Round the Clock at Volari's Read online

  It was an overcast day, and the air was heavy and humid. Dirty-looking gray clouds hung motionless over the big buildings downtown, and all the lights were lit in the Jarecki Printing and Lithographing Company across the way.

  Better get yourself together, Jim thought. He'd be forty-five this November, no time to be fooling around. But it was so damned hard to patch together a shattered career. He was tarred forever as "one of the Tom Patton gang," and that was that. Nobody thought of him as a dupe. Nobody made allowances for his getting carried away. And rightfully so. He'd been living it up like all the rest, on the taxpayers' money, and if the city wanted to turn a cold shoulder to him now he could hardly blame them. After all, he was Judge Chase's grandson. You didn't expect a Tom Patton to be anything but a crook and a grafter. But a Chase…

  He had thought about leaving town. It wouldn't work, he realized dully. He wasn't young enough to make a fresh start. And there were too many memories, here. His kids. His past. Judy. Volari's. He couldn't leave. But, he knew, so long as he stayed here, he'd be living under the shadow of his tarnished reputation.

  Suddenly he remembered Al Patton. Hell, he'd even forgotten that! Must be getting punchy, he thought, studying his face in the bathroom mirror as he got out his electric razor. As he shaved, it occurred to him that Larry wasn't getting a fair shake in regard to Al Patton's writing off a personal debt in lieu of a retainer.

  He smiled quirkily. He had always been scrupulously punctilious in his private accounts. It was only that brief fling, that dizzy time in the D.A.'s office…

  He shrugged. You couldn't be just a little pregnant. You couldn't be mostly a virgin. And you couldn't call yourself an honest man in some ways if you were dishonest in others.

  Still and all, Larry deserved a fair shake on that retainer. He hadn't even thought about it. He shook his head. He wasn't thinking straight at all, these days.

  ***

  He had a hard time trying to make Larry listen to him In regard to Al Patton. Fortified by the best sleep he'd had in months, Larry was bouncing around the office like a puppet on wires. Larry was a man of extremes. He was either ready to whip the world, or give in entirely. This was one of his optimistic days.

  "All right," said Larry, finally, "but I won't take money for doing nothing. I've got a new tipster-a dandy, if he can just keep going. I'll put it up to him. Okay?"

  "Can you trust him?" asked Jim.

  "No. Not entirely. You can't trust any of them, but this boy gets the job done."

  Jim went into his office to write some letters.

  ***

  It was two-thirty when Larry tapped at Jim's door. "We've got a client," Larry said. "But let me tell you about it first. He's guilty as hell and I don't think he's got a chance. He's given up on his other lawyers. He has also got money. Do we take him?"

  "What's the charge?"

  "Embezzlement. Big."

  "We take him," said Jim.

  Larry said, "I got my tipster working already on that other matter. He may have some word for us by tomorrow."

  "Good," said Jim. He got up and began to pace about restlessly. "Larry, you think you could do without me for the rest of the afternoon?"

  "Sure," said Larry. "Gert and I will be busy the rest of the day getting ail the stuff down from Mr. Willey. Tomorrow morning I'm going to see his former lawyers; tomorrow afternoon some time I'll give you all the stuff, then it's up to you."

  "Fine," said Jim.

  All of a sudden it had hit him. He wanted to see Alma and the kids. The court had given him monthly visitation rights, and for a while, after the divorce, he'd appeared promptly. But for reasons unknown even to himself he hadn't been to see them for nearly three months now. Alma never called him; hadn't called him but once since the divorce and that was the day, a year ago, when Bob broke his collarbone playing football. She hadn't even called him when he'd got two months behind on his alimony payments. Alma, full of pride, had had it, that was obvious.

  Jim drove his three-year-old Ford at a steady sixty-miles an hour up along the northern freeway. Although it was only a little after three o'clock there was a heavy stream of traffic, both ways. During the rush hours the freeways were just impossible. Traffic was getting completely out of hand in the big town, with the new freeways already obsolete and no relief in sight.

  Jim looked about him like an alien. He hardly recognized the city at all any more. Now it sprawled in all directions. Most of the old landmarks were gone, and a steady stream of newcomers poured in from all points of the compass, to man the new industries that were springing up like mushrooms all along the vast outer perimeter of the city.

  When Jim was a boy, the city, with about three hundred thousand inhabitants, was hardly more than a widely spread out country town, with many parks and much open space; now over a million people were jammed into the same area, people from everywhere, and no place.

  In many ways the Upper River still bore some resemblance to its former state, in spite of the many new real-estate developments and street after street of the little box-like houses. The river was still there, huge and winding, and at least they'd had sense enough to keep most of the ancient big trees.

  Alma and the boys lived in one of the little boxes on one of the little streets. There was a car-port with a storm door, a television aerial, a picture window from which you had a wonderful view of the house across the street with its picture window glaring back, a square of lawn just like the squares on either side, and a few clumps of low shrubbery. But at least the street was fairly wide and here and there loomed one of the old trees, dwarfing the flat one-story houses and making them look as impermanent as tents, but mitigating the rawness and fresh-paint bleakness of this brand-new suburb of four thousand souls-West River.

  Alma worked at Reed's, Electrical Appliances and Contracting, Inc., a small outfit controlled and operated by Andy Reed. She was a combination bookkeeper, accountant, typist, chief clerk and straw boss. Once, she'd been a secretary in Jim's father's law office. A lot of people thought that Alma had made quite a marriage for herself-the boss's son! Now the same people thought differently. Robert Chase, Esquire losing all his money speculating! And his son hardly better than a hoodlum, one of the minor wheels in the worst administration the city had ever had!

  Reed's was located in the shopping center at West River. The company had come up out of obscure insolvency by getting all of the electrical contracting of the three latest real-estate developments: of course the developers had had to be cut in, but it had turned out to be a good deal all around. Andy Reed, a widower, now had one of the finest houses in the section, and was on his way to his first million.

  "Which proves," Jim told himself, "that anybody can do it." He'd gone to military school with Andy Reed, whose father had been a prosperous farmer, south of town. He'd always considered him a big, good-natured goof. Later he'd run into him in Paris, toward the end of World War II. Andy, a captain, had managed to wangle himself onto some general's staff, but had seemed even goofier than before-the kind of guy you couldn't help playing jokes on.

  So? Who was the comedian now?

  Alma had been seeing quite a bit of Andy, going out to dinner with him, and to bridge parties. But Jim just couldn't take it seriously. Not that goofball!

  ***

  The boys seemed a little startled to see him. They had just got home from a playground up the street, and, dressed in sweat-shirts and jeans, were playing catch on the front lawn.

  "Hi," said Jim, coming up the walk.

  "Hi," said Bob, but Lloyd merely stood regarding him with a puzzled look.

  Lloyd, blond like his mother, had always been slower in every way than Bob, who was a Chase all over. Tall, dark hair, light eyes, and with an almost colorless complexion. Lloyd had a sort of Huck Finn look, with his close-cut sandy hair, his freckles, and his white eyelashes.

  "Mommy never told us you were coming," said Lloyd, finally. "Where've you been so long?"

  "Busy," said J
im. "Making a living. How was school?"

  "Okay," said Bob, without enthusiasm. "I made the C baseball team. So did Lloyd. He hits real good. Can't handle a ground ball, though."

  "I can so," cried Lloyd, with surprising asperity. "You heard what Andy said Saturday. He said I was better than you."

  "He was just trying to build up your morale."

  "He was not," yelled Lloyd.

  "You talking about Andy Reed?" asked Jim, tightly. "Yes," said Bob. "He takes us up to the dam sometimes on Saturday afternoon and we play ball and eat fried chicken."

  "Your mother go along?"

  Both boys laughed loudly. "Mommy?" exclaimed Bob. "No. She hates baseball. All she talks about is swimming and tennis."

  "She used to be pretty good at both," said Jim. "Sure," said Lloyd, with disdain. "But that's for girls. Andy played tennis with her one day and she beat his pants off."

  "Not that Andy cared," said Bob. "He thinks it's a girls' game, too."

  "Swimming is for girls?" asked Jim, beginning to feel not only annoyed, but left out, almost a stranger.

  "Oh, we can swim good," said Bob. "A boy's got to learn. But the pool down the street's always full of girls. All that yelling and screaming."

  There was a short awkward silence. The boys tossed the ball back and forth, their eyes intent on the game, but finally Lloyd held the ball and turned to his father. "We didn't know you were coming. Dad."

  "That's right," said Bob, quickly.

  "It was on the spur of the moment," said Jim, feeling uncomfortable. "I was up this way, anyway."

  "Oh," said Lloyd.

  "Just driving past, you mean?" asked Bob.

  "Well, yes, I guess so. Why?"

  Lloyd burst out now. "We promised, that's all. We didn't know, so we promised."

  "You promised what?"

  "Andy hired this boat. He's going to pick us up pretty soon and we're going up the river and have supper on an island, and then ride back in the moonlight. We promised. We didn't know."

  "I see," said Jim. Hell, this guy Andy was really cutting in for sure. "Well, that's okay." He stood looking down into their puzzled faces, then suddenly he realized that he was just lousing things up for them and that they, far from being glad to see him, were wishing that he'd never come at all. "Tell you what," said Jim. "I got to get back anyway. Just tell your mother that I was up this way, and dropped by. Maybe I'll see you next week. I'll call first."

  "Okay," said Bob. "Fine."

  "We couldn't help it," Lloyd insisted. "We promised."

  "Sure, sure," said Jim. He turned and started for his car with the boys tagging along behind him.

  As he was opening the door, a big gray station wagon turned the comer, and pulled up behind him. Andy, in jeans and a red-checked shirt, looked as if he'd just come fresh off his father's farm. He'd lost some of his hair since Jim had seen him last. Also his waistline had expanded a little. The jeans looked as if they might burst.

  Alma, in a white summer dress, was her usual slim self. At thirty-five she showed almost no sign of the passing of the years. Her mouth maybe was a little firmer, and there was perhaps a more mature look in her blue eyes-nothing else.

  "Jim!" she cried.

  He intercepted a worried look that passed between his sons, knowing that it meant: Good Lord, is our outing going to be loused up after all?

  Andy rushed forward to shake hands. "Good to see you," he cried, just as in Paris, and added: "Ole Hoss," as before. Jim had an odd feeling that a cockeyed scene was repeating itself in grotesque circumstances, as in a nightmare.

  "Hi, Andy," said Jim. "I hear you hired a boat. Going to take the boys up the river."

  "That's right," said Andy. "Alma's going, too. I'm trying out the boat, see? If I like it, I buy it. It's a bargain. I can get it for sixty-five hundred. Nothing… for a boat like that."

  "Well," said Jim, "I was out this way talking to a client, so I just dropped by. Got to be getting back."

  He glanced up. Alma was studying him. "Everything okay otherwise?" he asked her awkwardly.

  "Yes," said Alma. "Everything's fine."

  Jim glanced at his wrist watch. "Well, got to go. Just leaving when you drove up. Glad to have seen you, Andy." Then he turned to Alma: "Might be out next week to see the boys. But I'll call first. Bye, boys."

  "Say," said Bob, "what ever happened about the fungo bats?"

  Jim looked at him blankly. "The what?"

  "Jim," said Alma, her eyes showing annoyance, "the last time you were out here you promised to bring them some kind of bat, or bats?"

  "Fungo bats," cried Lloyd, eyeing his father impatiently. "You know!"

  "Oh, sure," said Jim, not remembering a thing about it. "Next time, boys. I've been pretty busy."

  He got into his car quickly, slammed the door, and drove off, gesturing goodbye. In the rearview mirror he could see the boys standing at the curb, waving, but Alma and Andy had already started up the walk toward the house.

  "Well," Jim told himself, "can't say I blame her much. He's passable, he's got money, and he's available. It's a rough world."

  Jim felt pretty sure that Alma was figuring on marrying Andy. But he didn't like it, he didn't like it at all.

  ***

  Jim was having his dinner alone in a little comer restaurant a few doors down from the Jarecki Printing and Lithographing Company. It was a few minutes after eight, but the city was still sweltering. On the chair beside him was his brief case packed with information regarding the dubious Mr. Willey and his tortuous financial dealings. At the office Jim had glanced through Gert's neatly typed sheets, wincing at what he'd gleaned there by only a mere skimming. It was obvious to him already that it was not a question of working out a solid defense, but of working out any defense at all. Mr. Willey, long a respected accountant, was actually a thief-and not a very smart one.

  "Oh, well," thought Jim, "it's a living-such as it is." A vision of the glories of the past rose before his eyes: His Highness, Old Jake, with his arm around Jim's shoulders, proclaiming at a High Brass meeting in the City Hall: "Here's my successor, boys. Judge Chase's grandson. By God, won't his name look good on the ticket?" At that time Old Jake was certain that he himself would be the next Governor of the state. And now His Highness, Jake Webb, a political outcast, had had a stroke in Florida, while Jim, the Crown Prince, still in town, was having a solitary dinner in a cheap little table d'hotel restaurant, trying to figure out a plausible-sounding defense for an unsavory malefactor who should have been behind bars years ago.

  Jim cracked a knuckle tensely and sipped the weak coffee. His waitress, whose white uniform was blotched with gravy stains, came and stood beside his chair.

  " 'Scuse me," she said. "Are you Mr. James Chase?"

  "Yes," said Jim, looking up in surprise.

  "You're wanted on the phone." She gestured with her thumb toward the back of the place.

  Jim went around behind the counter to answer the phone. Had to be either Larry or Gert; nobody else knew that he sometimes ate here.

  "Jim? Larry. Can you meet me in the Regent Bar? I don't want to talk over the phone."

  "Sure. Give me fifteen minutes."

  Frowning puzzledly, he went back to the table,' paid his bill, picked up his hat and brief case, and left.

  ***

  "What's the matter with you?" asked Larry, studying Jim, after they had sat down in a booth at the Regent and ordered drinks.

  "It's hot," said Jim.

  "It sure is," said Larry. "And no relief in sight, the paper says." A pause, then: "Jim, it's your own business."

  "It's just the heat," said Jim, impatiently. "Heat always gets me."

  "Yeah," said Larry. "I've been trying to persuade Beth to go up to the lake for a week and get cool and relax."

  Their drinks arrived. Larry looked about him to be sure nobody could hear. "I've got that tip for you," he said. "Our man's almost positive that a subpoena is to be issued for that certain party within a week,
maybe sooner."

  "Damn," said Jim.

  "I told you he was a live wire," said Larry. "I slipped him fifty. Okay?"

  "It's worth a lot more than fifty to that certain party. I'd better drop by as soon as we finish our drinks. This is nothing to phone about."

  Larry nodded. "It's going to be rough," he said in a low voice, "if they get Tom Patton in front of the Grand Jury."

  "Yes," said Jim. "But Julian Cowan'll look after him. Toughest lawyer in this town. If it comes to that. The thing for Tom to do is get out, like all the rest of them."

  "Jim," said Larry, "you don't think they'll drag any of us in, do you? The small guys?"

  He wanted a reassuring answer. "I doubt it," Jim said hollowly, only half-believing what he said. "We didn't set policy. We just went along."

  "Like sheep."

  "Yeah. They won't drag us in."

  "Let's hope not," Larry said. "Judge Weybrecht's only after the big boys. Eh? You think so?"

  "I hope so," Jim said grimly.

  There was a moment of cold silence. Both of them knew that they were only making comforting noises, that if Judge Weybrecht worked at it, he could dig enough dirt up not only to get them disbarred but to put them in jail. They had been living under a sword since the fall of Tom Patton.

  "I'd hate to drag Beth through it," Larry said. "She doesn't realize how deep we were in. It'd kill me if she found out-"

  "Weybrecht's only after big game," Jim said doggedly. "We re reasonably safe."

  "Yeah. Reasonably."

  "Let's change the subject," Jim said. "Talk about our friend Aldus Willey."

  "What do you think about him?"

  Jim held his nose. Larry laughed. "Same here."

  "Hell, it's a job," Jim said in a flat voice. "A job's a job."

  "A job is a job is a job. Thank you, Gertrude Stein." With a thin laugh, Larry signalled for another drink, and for a phone. "Got to check in with the little woman," he explained. "Some guys hate the idea. I like it."