He drank from a beer can and belched crudely. He looked impenetrably smug and satisfied with himself. "I still say we should sell the whole goddamn works. Not just Loon Key. Everything. He offered to buy it. Let's give him the headaches."
"I won't do it. I won't let those two men drag the Hanson chain to the level of that fuck palace!"
"Mommy, such language," Roger grinned.
"They're fine motels. They have a good name, repeat customers, year after year. Hanson motels are their home away from home."
"Turn off the bullshit, Mom," Roger said. "You sound like one of Dad's commercials. An operation like that can't miss. You charge 'em high for the room. Then extra for the porn movies over the tube instead of regular TV. You'll have more repeat customers than you can handle-young studs with money, instead of old codgers squeezing their nickels to get in a vacation to sunny Florida. We put in a percentage clause, and then Max gets all the work while we lie, back and spend the money. I'm going to vote for selling it to him."
"Roger, you can't!"
"I've got 30 percent, and you've got 30. That's a lot of cash, Mom!" He sucked his beer and looked at her. "Besides, if Max has 18, then all he and I have to do is dig up another 3 percent out of the employees, and there's nothing you or Bundt can say about it. That'll make 51, Mom, and 51 decides it. And I think out of all the employees we can find 3 percent, don't you?" He grinned at her with alarming coldness.
He was right. They wouldn't have any trouble. And all that she and Paul had worked for would be.
She'd done a lot of thinking since yesterday. She hadn't slept much at all last night. There was a cold eye floating above her bed, staring down at her, seeing her, seeing the things she'd done, the insanity of the past week. And now she felt shaky and sober, as if suffering from a hangover after a sexual drunk.
She needed advice. She needed to talk to Thorne before deciding anything, just to get his opinion. Paul had regarded him highly-too highly, maybe, for Roger's good. But she trusted Thorne, too. She wasn't too sure about Jack Cutter. He hadn't told her half what she'd learned from Max and Dancer, and that wasn't right.
The doorbell finally rang. Roger growled and carried his beer over to open it. "What the hell do you want around here?" he grated nastily. "See me during office hours, whiz kid."
Vera jumped up from the couch. "Thorne!" she cried happily.
She felt her pulse quicken as she looked at him standing in the doorway, taking in the clean cut of him, the squarish jaw, the wide chest, the thick pelt of dark hair, neat and trim.
He looked at her with sharp, perceptive blue eyes, and for a quick moment, she felt as she had last night-visible, ashamed. How could she dare hope he would have anything to do with an incestuous slut like her?
"Oh, Thorne…" she cried softly.
Roger stuck out his arm, stopping him from coming into the house. "Hey, where the hell do you think you're going? I didn't say you could see my mother, did I?"
Thorne looked at him, at his arm. "Vera, may I come into your house?" he asked.
"Roger, stop being an ass!" Vera cried.
Roger grinned and dropped his ann. "We went down to the Key yesterday, Bundt. That's real class. Way over your level of appreciation."
Thorne ignored him. He looked at Vera. "I've taken a poll of the employees who own stock, Vera. Most of them are old-timers who started out with Paul, and they think that Loon Key operation is a blight on the good name. They want to get rid of it. I wanted to find out what you and Roger thought."
"Fuck'em," Roger said.
"What do you feel about it, Thorne?"
"I agree with them. I'd go farther. I'd recommend you deal Sawyer straight out, fast."
"Pretty damn assuming, aren't you, whiz kid?" Roger snarled. "You come sucking around here as if you were running the show still, tallying up votes and all that crap. Buddy, you're not running it now, and you can figure on being minus my 30 percent." He rocked on his toes and grinned cockily at Bundt.
"Come to think of it, Bundt, who says your job is running around taking polls? You're supposed to be some kind of glorified bookkeeper. I want you taking polls, I'll tell you and see you're paid. Meanwhile, you can clean out your adding machine and get gone. You're fired as of right now."
"Goddamn you, Roger!" Vera cried.
Thorne looked at him tolerantly, a slight smirk on his face. "I think you're a little confused, Roger. You don't pay me. You didn't hire me, and you can't fire me. No common stockholder can do that. That's for the officers and board members to decide, and right now, you're neither."
Roger balled his fists. "There's a way, Bundt, there's a way. Max will know the way."
"That would be your first bad move, Roger, letting him in. He's slick. He promises gold and delivers mud. He'll peel the skin off your ass so fast you won't know it's gone for a week. That's his specialty, Roger. He's done it to eight companies already."
"Why did Paul have anything to do with him, Thorne?" Vera asked. "I just don't comprehend it."
Thorne sighed. "He needed money, Vera. I advised him against starting the Loon Key unit, but he wanted to build just one more before he retired. Costs went up. He got in a bind. Sawyer bought in. He looked honest, talked fine. Then he started making demands that Paul couldn't refuse. It's a long stow, Vera."
"Retired?" she asked, her voice small.
"His heart. He knew about it a year ago."
She felt hollow inside. "Yes, his heart." God, why hadn't he told her anything?
Thorne looked at Roger. "You don't like me, Roger, and I don't think much of you. But let's forget that. Let's forget things like honor and reputation and good name. Let's just talk money. You vote against Sawyer next week, and it'll pay off much more in the long run."
"Crap," Roger laughed. "All crap. The whiz kid comes over and makes like he knows what he's talking about, like I don't. And that's the way it's always been. You and the old man made sure of that. Well, I'm up to here with it, Bundt. I'm taking over, me and Max, and the first thing I'm going to do is fire your ass out of my life forever!"
Thorne shook his head sadly. "Roger, damn it, you just don't know what you're doing."
"I don't even give a shit, Charlie!" he crowed. "If it fucks you up, I'm going to do it! You want to fight me, then you're on, you son of a bitch!"
Vera was ready to belt him, to pummel him, to beat him senseless. For the first time, she had an appreciation of the frustration Paul had put up with for so many years.
For the first time, she saw him clearly, just as clearly as she'd seen herself last night, and she knew there was no fine man hiding behind the boyish exterior. There was only a big emptiness, brattiness, a compulsion to ruin and spoil.
She shuddered violently, remembering that she had let him fuck her. She had forgiven herself for bringing an animal like Dalton into their house to rape her. She had allowed him to take her to that evil motel, where every perversion she could think of befell her-and even twisted her emotions around to the point where she begged for more of it.
"Oh, Thorne!" she cried suddenly, rushing to him, sobbing openly, clinging to his strong, steady frame. His arms came around her and held her tightly, and they felt good-so damn good!
"Get away from my mother, you bastard," Roger grated.
"Haven't you said enough for one night, Roger?"
"Not near enough, buddy! You know what you're holding there? You know what kind of pussy you got against your prick there? Hot, man, hot! Lemme tell you how hot! Lemme tell you about reputation and honor and all that horseshit."
"Roger!" Vera screamed, feeling herself going slightly hysterical.
She didn't know what might have happened if the bell hadn't rung again. Thorne was holding her tightly. There was a reddish fringe about Roger when she stared at him. She watched him open the door. She saw Joyce and Rainey there. There were reddish fringes about them, too.
"Hey, hey! Look at this!" Roger cackled. "It's a pair of lovelies! See what you're missing out on, Bundt? The fringe benefits Max gives out. Come on in, you beautiful girls!"