Chapter 3

"Hi, honey. How goes it?" Vance Hager's voice, light and cheerful, went out from Grand Central to the pleasant ranch-style home on the north slope of Rebel Hill where the Hager family breathed and lived and had its being.

"Fine, darling. Are you at the station?"

"Uh-huh. I'll get the five forty-three."

"I'll have dinner ready."

"Let's skip it and go to the club. The hell with dishes and that jazz."

"Well, if you like."

"Well have a quick drink at home and then run over. Want to phone ahead and make sure we don't have to wait?"

"It might be a good idea."

"The kids home?"

"Donna is, Jimmie's away somewhere."

"They ought to go with us."

There was no specific reason for that. Donna and Jimmie could easily have had other plans. If that turned out to be the case, Vance would accept it. So the statement was a vague gesture toward family solidity that did not have much meaning.

"I'll ask Donna-And Jimmie will probably be home."

"See that they both dress decently."

He was referring mainly to Jimmie, having little patience with the tight pants, wild shirts, and black leather jackets that were the featured young male attire.

"I'll tell him."

"Okay. I've got to ran...."

Vance Hager hung up and walked briskly toward las train. He felt exceptionally good. There was spring in his step and there were pleasant thoughts in his mind. He had none of the restlessness of the confirmed Manhattan laggard. He loved his home and found security in the routine of the commuting pattern even though he rebelliously voiced the usual commuter's complaints about bad service, poor equipment, and outrageous fares.

If he'd cared to analyze, he would have discovered that he alway felt good after a visit to Nela's apartment. He never came away feeling drained or exhausted. This was reflected in the fact that he found Mildred's voice particularly warming and compelling over the phone.

They would make love tonight, he told himself. That had been quite a while; high time he took care of his marital duties. And he did not look on them as burdensome. He anticipated Mildred's passion with eagerness.

All in all, it was a good life. Not that he hadn't worked for it. But still, he was luckier than a lot of them. You had to feel sorry for most of those tight, tension-ridden slobs. No confidence in themselves. That was the trouble. You had to expect success, demand it, before it would come your way.

This brought Jimmie to mind. Jimmie was eighteen, now. A little wild, but all kids these days had the wild streak. A good thing, too. It reflected spirit. Jimmie wasn't at the top of his class at school, but there were other factors to be considered in the balanced personality. Jimmie was far better off than, say Rafe Kolsky. Of course there were others in the high-mark, solemn-determination class. The type that never smiled much; that always seemed to hang on the edge of the group.

Jimmie wasn't like that, thank God. When he got out into the business world, he would be a take-charge guy and that was the kind they wanted these days.

Jimmie would do all right.

Vance Hager smiled briefly Then he settled back in his seat, opened his paper, and prepared for the hour-and-twenty-minute ride to Warrenton where Mildred would be waiting with the car....

At the exact moment that Vance Hager's train pulled out, Jimmie Hager was occupied with throwing a beer can at a squirrel. He had a good arm and an accurate eye and if the squirrel hadn't lunged away it would have been soundly thumped by the can.

Quite a few cans had been emptied and thrown during the beer bust that was taking place at the old picnic grounds on the far side of Rebel Hill. Their number was impressive.

The rolling stock that stood waiting in the narrow, rutted roadway was impressive too. It indicated the higher-than-standard income level of the people involved.

There was Armand Beck's Corvette, Jimmie Hager's MG, and the Buick with the special motor that the Lazer twins owned and were eternally fighting over.

The ages of the youths ran from the Lazers, seventeen, to Armand Beck, a few weeks short of twenty-three.

Armand Beck had brought the beer, a half-dozen six-packs, and was busy collecting pro rata shares. He counted the take and pointed to Paul Lazer.

"You shorted me, squirt. Another buck."

"I paid for Dave and me!"

"Uh-huh. Just you."

Dave Lazer scowled at his brother. "I gave you my buck."

"I gave him the two."

"Are you calling me a liar?" Armand demanded. "I swear I paid!"

The twins bore little resemblance. Paul was slight, but fortunately, very quick. Thus, he had a defense against this chunkier brother. Caught now in trying to hold out the dollar, he said, "Okay-I forgot," and handed it over.

Jimmie Hager and a boy named Norman Zeller were sprawled by the MG with open cans. "Where's Rafe Kolsky?" Norm asked.

"He bad to work," Jimmie said.

"Work hell! I saw him cutting out across Dean's Slip with a .22 in his mitts." This from Armand Beck, who emptied his can and looked at Jimmie Hager. "Do you like that jerk?"

"He's a good kid."

"He's a jerk."

"He doesn't drink much. Maybe that's why he didn't come."

Paul Lazer punctured a new can and threw the opener toward Lew Freeman, a tall, well-built lad whose father was a railroad worker but who was accepted on Rebel Hill because of his athletic ability. A high school senior, he'd been named All-State end in his sophomore year.

"Rafe's got a rough deal," Lew Freeman said. "His mother's an invalid and his father's big-an old man who'll be hard to follow."

Paul Lazer gurgled beer as he laughed explosively. "That's not how it is with my old man. He's easy to tail. My old lady's got a detective following him all over New York."

"Shut your fat mouth!" Dave Lazer exploded. He snatched a rock and hurled it at his brother.

Paul dodged, estimated that he was far enough away to elude Dave and sneered, "Get lost, punk!"

Dave decided he couldn't reach Paul and subsided.

"One thing I wish," Dave Lazer said. "I wish I had my two years behind me like he's got. My two in service."

"Nuts," Jimmie Hager snorted. "Your old man'll get you out of it. He got Senator van Arden elected-showed the old goat how to look good on TV and snatch the female vote. A word from your old man and you'll get a soft thing somewhere."

The Lazer twins had been sired by a television producer highly regarded in Washington. His specialty was keeping political aspirants from looking ridiculous over the air.

"Don't think I won't take it, either," Dave Lazer said. "I should sweat when there isn't even a war? Maybe I will get in touch with the old man."

The twins hadn't seen their father for a long time. He and their mother were separated but Mrs. Lazer was manipulating for a better financial settlement. Thus the divorce proceedings hung fire.

Armand Beck threw an empty beer can at a nearby tree. He opened another one. "You still making out with Francis Baylor, Dave?"

"Hell no."

Paul Lazer showed immediate interest. "Why didn't you tell me? I'd like to make out with that chick myself."

Lew Freeman laughed. "Wait till you grow up, kid. She figures both of you as brats."

Paul turned sullen. "Okay-so I'm not All-State. How does it feel to have all the chicks you want parked on your porch?"

"You're jumping to conclusions."

"It doesn't matter about Francie anyhow," Dave said gloomily. "She's dating some Harvard senior now."

"Honest, Dave," Jimmie Hager asked. "Did you really get to her?"

Dave grinned. He seemed a little embarrassed. "Let's just say she was no push-over."

"She held still for LeRoy Sutter."

"Did he say that?"

Lew Freeman, effortlessly dominating the group, said, "LeRoy's a nice guy. A little like Rafe Kolsky. Serious. He wouldn't take anything that wasn't offered. Besides, he's got a yen for Delia Buckley."

"He's dead there. You go to see Delia and you take a financial statement to show her father."

Paul Lazer had finished his third can of beer and was growing restless. "I feel like a trip to Cow Hollow. Who'll go with me?"

Armand Beck grinned. "Is that what you held out the buck for?"

"I got my own money."

Dave Lazer scowled. "A couple of cans of beer and he's wilder than a bull."

Jimmie Hager glanced at the sun. "I'm supposed to be home. My old man usually wants to eat at the club on Fridays."

"Skip it," Dyland Walsh said. "The food is lousy."

He was the seventh of the group, a Rebel Hill youth with a problem he'd been mulling over. He'd smashed his Ford on a boulder the day before and had not as yet told his father. It was his second crackup and he expected trouble.

"He'll be sore if I don't go," Jimmie said.

The beer had vanished quickly. There was one can left all around. "Day like this," Armand Beck complained, "the stuff goes right on out through your pores."

"How about it, you guys? Who's for Cow Hollow?"

Lew Freeman reacted with disgust. "Oh, for God's sake! Stay away from there."

"Okay-so I'm real hard up."

The reference was to the eighteen-year-old mentally retarded daughter of a Cow Hollow native, Verne Getchall. Verne lived with his completely toothless wife and some of his eleven offspring in a two-room hovel with a dirt floor. Most of his children had been taken away from him by the Welfare people and placed in foster homes. Others had become self-supporting in one way or another and gone off by themselves. The oldest child still under his dubious roof was the daughter, Bonnie, a tragic case. She lived in her restricted world with a bleak past and no visible future.

Lew Freeman said, "Some of those Cow Hollow people aren't the slobs Verne is."

"Then why the hell do they live there?"

"I'm not saying they're top-bracket. But some of their homes are neat and clean."

Dyland Walsh grunted. "They don't even make their kids go to school."

"Some do, some don't."

"Spanish Swamp is worse," Dave Lazer said.

"They poach more deer in Cow Hollow."

"It's all some of them have to eat all winter."

"Maybe that's why they leave them alone. It takes that much of the load off the Welfare Department."

"A lot of them have their pride," Lew Freeman said.

Jimmie Hager got to his feet. "I'm cutting out. Anybody want a ride?"

"I'll go with you," Lew Freeman said.

The rest were in no hurry. Armand Beck, stretched lazily against a tree, watched Jimmie Hager climb in behind the wheel. "Hey, Jim. If you see my dad at the club give him a message for me, will you?"

"Sure--what?"

Armand Beck stuck out his tongue and blew expertly. The resulting noise was satisfactorily crude. "Tell him that."

"Okay." Jimmie gunned the MG brutally until it disappeared around a bend in the narrow road. Those remaining eyed the spot morosely. "I should have gone with them," Norman Zeller said.

Dyland Walsh's smile was close to a sneer. "Tell me this, Norm. Is it true what they say?"

"What do they say?"

"That if Lew Freeman stopped quick you'd bust your nose banging against him?"

"You lousy big-mouth!"

Dyland Walsh had made a slight mistake. Norman Zeller was quiet and easy going, but he could change with three beers under his belt. Dyland broke off as Norm lunged at him. But Dave Lazer's foot got in the way and Norm fell headlong. He came up in a crouch, his eyes darting angrily.

"You Rebel Hill snobs! You, stick together, don't you?"

"I never thought about it before," Dave Lazer said "but maybe it isn't a bad idea."

"I don't like being called a snob," Paul Lazer announced.

Encouraged by the joint stand against the remaining Warenton boy, Paul moved in on Norm Zeller. As the latter came to his feet, Paul hit him from behind-a glancing blow just under the ear.

Norm staggered. He went to one knee and came up again. He took a quick step and slugged Paul in the stomach. Paul gasped and bent double. Norm tried to circle away, but Dyland Walsh came in behind him and locked his arms. As Norm bucked and struggled, Paul stepped in and hit him flush on the nose.

Blood spurted. Norm kicked out and Paul let out a how! as he went down clutching his ankle. Then Norm jerked free and whirled and threw a punch at Dyland Walsh but Dyland backed away quickly.

Dave Lazer stepped in now and hit Norm on the left ear, staggering him backward. Norm recovered quickly and circled away.

Now all three foes were in front of him-only two, actually, because Paul Lazer was still down on one knee nursing his bruised shin.

"Okay," Norm said, wiping blood from his face. "Come on-you crumbs. You hear what I said? You crumbs."

His courage seemed to daunt them somewhat but Dave Lazer took a step forward. Dyland Walsh reached for a stone.

At this point, Armand Beck spoke up. He'd stayed where he was, sprawled against a tree. "It's none of my business, you guys, but you might be lining yourselves up for some real lumps."

Dyland straightened up leaving the stone where it was. Dave Lazer hesitated. They were both grateful for an excuse to break up the fight.

"What do you mean?" Dave asked.

"Lew Freeman might not like his buddy ganged up on.

"Him Lew's buddy? That's a laugh."

"They're both from Warrenton. You can't exactly say how Lew might take it." Armand Beck's tone reflected detached interest. He implied that he had no great personal concern. He hadn't beaten up anyone.

Paul Lazer hopped up and down on one leg. "He kicked me! He kicked your brother!" This last was an appeal to Dave; a rather ridiculous one as Paul should have known and no doubt did.

Dave looked at his twin in disgust. "Why didn't you keep your stupid ankle out of the way? You started all this in the first place."

"I started it! He called us names!"

Dave walked over and clouted Paul with a stinging open hand. Paul forgot his ankle and began nursing his cheek. His eyes blazed. "A fine brother you are! Try that once more! Just once more. Come on! I dare you!" But at the same time Paul was backing away, his narrowed eyes carefully checking escape routes. His glare became all-inclusive. "Nuts to all you rats. I'm going to Cow Hollow."

"You're never been there in your life."

"You're a liar."

"Well then, only to look."

Paul's anger pushed him close to tears. "A lot you know about it."

He strode off into the woods.

Armand Beck shook his head in mock sadness. "A crazy mixed-up kid. Will he really go to Cow Hollow?"

Dave sneered. "He'll go home-where he always goes"

Thus it was generally acknowledged that talk of visiting Cow Hollow was nothing more than that-talk The rumors about the loose morals of the lower settlements such as Spanish Swamp and Cow Hollow were gestures of contempt from the irresponsible elements of Rebel Hill and Warrenton coming from adult element more than from the younger set. The youths had repeated only what they'd heard.

Armand Beck turned his attention to Norm Zeller who stood off to one side wiping the blood from his face with an already crimsoned handkerchief.

"I'm heading out. I'll drive you home, Norm."

The battered youth did not reply. He turned and walked sullenly into the forest.

"You really think he'll blow to Lew?" Dyland Walsh asked.

"Are you afraid of Lew?"

"No. I just don't like trouble."

"Who does?" Armand Beck asked the question as he climbed into his Corvette. "See you guys."

Dave Lazer and Dyland Walsh left a few minutes later and the haven that had once known the tread of Seneca Indians was left with its memories and its empty beer cans....