The Woodrow Wilson Dime by Jack Finney

Author:Jack Finney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
Published: 2011-07-24T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

" 'Dear Miss,' " I dictated to my secretary as I paced my office. " 'Although you don't know me, I feel impelled, as former probation officer for Custer Huppfelt …' " I shook my head. "Cancel that: the son of a bitch would lie out of it.

" 'Dear Miss. The records of my divorce from my former husband, Custer Huppfelt, are filed' "— I paused, thinking—" 'under the alias he used at the time. And I am obliged to sign this anonymously, for even yet I fear his revenge …'

"Cancel that. 'Dear Miss. As retired head of the Vice Squad, most of the city's sexual degenerates are only too well known to me. I could not live out my declining years without warning you that among the very vilest and most depraved …'

"Never mind the letters," I said to the girl, who got up to leave. "Hetty's so prejudiced she'd never believe them." I sat down and yanked the phone book toward me. It fell through the hole in my desk, but with the skill of much practice I shot myself far down in my chair and caught it in my lap. I looked up the place Hetty worked at, phoned her, told her I had to see her right away about something terribly important; and after a moment's hesitation she said she'd meet me right after work.

Outside her office, just after five, I sat waiting in a cab, and when Hetty got in, I asked her where she'd like to go, and she gave the driver a lower Second Avenue address.

It was a little neighborhood saloon. We walked in, I stopped short, and stood looking around at the long old-style bar and the booths along one wall. "Good lord," I said, "this is where I used to come with …"

"With whom?"

"A girl I used to know. Long ago"—I smiled sadly—"in another world." There were half a dozen people sitting at the bar, and I nodded at the bartender, said, "Two old-fashioneds, please; one with soda," then led Hetty to an empty booth.

"Who's the old-fashioned with soda for?"

"You."

"How did you know?"

"Just guessed." I looked around. "And I can guess why you like this place, too."

"Why?"

"Because the tables are wood, not plastic. Because the bar is old, the ceiling made of stamped tin, and there's still a gas fixture sticking out of that wall. Because the place is a little ugly, a little dirty. Because it's unfaked and it's been here a long time." Our drinks arrived.

Hetty was smiling. "You're right; how did you guess?"

"Because I like it, too. And I'll make another guess." Her brows rose questioningly. I took a swallow of my drink, then said, "Custer doesn't like the place at all."

She looked at her glass for a few seconds without answering, then looked up at me again. "No," she said, her voice carefully neutral, "he doesn't care for it." She smiled a deliberately polite and perfunctory smile, and said, "What did you want to see me about, Ben?"

"Well.

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