"Yeah, but I got me an equalizer." Billy tugged at his belt and with a flourish brought forth a revolver.
Gore shouted. "Put that damn thing down." "You crazy?" cried Jordon. "Where'd you get it?"
"It's from my cage in the bank." said Billy sheepishly. "Mr. Gore asked me to ride shotgun taking the silver to the museum."
"You young idiot! I don't need any protection." Gore turned to Jordon. "I said it jokingly when I invited him to come along with me tonight. Everybody knows it just means sitting beside the driver."
"Don't you know that in this state if you're caught with a gun you get a year in prison and no one can get you out?" Jordon raged. Contemptuously, he went on. "Every time I think you're beginning to grow up and be a man, you pull some damn fool stunt like this and I know you're still nothing but an immature kid. Now you put that gun on the table there and march straight into your room, and I'm locking you in."
"Oh stink!" But nevertheless, the young man deposited tha gun on the table, and sheepishly with head lowered and not looking at either of the two men, he went to his room and closed the door behind him.
Ellsworth Jordon calmly turned the key that protruded from the lock and then returned to the recliner. Gore looked at him uncertainly, went to the door of Billy's room and listened for a moment, then he rejoined the older man.
"That was pretty harsh on Billy." said Gore. "Harsh? I should have taken a stick to him."
"Maybe that would have been better, instead of sending him to his room like a child, especially in front of me, after all, you're not his father."
The old man remained silent, the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. Gore noticed it and a wild idea came to him. "Or are you?" he asked. "Is Billy your son?"
Jordon leaned his head back against the cushion of the recliner and closed his eyes.
"Is that it? And you wanted him to work in a bank to get training in handling money."
"You're beginning to annoy me. Larry," the older man murmured without opening his eyes. "Beat it, the bowl is in the carton near the door. Take it and be off. This is my regular time for Transcendental Meditation."
"And Billy? You going to leave him there?"
With his eyes still closed. Jordon smiled and said nothing.
Gore rose and stood looking down uncertainly at the now placid face of his host. Jordon was breathing slowly and regularly, his lips moving barely perceptibly in the recital of his mantra. Finally, Gore picked up the parcel.
18
LAWRENCE GORE EASED HIS CAR SLOWLY DOWN THE DRTVEway, looking carefully from side to side. Gaining the street, he drove to his own house on the outskirts of town to pick up the cartons of the Peter Archer silver.
By eight o'clock he was on the highway heading for Boston, as he drove, he thought of the events of the evening, he was quite certain now that Billy was Jordon's son, he wondered if Billy knew, if that was the reason for his docility, he tried to think of himself at Billy's age. Would he have tolerated such discipline if he had been visiting with a friend of his parents? Or would he have packed up and gone home? But suppose he didn't have a home? That his parents were dead? Or suppose his parents had explained to him that they were indebted to his host and that he must on no account offend him? He smiled wryly as it occurred to him that he himself tolerated a lot from Ellsworth Jordon. But, of course, that was business.
In the distance he saw the lights of a gas station, and he decided to stop there rather than take a chance that there would be another open at this hour, he pulled in and circled well beyond the pumps. Leaving his car, he walked over to the office, and extending a dollar bill, he asked. "Can I have some change so I can use the pay station?"
"It's out of order, the phone company fixes them, and the next day they're on the blink again. Kids come along at night after we close and plug them up so they can get whatever coins have dropped in the meantime. Or sometimes out of pure cussedness."
"Is there another pay station this side of the road before the tunnel?"
"There's one in the office. You can use that." He led the way into the office, and ringing up No Sale on the register, handed Gore change for his bill.
Gore dialed and whistled tonelessly as he waited. When the answer came, he said. "Molly? This is Lawrence Gore. How are you coming along with the report?"
"Well, I've gone over it again and again, but I couldn't make the two columns balance. So I typed it up anyway."
"You sure you put all the items I marked A in one column and the L's in the other?"
"Uh-huh. I’ve checked it and checked it." "Then I must have marked one of them wrong." "Maybe I could ask Herb to look it over and—"
"Oh no, you mustn't do that. Molly,” he said quickly. "It's bank business and strictly confidential."
"Oh, I just thought—well, of course I won't. Was Mr. Jordon angry about your not bringing it with you?"
"You better believe it. I thought he was going to have a fit, all that got me off the hook was that I pointed out that the day extended to midnight. I thought I could get back early enough to pick it up and drop it off to him, but looking over the instructions from the museum. I see they expect to inventory the stuff in my presence, item by item, that can take some time, and I don't think I'll be able to make it."
She could tell that he was concerned. "I could run it up to him right now," she offered. "Except it doesn't balance."
"Oh, well, he'll spot the mistake in a minute, he'll rib me about it when he sees me, but—No. I can't have you do it.
Not where he's—No, you'd be going there alone and—" "You think I'm afraid of him?"
He smiled at her typical Women's Lib reaction, he glanced at the large wall clock. "Well, if you're sure it's no trouble and you don't mind—"
"Not at all. Glad to help out."
"You're a sweetheart."
"I'm doing it for the bank,” she said severely.
"Of course."
19
THE RINGING OF THE TELEPHONE AWAKENED OLD MRS. MANdell. Not that she had been asleep, for she insisted that she never really slept Just kind of dozed. It had interrupted a dream—well, not really a dream, since dreams were a function of sleep. Rather a kind of fantasy that would come to her whenever she dozed off, although there were variations in detail, the general theme was the same; how things would be if She (which was the way she referred to her daughter-in-law) were gone. Occasionally, the dream was about the nature of her leaving—a fatal accident, a drowning, perhaps, in which Herbert had displayed tremendous courage in his effort to rescue her, he would be grief-stricken, of course, but it would have the effect of drawing him closer to his mother; after a while, he would get over the sense of loss, but still the memory of the tragedy would deter him from marrying again.
Then there followed a series of vignettes of their blissful life together when there were only the two of them, at breakfast—she was sure she'd be able to manage—and he would exclaim over its excellence. "Gee. Ma, this coffee, it's out of this world, and this oatmeal! How do you get it so smooth and creamy?" And when he left for work, ha would buss her bovishlv and say. "Now you take it easv, sweetheart. Leave the dishes, and I'll do them when I get home." For dinner she would prepare his favorite foods, the rich and spicy dishes he enjoyed so much, and afterward they would spend the evening watching TV or playing endless games of Scrabble, which she adored.
She did not want him to feel that he was obligated to her and would suggest. "Why don't you go out and visit your friends, herbert? Take out a girl. I don't really mind an evening alone." And he would answer. "Why, Ma, you're my best girl."