
work out a deal along these lines? You turn over the
thirty-two thousand, five hundred you owe me and
Charlie, and then cut me in for half of this Lachlan
negotiation.”
I whistled softly. There was nothing bashful about
Bolton when he started tightening the screws.
“Oh, I meant to ask you,” she said smoothly, “do you
know where Charlie is?”
He shook his head and smiled. “In the East
somewhere, I believe. I’m not sure.”
“Well, if you’re collecting for him, how do you expect
to deliver the money if you don’t know his address?”
Nothing in Her Way — 109
He smiled again. “That does raise an interesting
question, doesn’t it? But we needn’t go into that. I’ll be
glad to accept full responsibility for delivering it, and
relieve you of the worry. I know it’s been bothering
you.”
“That’s very nice of you, Judd. But what if we can’t
agree to your terms?”
“Oh,” he said easily, “I think you can come around to
my way of thinking. Life is essentially a series of
compromises.”
“But just supposing, for the sake of argument, that
we didn’t?”
“In that case, I’d have to call Lachlan.”
“Would you, really?”
“Certainly.”
She smiled. “I like your frankness. I’ll be equally open
with you. The telephone is right over there by the
door.”
I couldn’t see what she was driving at. Neither could
Bolton. He studied her face, trying to figure it out.
“You mean that?” he asked.
“Why, surely. And I’ll even let you use it, first,” she
said. “I’ll send my telegrams after you’re finished
talking to Mr. Lachlan.”
“Telegrams?” he asked. I hadn’t got anything yet, but
maybe he could hear the bomb beginning to tick.
“Yes. Oh, I didn’t show them to you, did I? I wrote
them out while we were waiting for you. Here.” She
shoved them across the table, all except one. “The first
one is to the chief of police in Denver. And the other is
to the bunco squad in Miami. They’re still anxious to
contact a Major Jarvis Ballantine, I understand. And, of
course, as far as the police here in San Francisco are
concerned, I could just call them on the telephone and
suggest they check with Denver and Miami and that
they might find you at the Sir Francis Drake or the
airport.”
He was the one who was sweating now. You could see
it working on him. “You don’t mean that,” he said.
Nothing in Her Way — 110
“I’ll tell you an excellent way to find out. Call Mr.
Lachlan and see.”
“You couldn’t.” He was blustering a little.
“I’ve already suggested a way you can test it. You
won’t know for sure until you do. You say life is a series
of compromises; in a way, it’s also a series of
uncertainties.”
“Yes, but there’s one thing you’ve forgotten,” he said.
“And that is that I could call the police in Wyecross and
tell them where you are.”
“But, why, Judd, for heaven’s sake?” she asked
innocently. “Or have you forgotten something? I didn’t
have anything at all to do with that, but you did.”
She had him there, in this colossal game of bluff.
There was no way Goodwin or the police could ever pin
any of it on her. All she had was the money.
He ground out the cigarette in a tray and got up. His
face was dark with anger.
“You’re not going, Judd?” she asked. “Why, you
haven’t even finished your drink.”
“What’s in it?” he asked harshly. “Arsenic, or
cyanide?” He stopped at the door and looked back, and
I could see him beginning to get hold of an idea. Some
of his assurance returned.
“You won’t get away with it,” he said, grinning coldly.
“You really overlooked something, Cathy.”
“And what is that?”
“I might—I say, I just might call Lachlan tomorrow or
next week or ten days from now from Seattle or Los
Angeles or Jersey City. And you wouldn’t know it.
Maybe you didn’t think of that. There’s an interesting
little uncertainty for you. How would you like working
on a mark who’s been wised up and has the bunco
squad sitting on the side lines waiting for you to make
your pitch?”
I hadn’t thought of that, and now that I got a look at
all the deadly beauty of it I could feel the butterflies in
my stomach. Wouldn’t that be a setup? We’d never
know whether Lachlan had been tipped off or not until
the actual moment they closed in on us. It would be like
Nothing in Her Way — 111
trying to disassemble an unfamiliar land mine in the
dark; the only way you’d know when you had the
trigger was when it went off. She couldn’t have any
answer for that one. Or did she? I looked at her and she
was smiling again.
“Oh, how stupid of me,” she said. “I knew I had
forgotten something. I didn’t show you the other
telegram.”
“The other one?”
“Why, yes. This one.” She held it out, but he made no
move to take it. “It’s to the Chicago police. Just a little
tip that they might get in touch with you by contacting
your mother out in Oak Park. Think what a revelation
that’ll be. To both the police and your mother. Can’t
you just see the headlines? ‘Son of Prominent
Committeewoman Sought.’”
I watched his face. It was the first time I’d ever been
able to see very far into Bolton, and now that I did I
didn’t find it a very comforting sight. He looked at both
of us with his hand on the door and said, “That’s one I’d
advise you not to send, Cathy.”
That was all. He went out and closed the door.
Nothing in Her Way — 112
Thirteen
He’d called it an interesting uncertainty, and that was
probably the understatement of the year. Would he, or
wouldn’t he? It could drive you crazy. Who had
outbluffed whom?
Fortunately, I didn’t have time to stew about it that
night. I met Lachlan, at last.
We were going out to dinner and stopped in the
cocktail lounge in the building. It was the usual chi-chi
sort of place, with white leather upholstery in the
booths, a girl playing a Hammond organ, and just
enough light to grope your way around. The place was
almost empty. We had just sat down at a booth and
ordered our drinks when I saw him come in. He didn’t
notice us at first, and sat down at the bar. When his
drink came he looked up and saw her in the mirror.
He didn’t know me, and she hadn’t asked him. He
came over anyway, with his drink in his hand. “Hello,
there,” he said.
It was just the sort of break we’d been hoping for, but
it still got under my skin. She looked up, pretending she
had just noticed him, and smiled. “Why, hello. It’s Mr.—
ah—”
“Lachlan, folks,” he said heartily. “Remember? The
parking-lot attendant.”
Nothing in Her Way — 113
She made the introduction. “This is my husband, Dr.
Rogers. Darling, Mr. Lachlan. The man who helped me
park the car.”
I stood up and we shook hands. “Join us?” I asked,
with as little invitation as I could get into it. I was
supposed to play it very cold and close-mouthed, the
way we had it worked out, but it wasn’t any act.
He jerked his head for the waiter to bring a chair, and
sat down at the end of the table. We’d hardly touched
our drinks, but he insisted on ordering two more.
“Doctor?” he asked. “Are you an M.D.?”
I shook my head curtly. “Veterinarian.”
He dismissed that with a grunt. “Oh?” he said, and
turned to Cathy. “You know, Mrs. Rogers, I could swear
I’ve seen you somewhere before. You’re not in the
movies, are you?”
It was pretty crude, especially from a middle-aged
goat who was old enough to be her father. I had a
pleasant moment thinking of how, normally, she’d let
the air out of any oaf who’d pull something like that,
but now she took a bow on it, looking flattered and a
little overcome, like a girl at her first prom. “No,” she
said, shaking her head and smiling. “I’ve never been
any nearer Hollywood than right here.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” he boomed. He turned and
included me in the conversation again. “Doctor, I notice
you drive a Jaguar. How do you like it?”
“Pretty well,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance to race it
yet.”
“They’re not bad. I had one for a while, but I got rid
of it and picked up that Italian job I’ve got now. There’s
a car. Of course,” he added, with an offhand wave of
the paw, “it costs a lot more.” He was one of those
people who manage to rub their money in your face like
grating a nutmeg.
“By the way,” he went on, “Mrs. Rogers said you lived
a long time in Peru. You ever do any fishing around
Cape Blanco?”
This was one of the ticklish parts of it. Cathy’d been
to Peru with her mother one year, but I’d never been
Nothing in Her Way — 114
there. We were pretty sure he hadn’t either, but
weren’t absolutely certain of it.
I shook my head. “No. I was mostly up in the
mountains. Little trout fishing was all.”
“Oh, trout.” He consigned trout fishing to the
category of sissy pastimes like making your own clothes
or painting teacups. “I was hoping you might have tried
it. Never been there myself. The usual places, Bimini,
Acapulco, and so on, but somehow I always missed
Blanco.”
“Oh?” I said.
He brought us up to date on what kind of physical
condition you had to be in to fight martin, and asked us
to guess his age. We both knew he was either fortyeight
or forty-nine, so I said forty-one and Cathy said
forty. He told us he’d played football in college, and
that he could go out there right now and run through a
scrimmage without raising a sweat. He knew several
movie stars. He kept a forty-foot cruiser at San Diego.
But I kept noticing he never mentioned Central
America. That was good.
Most of this was directed at Cathy, but occasionally
he would remember I was there too and make an effort
to work me into the conversation. “What kind of work
do you do mostly, Doc?” he asked. “Horses? Dogs? That
sort of thing?”
“I’m not doing any at all at the moment,” I said.
Cathy took it off the backboard. “Dr. Rogers hasn’t
practiced for several years, though he used to work
mostly with race horses. Lately, he’s become interested
in research.”
“For the government?”
She shook her head. “Just for himself. You see, his
father was a medical missionary in the Andes and as a
child he became interested in the Indians and—”
I shot her a dirty look, trying not to make it too
obvious, and she let it trail off rather lamely into
something vague about high altitude and diet. While
she was still floundering around with it, I glanced at my
watch and said curtly we had to start to dinner. The
Nothing in Her Way — 115
whole thing was brusque to the point of rudeness. I
shook hands rather coldly with Lachlan as we stood up,
thanked him for the drink, and said with no sincerity at
all that I hoped we would see him again. As we were
leaving and were almost, but not quite, out of earshot, I
snapped at her in Spanish, “Long tongue!”
* * *
That night after dinner we worked on the plan some
more. We had an argument to begin with, but she
finally won me over. I said her whole idea was too
subtle for a meat-headed egotist like Lachlan, that he
never stopped talking about himself long enough to be
curious about anything or anybody.
She disagreed with me. “You’re wrong, darling. He’s
just intelligent enough to get it, without being smart
enough to see through it or be afraid of it. God knows
you’re right about his egotism, but you shouldn’t cry
about that. I’m the one who’s going to have to listen to
him. And it’s in our favor, anyway. What could be more
intoxicating to a conceited gas bag like that than the
knowledge that he’s outsmarted us and found out what
you’re doing—when he does, of course? And he’s
already put one thing over on us. He understands
Spanish as well as we do, and we don’t know that. I
suppose you noticed that in all that monologue of his
there was never anything about Central America.”
“Yes. I noticed that.”
“I was afraid he’d brag about it—the way he does
everything else—before we had a chance to nail it
down. He won’t now. Your bawling me out for being a
lengua larga has scotched that.”
She coached me on the Peruvian angle until I felt as if
I’d lived there for years. Complete saturation was what
she was after, and nothing less would satisfy her. I
protested, pointing out that Lachlan had never been to
Peru and wouldn’t know if I did make a mistake, but
she paid no attention. I not only had to know everything
about Dr. Rogers; I had to be him.
The next day Juan Benavides showed up and he went
through the mill.
Nothing in Her Way — 116
It was about two in the afternoon. The buzzer
sounded, and he was in the corridor looking very sharp
in his electric-blue suit and wide-collared shirt.
“Come in, Juan,” I said. I took his hat and he looked
around in awe, probably kicking himself for not having
started his bargaining at five hundred instead of three
hundred dollars.
I gave him a cigarette and called Cathy. She was
wearing blue pajamas and a long robe with wide
sleeves, and you could see he was much impressed with
her. She shook hands and smiled, and then curled up in
a big chair.
“We are very fortunate,” she said, giving him an
approving glance. “Already I can see that Juan is just
the man for the job.”
From then on he was hers. The two Spanish-speaking
gringos were without a doubt completely crazy, but this
one was of unbelievable beauty and she thought highly
of him.
She told him everything he was supposed to do and
say, and then she told him again. She sweated him
through it for an hour. I wrote down the telephone
number of the hotel where he was staying. We told him
to be there where we could reach him any afternoon
after four, and then I went back downtown with him
and let him pick out the gold watch chain.
“Where is your watch?” I asked.
“Perhaps someday I will have one,” he said. “Who
knows?”
I gave him some more expense money and asked him
about the bus ticket. He thought it over and decided El
Paso would be a good place to go. After I dropped him
off I went around to the bus station and bought it. We
were all ready for the next act.
On an impulse I ducked into a cigar store and called
the Sir Francis Drake. Bolton had checked out and had
left no forwarding address. It could mean anything at
all, and probably meant nothing, but for a moment I felt
a chill just thinking about it. He could tip Lachlan off
Nothing in Her Way — 117
from anywhere, and we’d never know it until they
slipped the handcuffs on us.
When I got back to the apartment she was gone
again, and she didn’t get back until nearly six. She was
elated when she did come in. She’d run into Lachlan
and he had taken her down Bayshore to San Jose in that
Italian car of his to show her how it performed. Or at
least, that was his excuse.
It was good, but I was irritated. “Wait a minute,” I
said. “How much of this are we going to have, anyway?
I mean, going off with him all afternoon—”
She laughed. “Mike, for heaven’s sake, have you
forgotten who he is? That’s Lachlan, the man we both
wanted to kill when I was ten years old. Stop growling
and listen. We’re doing wonderfully.”
She’d got a pretty good line on his plans this time and
we could set up some sort of timetable. Apparently they
had talked a lot. He was going to be around San
Francisco for at least another month, she said, before
he went back to Mexico for some more fishing. His
lawyers wanted him to stay around until they got this
latest property settlement worked out.
But that wasn’t the big news, she told me excitedly.
“He actually stopped talking about himself long enough
to ask me what you were doing. Incidentally, he was
curious about me, too—his idea being, of course, that I
must be the one with money, since you obviously
couldn’t be. I dispelled that by telling him my father
was a bookkeeper for the Lima office of a mining
company. I said we both grew up in Peru, but that we
didn’t meet until we were at Columbia. So now, if it’s
bothering his sense of logic any, he’s right back where
he started. You don’t do anything resembling work,
your father was a missionary, mine was a bookkeeper,
and still we live like millionaires.”
She jumped off my lap and started prowling the living
room the way she always did when she was excited or
thinking. She paused to light a cigarette, then waved it
at me. “He asked me outright what kind of research you
were doing—or had been doing. I was properly evasive
about it, and vague. He wouldn’t have to be a genius to
Nothing in Her Way — 118
figure out that you had given me unadulterated hell for
talking too much the other night and that I still
remembered it.
“I told him you’d been at the Hipodromo San Felipe
in Lima as a veterinarian for the track, and then
somehow”—she paused and grinned wickedly
—“somehow we got onto horse doping and saliva tests,
and I said that although they weren’t part of your work,
you’d become interested in them. Just chatter, you see.
And then I shut up and listened to him.”
We ran into Lachlan again that night in the cocktail
lounge as we were going out to dinner, but declined his
drink invitation a little coolly and eased out without
talking to him. The following night we avoided the bar
altogether. The thing to do was to let him rest a little.
The night after that, however, we went back and he
was there ahead of us, sitting at a booth this time. He
stood up and insisted we join him.
The drinks came. “How about having dinner with me
tonight?” he urged.
“Why, we’d love to,” Cathy said. “Wouldn’t we,
Mike?”
“Sure,” I said, with scarcely any enthusiasm at all.
“Fine,” he said. “I know a swell place down in the
financial district. Never find it unless you knew this
town like a book.”
Cathy had her head down and was poking into her
purse. “Oh, darn,” she said. “I left my lipstick upstairs.”
She stood up. “If you’ll excuse me. I’ll only be a
minute.”
She went out and we sat down again. I wondered how
the thing would come off. She had gone to call
Benavides.
She was gone about ten minutes, stalling to give him
time. Lachlan and I nursed our drinks and made an
attempt at conversation. Without her there it fell apart
like bricks without mortar.
I thought about him and tried to figure him out.
Somehow he either wasn’t the man I’d always expected
or he was putting on an act too. The boasting and
Nothing in Her Way — 119
ostentatious show of money and bully-boy virility that
characterized this middle-aged clown didn’t seem to
match up with the cold-nerved piracy of the man who’d
engineered a coup like that one in Central America
sixteen years ago. Maybe it was just a front, or maybe
he was over the peak and softening up now,
degenerating into a sort of propped-up wolf chasing
girls half his age.
In the face itself there wasn’t much evidence of
breakdown. The eyes were steel-blue and sharp and a
little too domineering, and the hawk nose and solid jaw
gave him the look of a man who was able to take care of
himself. Maybe it was in a number of small things. He
was a little too loud. He dyed his hair to cover up the
gray at the temples. You could see it—the reddish
brown around the ears didn’t quite match the rest of it.
His clothes were too young for him. He wore doublebreasted
gray flannel suits with built-in shoulders and
Hollywood drape, and topped them off with explosive
ties and the modified Texas hat. It was funny, I thought;
at first glance, when you knew his record, he looked
dangerous, but when you got closer to him he began to
sound a little hollow.
Was it an act? That was the bad part of it—there was
no way to know until it was too late. But the thing we
couldn’t afford to forget for a minute was that he’d
lived by his wits for a long time, and he’d always come
out on top.
“Mrs. Rogers tells me you used to be with the
Peruvian Jockey Club,” he said, leaning back against
the white leather.
I shrugged. “Not as a member, if that’s what you
mean. I worked at San Felipe as veterinarian for a
while. A long time ago.”
“How is the racing down there? Pretty crooked?”
“No,” I said, a little impatiently. “Probably as clean as
it is here.”
He gave me a superior smile. “Whatever that means.”
“It means it’s pretty straight. Thoroughbred racing is
one of the most rigidly governed sports in the world,
and they do a good job of keeping it clean.”
Nothing in Her Way — 120
“You think so?” He didn’t, it was obvious. And he had
the knack of implying that if I did I was a fool.
I shrugged it off and changed the subject, as if
reluctant to talk about horse racing. We got onto
fishing, which wasn’t much better. He had only amused
tolerance for fly fishermen. In a few minutes Cathy
came back.
“More trouble,” she complained with a wry smile as
we sat down. “Sometimes I envy men. I had a run in a
stocking and had to change it.”
I ordered another round of drinks to make sure
Benavides would have time to get here. When we had
finished them, Lachlan said, “We’ll take my car. It’s
already out front.” We went out through the lobby with
Cathy in the middle chattering about something. It was
after seven, and when we got out the big doors in front
it was dark except for the street lights and the glow
from the sign over the cocktail lounge. Fog was coming
in across the hill and cutting off the tops of the
buildings. Benavides wasn’t in sight. He’d had plenty of
time, I thought angrily. Where the devil was he? Then I
saw him. He had just come around the corner of the
building, walking very fast.
We turned and went down the sidewalk toward
Lachlan’s car. Just before we reached it I could hear
footsteps behind us, beginning to run now, and then he
called out.
“Senor Rogers. Doctor! One moment, please.”
We all turned, just as he came up and put a hand on
my arm. I shook it off angrily, brushing at him with my
hand. “Get away,” I said irritably, continuing to walk
toward the car.
He came after me, talking very fast in Spanish.
“Please you must listen. You will tell me when there is
another one, no?”
“What are you talking about?” I said coldly. I had him
by the arm now, and was hustling him away. “Shut up,
you stupid idiot!” I hissed at him, still jockeying him
along. I turned to Cathy and Lachlan and apologized in
English. “I’m sorry. I’ll get rid of him in a minute. You
go ahead.”
Nothing in Her Way — 121
They went on toward the car with Lachlan turning to
look curiously over his shoulder. I walked Juan back,
being careful not to get completely out of earshot.
“Now, you big-mouthed fool,” I lashed at him,
winking at the same time, “what are you doing here?”
“Senor Barnes sent me away from Miami. He said he
would kill me. But I must have money. I cannot live in
this country without money. You will tell me when there
will be a long race, no?”
“You’re lucky Barnes didn’t kill you,” I said angrily. “I
heard about it. You talked your stupid head off. There
was so much comeback money at the track we didn’t
get five to one.” I chopped it off suddenly as if just
realizing I was talking too loudly myself.
“But, Doctor, how am I going to live?” he begged.
“You must tell me when there is another so I can bet—”
He stepped back, holding out his hands, as I made a
step toward him.
I took out my wallet and handed him the $260 and
the bus ticket, folded up between the bills. “Here,” I
said. “And you stay away from here. If I see you around
here again, I’ll call Cramer. You know what he does to
long tongues.”
He tried to follow me back to the car, still talking. I
waved him off furiously, and he turned finally and
shuffled away. He had done it nicely, and I hoped he’d
use that bus ticket.
They were in the car waiting, and looked
questioningly at me as I slid in beside Cathy. “I’m
sorry,” I said. “Damned nuisance. The only way you can
get rid of him is to give him a couple of dollars.”
“Oh?” Lachlan asked casually, easing the car away
from the curb. “Do you know him?”
“He used to work for my father, in Peru. Dad brought
him back to the States with him three or four years ago,
but he won’t work any more. Just a bum now.”
He didn’t say anything more as we drove on down the
hill through the early-evening traffic. I was eager for a
chance to talk to Cathy, to find out how it had gone
over and how much of it they’d been able to hear. All
Nothing in Her Way — 122
through dinner I was hoping to get a moment alone
with her, but I never did. Afterward he suggested we go
to the Fairmont, but Cathy begged off, saying she had a
slight headache. We came back to the apartment about
ten o’clock.
The minute we were inside the door she pulled my
head down and kissed me. “You and Benavides should
go on the stage.”
“Was it all right?”
“Perfect.”
* * *
We avoided Lachlan completely for the rest of the
week, and then, as she said he would, he came to us.
Early in the morning after the Benavides incident I
went downtown to the hotel where he was staying,
intending to build a fire under him if he was still
hanging around. He was gone, however, and the
chances looked good that he had taken the bus for El
Paso. As soon as we got back to the apartment we
packed a couple of bags and took off for Carmel.
Everything was under control, and all we had to do was
play hard to get and just wait.
It was wonderful at Carmel. I forgot the whole thing
for three days, and stopped worrying about Bolton, and
Donnelly, and whether the police were watching us. It
was a fine time.
We hadn’t been back in San Francisco more than a
few hours when he called us. He had four tickets to a
play at the Geary, he said. How would we like to join
him and his date for it, and then go dancing afterward?
“We’re beginning to click, darling,” Cathy said,
looking speculatively at a row of gowns hanging in a
closet.
It was easy to see Lachlan had something up his
sleeve when we met them downstairs in the cocktail
lounge and I got a glance at his date. No aging buck on
the prowl would want to be chaperoned by a married
couple when he could have been alone with all those
natural resources. She was a brown-eyed blonde who
Nothing in Her Way — 123
overflowed her gown to within a short drool of being
arrested for blocking traffic. The gown itself was a
plunging-neckline affair in a sort of ripe-avocado green,
and above the timber line she looked like whipped
cream squeezed out of a tube. Her name was Bobbie
Everett and she was in radio, she said, and when I
made the obvious and somewhat asinine observation
that she ought to be in television she thought that was
cute. This was odd, considering that she had probably
heard the same remark ten thousand times since TV
had taken the bosom to its bosom.
The strategy began to be a little obvious by the time
we’d left the theatre and had gone to a night club.
Really, I was the most interesting man she’d ever met.
Honestly, I was. I simply must tell her all about myself.
Working with race horses, imagine that. Didn’t I think
racing was just simply divine?
She had to have something to report to Lachlan, so I
blossomed into a brilliant conversationalist under all
this flattering attention and told her all about myself. I
told her how to treat bowed tendons.
Of course, I didn’t know anything about it, but since
practically anything was news to her, I was on safe
ground. It was about five dances before I was able to
outmaneuver Lachlan and get a dance with Cathy.
“Well,” she said, “and how are you and your little
friend? You don’t seem to be feeling any pain.”
“I’m all right,” I said. “A little snow-blind, but
otherwise O.K.”
“Yes,” she said, “I thought you looked like a homesick
skier. But remember, you’re the close-mouthed type.
What has she learned so far, besides the fact that your
vision seems to be all right?”
“I haven’t told her anything except the story Lachlan
already has from you.”
We compared notes as soon as we were back at the
apartment. She was elated. There wasn’t any doubt at
all now that he was going for it.
“He’s going for something,” I said. “Maybe it’s you.”
Nothing in Her Way — 124
“Don’t be silly. Listen, Mike, we’re turning for home
now. I can tell. From the things he said tonight—when
he wasn’t playing the big shot, of course—I’ve got a
pretty good picture of just how much he’s figured out.
He knows you’re mixed up in horse racing in some way,
but he can’t quite see where or how. I mean, you’re not
anywhere near an operating track, you’re obviously not
a bookie, and if you were an owner or trainer you’d say
so. And that thing Benavides kept saying about a ‘long
race’ is getting him. Why should long races be any
different from any others? He hasn’t quite enough
information to complete the picture, but he will have,
very shortly. I’ve got a date with him tomorrow. You
don’t know it, of course, but he’s taking me out to
lunch.”

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Adventures of Huckleberry Finn