Free Cast a Yellow Shadow by Ross Thomas Page B

Padillo’s assignment.”
    â€œWe’ve told no one,” I said. “I want to talk to my wife.”
    â€œYou talked to Underhill.”
    â€œI can’t help who comes into a hotel room.”
    â€œWhat did Underhill want, Mr. McCorkle?”
    â€œHe wanted to stay alive for one thing. Just put my wife on the phone.”
    â€œDid you tell him about Mr. Padillo’s assignment?”
    â€œWe didn’t have to tell him; he already knew. Somebody’s wife told him; maybe it was yours. Now can I talk to mine?”
    â€œDoes Mr. Padillo plan to carry out his assignment? I must again caution you, we are deadly serious.”
    â€œYes,” I said. “He plans to carry it out, but only if I talk to my wife and find out whether she’s still alive.”
    â€œVery well, Mr. McCorkle, you may say hello to Mrs. McCorkle.”
    â€œFredl—are you all right?”
    â€œYes, darling, I’m all right; just terribly tired.” Her voice was quiet, almost resigned.
    â€œI’m doing everything I can. Mike’s here.”
    â€œI know. I heard.”
    â€œAre they treating you all right?”
    â€œYes, they’re treating me fine, but—” And then her voice broke off and she screamed and the man’s voice came back on the phone.
    â€œWe have treated her well, up until now, Mr. McCorkle. You see, we really are in earnest.”
    Then he hung up.

EIGHT
    I stood in the room and held the phone in my hand and stared at it. Then I put it back where it belonged and turned to Padillo. “They made her scream,” I said. “They hurt her somehow and made her scream.”
    He nodded and turned away to look out the window. “They won’t keep it up. They did it for effect.”
    â€œShe doesn’t scream much,” I said. “She didn’t scream just because they turned a mouse loose in the room.”
    â€œNo. They hurt her. They probably twisted her arm, but they won’t keep on doing it. They have nothing to gain. She doesn’t know where we hid the emeralds.”
    â€œI don’t think I can just sit here much longer.”
    â€œWe have to wait,” he said.
    â€œI’d like to wait while I’m doing something.”
    â€œYou’re cracking,” he said. “That’s doing something.” He walked over to where I stood by the phone. “You may as well memorize this: Either they’ll kill her or we’ll get her loose, but we can’t do that if you crack because she didn’t get to take her nightie.”
    â€œIf I’m cracking, it’s because I believe them. I’m impressed. My wife’s screams have a certain effect on me. I’d believe them if they said they were going to nominate her Miss Department of Commerce.”
    â€œWe wait,” Padillo said and his voice was like the snap of a whip. “The waiting’s part of their pressure. It’s hard and they know it’s hard and they also know that her screams will make you jumpy about any rescue plan we come up with. But if we don’t come up with one, she’s dead. And you and I aren’t good enough to operate by ourselves. Maybe a few years ago, but not now. We need help. We have to wait for that help.”
    â€œWe wait,” I said.
    â€œAll right,” he said. “We wait.”
    I forced myself to mix a drink and turn on the television set and watch a program that asked a panel of scruffy housewives to guess the total cost of a hydroplane, a home printing press with three fonts of type, a case of suntan oil, and a year’s supply of cream of potato soup. I guessed $29,458.42. I guessed it aloud, but a woman from Memphis won with a guess of $36,000. I would have liked to have the printing press.
    â€œYou watch television much?” Padillo asked.
    â€œSome,” I said. “It’s like China. If you ignore it, it just gets worse.”
    Padillo tried pricing the