Bertha said, “You’re a hell of a partner, disappearing like that without letting anyone know where you are! Hale has telephoned from New Orleans. He’s sore. He says he thinks you’ve given him a double-cross, says he isn’t going to pay any bonus or anything else. He’s going to hold us responsible for breach of contract.”
“Have a cigarette. Bertha?”
She took a deep breath, started to say something, then changed her mind; and her lips clamped together in a hard, thin line.
I lit a cigarette.
Bertha said, “That’s the trouble with making you a partner, you little runt. I pick you up off the streets when you are so hungry your belt buckle is carving its initials in your backbone. I stake you to a meal and give you a job, and within a couple of years you’ve muscled your way into the partnership. Now you’re running the business with a high hand. I suppose next thing I know, I’ll be working for you. ”
I said, “You may as well sit down. It sounds as though you’re going to be here for a while.”
She made no move to sit down. I walked over, stretched myself out on the bed once more, moved up an ash tray. Apparently Bertha had no slightest idea that Roberta Fenn was in the next room.
“You’re damn right I’m going to be here for a while,” Bertha said. “I’m going to stay right with you from now on — until we get this thing cleaned up. If I have to, I’ll handcuff you to me. Now you put through a call to Mr. Hale in New Orleans and tell him where you are, tell him you came on here for a conference, that you didn’t have time to notify him because it was too important, that you just got in. Try and square yourself and the agency the best way you can.”
I continued to smoke without making any move toward the telephone.
“Did you hear me?”