One Bright Summer Morning

The doorman of the Lake Arrowhead Hotel touched his cap as Kramer came across the crowded lobby.

“Your car’s ready, sir,” he said. “It was only for two days, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Kramer said and slipped a five-dollar bill into the doorman’s expectant hand. “If I need it for longer, I’ll let you know.”

The porter conducted him to a Buick convertible that stood in one of the hotel’s parking bays and opened the door.

“Get you a car any time you want, sir,” he said as Kramer settled himself behind the driving wheel. Kramer nodded to the doorman, engaged gear and headed for Pitt City.

Some minutes after three o’clock, in the blazing heat of the afternoon sun, Kramer drove up the dirt road leading to Wastelands. He pulled up at the gate, got out, opened the gate, drove the car forward, got out and shut the gate.

The heat made him sweat and he was aware that the nagging pain in his left side had returned. As he drove up the winding road that led directly to the house, he felt a sudden loss of confidence. He was getting old, he told himself. If something should go wrong! If, after all those years in the rackets, he should suddenly find himself in a police cell! The pain in his side increased, and he put a big, fleshy hand to his chest. But there was no turning back now. He trusted Moe. The plan was right. It couldn’t turn sour.

When he pulled up outside the front door of Wastelands, he saw Riff lounging in a bamboo chair, his feet on the veranda rail. Riff stood up as Kramer got out of the car.

Kramer said briskly, “Get this car out of sight. Where’s Moe?”

Riff stared at him, his narrow eyes probing. He jerked his thumb towards the front door and with a lazy movement, vaulted the veranda rail, got in the car and drove it towards the garage.

As Kramer came up the steps, the front door opened and Moe came out into the hot sunshine.

The two men paused and looked at each other.

“Well?” Kramer demanded, a snap in his voice.

“It’s okay,” Moe said. “The girl’s here. There’s been no trouble with the Dermotts. We had a telephone engineer out here because Riff cut the lines, but Chita handled him. He went away satisfied. We’re in the clear.”

Kramer drew in a long, slow breath. He showed his discoloured teeth in a sudden, wide grin of relief.

“When you want something well planned you come to me, huh?” He moved into the house. “Where’s Dermott? He’s the guy I want to talk to.”

Moe motioned him to the study door.

“He’s in there with his wife.” As Kramer began to move forward, Moe said, “Jim... just a moment. He got a little out of hand. Riff had to hit him.”

Kramer stopped in his tracks. His fleshy face turned a dusty red as he turned to glare at Moe.

“Hit him? What the hell do you mean?”

Moe shifted uneasily.

“Well, the guy tried to be a hero. Riff had to quieten him.”

Kramer removed his Stetson hat and wiped his sweating head.

“How bad is he?”

“He’s okay now, but Riff hits hard.”

Kramer grunted, then went to the study door, turned the handle and walked into the big, airy room.

Vic and Carrie were seated side by side on the settee. At the sight of this big, elderly man, Vic got slowly to his feet.

“I have to apologize, Mr. Dermott,” Kramer said in his hearty, insincere business voice. “I hear one of my boys got a little excited.” He stared at the livid bruise that extended down the side of Vic’s face. “I’m sorry.”

“Who are you?” Vic said. “Just what are all these — these thugs doing in my house?”

Kramer moved further into the room and sat down. He nodded to Carrie who was staring at him.

“My respects, Mrs. Dermott. Sorry for all this, but it is unavoidable.” He looked at Vic. “Mr. Dermott, it is your misfortune to have rented this place. I hope you will be cooperative. If you’ll sit down, I’ll tell you exactly what it is all about and then you can decide for yourself whether or not you want to play along with me.”