Free Dreams Die First by Harold Robbins Page B

afterward proved he had done nothing wrong.”
    That was her opinion. But the facts were that the government recognized that they couldn’t put a corpse in jail. So they wrapped up the case and put it away. I looked at my uncle. His face was impassive.
    “Maybe you could explain it to her, Uncle John,” I said.
    “I already have. I told your mother that he was a fool. There was nothing they could do to him.”
    I didn’t believe that and neither did he. He had one story for me and another for my mother. “Then what was he afraid of?” I asked. “He couldn’t be held responsible for the collapse of that school building.”
    My uncle’s voice was expressionless. “Perhaps he was afraid that the politicians would lay the blame on him for their negligence in not placing stricter quality controls in their contracts.”
    “Could it be that someone got to the politicians and made them ease up?” I asked.
    His eyes were unblinking. “I wouldn’t know.”
    “Uncle John is right,” I said. “Father lived up to the contract. If the contract wasn’t good, he was not to blame. But unfortunately, Father couldn’t convince himself of that. He knew the specs were substandard. So he did what he did and the only thing you can do is accept it. Once you do that, you can put it away and go back to living a normal life.”
    “There’s no such thing as a normal life for me,” she said.
    “Don’t give me that crap, Mother,” I said. “You haven’t stopped playing tennis, have you?”
    Her eyes dropped. She knew what I meant. She had a thing for tennis pros and I knew that several of them had serviced her with more than just tennis balls.
    “Have you ever thought about getting married again, Mother?” I asked.
    “Who would want to marry an old woman like me?”
    I laughed. “You’re not old and you know it. Besides, you’re a beautiful lady and you’ve got a few million in the bank. It’s an unbeatable combination. All you have to do is loosen up a little and stop dropping ice cubes if some guy wants to make it with you.”
    She was torn, liking the flattery but wanting to assume the proper attitude. “Gareth, try to remember that you’re talking to your mother.”
    “I remember, Mother.” I laughed. “And since I’m not the product of an immaculate conception, I want to remind you that it’s still fun.”
    She shook her head. “There’s no talking to you, is there? Isn’t there anything you respect, Gareth?”
    “No, Mother. Not anymore. There was a time I used to believe in a lot of things. Honesty, decency, goodness. But if you get dumped on enough, you get cured. I’ve been dumped on enough.”
    “Then what is it you’re looking for?”
    “I want to be rich. Not just simple rich like Father was, not even rich rich like Uncle John, but superrich. When you’re superrich, you’ve got the world by the balls. Money buys everything—society, politicians, property, power. All you have to do is have the money to pay for it. And the irony is when you have the money, you don’t have to pay for anything. People tumble all over themselves to give it to you for free.”
    “And you think this paper will do it for you?” Uncle John asked, with mild curiosity in his voice.
    “No, Uncle John. But it’s a beginning.” I got to my feet. “It’s after ten, Mother,” I said. “I’ve got some work to do.”
    “What kind of work?”
    “The paper has been on the stands in Hollywood since this morning. I’d like to check and see how they’re doing.”
    “I haven’t seen a copy of the paper. Would you send me one?”
    “Of course.”
    Uncle John cleared his throat. “I really don’t think you’d be interested in that sort of paper, Margaret.”
    “Why not?”
    “Well—it’s sort of, uh, pornographic.”
    Mother turned to me. “Is it?”
    “That’s Uncle John’s opinion. I don’t think it is. You read it for yourself and make up your own mind.”
    “I will,” she said firmly. “You send