The Neon Jungle by John D. MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page A

bottom drawer, inch by inch. He felt in, under the clothes, and touched the wedding portrait. He and Doris, standing there. She had no damn reason for ever sliding it out of the slot in the heavy yellow paper folder. It made him feel safe just to touch it. To touch it and think of the crispness of the fifty-dollar bills slid down behind the glossy print. There were twelve of them now. And a man could go a long way on six hundred bucks.
    It had taken him since March to get hold of that many. There was no point trying to hold out on Doris on the money Pop gave him every Saturday night when he paid off the others. Doris wanted all of that.
    So he’d gone about it another way. Between them, he and Jana did the bookkeeping, the way the accountant told them to. The problem wasn’t to fool Jana. That was easy. The problem was to fool the machine. He had thought about a lot of different angles. Finally he found one so simple it had to work. Pop liked to pay the wholesalers in cash when they brought a bill around. The cash would come out of the register and the receipted bill would go in. Later Walter posted the bills to a ledger. He kited the receipted bills and took the difference from the register. A penciled figure one could be readily changed to a seven. Some of the bills had been made up on a machine. Those could not be altered. Pop seemed to have lost a lot of his intense interest in the business. The decline in profits would make little difference to him.
    He closed the drawer and went back to the bed. Twelve paper pieces of freedom, and by the time Doris had to go to the hospital, he might have a thousand dollars.
    He undressed in the darkness and got into bed. The ash tray clattered down between bed and wall. He left it there. Each night he went to sleep making up the same dream. He would be pacing a hospital corridor. They would come out and tell him that Doris had died in childbirth. Grief would turn him into a crazy man. They’d have to give him a sedative and keep him at the hospital. After she was buried, and after a reasonable period of mourning, he’d make a play for Bonny. She’d be feeling sorry for him. She’d comfort him. He wouldn’t want to marry her, of course. Not after hearing what Rowell said, and the way he said it.
    Then he went into the variation of the dream. The second shock of losing daughter-in-law and grandson would kill the old man. That would leave him owning the store, living in the same house with Jana and Bonny.
    Then there was always the third possibility. Doris would have the kid, but on the day she was due to come home, he’d take off with Bonny. They’d head for the Southwest. Things were alive down there.
    He could see the two of them. They’d pull up in the parking lot of one of those fancy gambling houses and park the convertible. Bonny would be a sort of a hostess. He’d have her wear long evening dresses, tight-fitting, made of gold and silver. And he’d wear a tux, midnight blue, and walk around through the tables and sort of keep an eye on things. The sharpies would stay away from his place. They’d know he wasn’t the kind of guy you could fool with. Every once in a while he’d send a fat money order to Doris and the kid.
    Tonight the dreams weren’t working. Tonight the dreams were sour. He turned on the light and found his place in the book. Mike had just got the big blonde into his apartment.
    Walter Varaki slid into a more comfortable position and began to read hurriedly. He was Mike Hammer. The grocery business was far away.

 
Chapter Five
     
    MR. GROVER WENTLE was a very overworked gentleman. The high school was overcrowded. The teaching staff was barely adequate. And his secretary told him that Miss Forrest was waiting in the outer office with a disciplinary problem. It was the fifth time that day.
    “Who is it?” he asked his secretary.
    “One of the senior girls. Christine Varaki. Disturbance in study hall.”
    He started to say wearily, “Send her in