A Swell-Looking Babe by Jim Thompson Read Free Book Online Page A

you should mention the letter to Bascom? Very casually, of course. If he's on the level, there's no harm done, and if he isn't, well, it might keep him out of trouble."
    "Except with that blackmailer, eh?" Tolliver laughed. "But I think you may be right, John. Now…"
    They discussed the matter for a minute or two longer. Then, Tolliver looked at Dusty and stood up. "There's no reason to keep Bill around for this, is there? There's nothing more you have to say to him?"
    "Can't think of anything." The manager shook his head. "Thanks for coming down, Rhodes."
    "And remember," Tolliver said, "under your hat, Bill. You don't know anything about this matter."
    "Yes, sir," said Dusty.
    … Later, when it was too late to do much about it, it seemed to him that he should have seen the connection between the letter and Marcia Hillis and Tug Trowbridge and Bascom… and the threat they represented to himself. Later, he did not know he had been so blind as to fail to see. It was all so simple, simple and deadly. All the parts to the puzzle had been in his hands, and he had only to look at them.
    That, however, was later. At the time, it was only an annoyance and one for which there was little excuse. His sleep had been broken into. He had been dragged downtown on a hot afternoon. And all because some nut, some guest probably with a hangover grouch, had written an anonymous note. That was all it amounted to when you got right down to it. If the hotel had any real doubts about Bascom, he wouldn't have stayed there ten years.
    Dusty went home, found that his father had returned from his stroll or wherever he had been, and went to bed. It was now nearing six o'clock, but he was too tired and hot to eat. Too tired to sleep, for that matter. He heard his father moving about in the kitchen, closing and reclosing the refrigerator, rattling ice trays, setting a pan on the stove. It went on and on, it seemed. Interminably. It would – he began to drift into sleep – always go on. The heat and the noise… and… and his father. And nothingness.
    A vivid image of his mother flashed into his mind, and he tossed restlessly. The image changed, a line here, a line there, and it was another woman: alluring, youthful, and above all warm and interested… and understanding.
    He fell asleep, half-frowning, half-smiling.

FIVE
    The night was about average for the Hotel Manton. Bascom seemed about the same as always, with little to say and that cranky and carping. If Tolliver had shown him the letter, and if it meant anything to him, he gave no sign of the fact.
    Dusty drove straight home from work. Or, rather, he started to. Halfway there he remembered that his father was to see the optometrist and that he had no clean clothes. Wearily, cursing, he let the car slow. Of course, the cleaning and laundry might get back early today, but it also might not. And now that he'd taken a firm stand with his father, he'd better carry through with it. There was going to be no more of this putting off, letting him go on with his expensive and embarrassing shiftlessness. He'd been told to see the optometrist today, so today it would be.
    Dusty drove back to town, eating breakfast while he waited for the stores to open. He bought a pair of summer trousers, a shirt and underwear, and started home again.
    Mr. Rhodes was in the kitchen, dabbling ineffectually at the suds-filled sink. He lifted a platter from the dishwater, peering at his son reproachfully as he began to scrub it.
    "Had a nice breakfast fixed for you, Bill," he said. "Bacon and eggs and toast, and-".
    "Sorry," Dusty said, shortly. – "Wash up, and put these on, Dad. I'll drive you down to the optometrist."
    "Thought sure you'd be here," the old man went on. "After buying all that stuff yesterday. If you'd told me you were going to be late,
    "I'm telling you now!" Dusty snapped. "I mean, I'm sorry, but»please hurry, Dad. I want to get to sleep. I'll drive you down, and you can come home by yourself."
    Mr.