The Extortioners

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Text originally published in 1960 under the same title.

© Pickle Partners Publishing 2016, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

THE EXTORTIONERS

BY

OVID DEMARIS

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 3

ONE 4

TWO 6

THREE 15

FOUR 17

FIVE 22

SIX 26

SEVEN 28

EIGHT 40

NINE 54

TEN 59

ELEVEN 69

TWELVE 72

THIRTEEN 78

FOURTEEN 82

FIFTEEN 89

SIXTEEN 93

SEVENTEEN 96

EIGHTEEN 98

NINETEEN 101

TWENTY 105

TWENTY-ONE 108

TWENTY-TWO 109

TWENTY-THREE 113

TWENTY-FOUR 114

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 116

ONE

THE YELLOW CADILLAC came to a squealing, bouncing stop before the huge, sprawling house. Angelo Rizzola switched off the ignition and leaned forward, his thin neck craning, his small close-set eyes popping with admiration.

Smell it, baby, he said, inhaling deeply.

You mean the jasmine? Lola asked, turning to stare at her husband, her blue eyes puzzled by the remark.

Naw. I mean the money. The mazoola, kid. The smell is everywhere.

You’re silly, she laughed vapidly, shaking her blonde head. It’s night-blooming jasmine, and maybe some lilac, too. We always had lots of it at home. Smelled real good on hot summer nights.

Aw, come off it. This is no hick farm, sweetheart. Around here, that smell means money. Look at this crazy layout. At least two hundred grand.

It’s gorgeous, she said, her short stubby fingers reaching up to press against her painted cheeks, her faded blue eyes studying the massive white-brick structure. You mean Hugh Dewitt lives here?

The one and only, baby. He’s big now.

You really going in there?

Angelo’s head spun around, startled by the remark. What do you mean? You’re damn right I’m going in there. Listen, that sucker laid down a sawbuck on the nags every day for years. Then he just ups and quits. Man, I don’t like losing that kind of a mark.

How’d you know he lived here?

I saw a piece in the paper about his striking it big in oil and having this housewarming tonight. So here we are.

I don’t know. It’s so big and all. Makes me feel sort of peculiar. Like I was naked or something.

He laughed. That shouldn’t make no difference to you, baby.

What do you mean by that crack?

Never mind, Angelo said, leering. Maybe you’ve forgotten.

Lola’s face tightened as she swung with her open hand, striking him just under the left eye.

Hey, what the hell! he cried, slowly rubbing the stinging flesh with his hand. I was just kidding.

You’ve got a filthy mind, she said.

Okay, okay, he said. Lay off. I’ve got business to attend to and the sooner the better. Let’s go.

He slid out of the car and hurried up the flagstone steps. Lola waited until he had reached the front entrance, then she calmly leaned over and sounded the horn. The loud blast startled him and he spun around, his face twisted in anger.

Cut that out, he yelled.

She reached over again and he came running down the steps.

All right, goddamnit, he snarled. I’ll open the lousy door.

That’s more like it, she said, sweeping out of the car. You’re so uncouth at times. It’s perfectly disgusting.

Aw, stow it, he said, as they walked up the! steps together, pausing before the large white door. Look at this goddamn brass knocker, will ya. It’s big enough to stake me to a week in Vegas.

All the lights were on in the house and they could hear music and laughter within. I don’t know, Lola said, pulling on his arm. We don’t belong here. It makes me feel creepy inside.

Forget it, he said. Everything will be smooth as silk. Take my word for it, baby. You’re traveling with Angelo Rizzola now.

Lola glanced at him, her eyes level with his creased forehead and dark curly hair. Yeah, she said. That’s what worries me.

TWO

NEIL GORDON came out of the den and leaned against the doorframe, his soft brown eyes casually sweeping the crowded living room, his ears closed to the droning buzz of conversation. He smiled knowingly and slowly relit his pipe, his thick eyebrows arching over as he puffed noisily, the sweet-smelling smoke tantalizing his nostrils.

Neil Gordon was thirty-six and vice president of the Dewitt Drilling Company. He had been a close friend of Hugh Dewitt going on five years. Besides owning twenty per cent of the Drilling Company, Gordon had a ten per cent interest in the fabulous Dewitt-Small discovery in Calabasas Canyon. These holdings had made him independently wealthy. But the new-found wealth had not changed his way of life. He still lived in the same four-room apartment in Sherman Oaks, and still drove the same three-year-old Thunderbird. He had not as yet bought a tie or white shirt, much less a suit. He preferred cashmere sweaters and jackets, flannel slacks, sport shirts and comfortable moccasins. He despised anything formal. Tonight he wore a dark gray and black striped cashmere jacket with light gray flannel slacks, a burgundy red jersey sport shirt, white wool socks and black moccasins. His pale blond hair was cropped close to his finely shaped head in the authentic Ivy League fashion. His skin was deeply tanned and thinly lined by too many years of exposure to a scorching sun. He enjoyed the dry penetrating heat of the desert and spent most of his weekends in Palm Springs.

For a long while Gordon devoted himself solely to the pleasure of smoking his ancient briar, his slender fingers like pincers around the bowl, his eyelids half-closed in concentration. It was amusing, he was thinking, how people chattered the moment they had a drink in their hands. Slowly, effortlessly, he started across the congested room, gently but firmly elbowing people out of his way, mumbling a greeting or an apology, smiling pleasantly; fragments of conversation drifted in and out of his hearing.

Did you see those stunning kitchen curtains? a tall woman with a large nose remarked to a man with a flushed face.

Kitchen curtains? the man grumbled. Look at this crazy layout, and you talk about kitchen curtains. Women! You all drive me nuts.

But they’re marvelous... the woman replied as Neil continued on his way.

Don’t tell me. I know, a fat man was saying to a large group around him. His son made all this possible. Dewitt was just another wildcatting bum until he got that insurance money. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve known Hugh a long time.

Neil stopped and looked at the man. He had never seen him before in his life and felt quite sure that Hugh hadn’t either.

What happened to the son? a woman asked.

You mean to tell me you don’t know?

Neil bit down hard on the pipe stem and turned away. What was the use, he thought. Words wouldn’t change that character’s thinking. He had to find some reason to justify his own failure. Neil would have been surprised to find one person in that room who was truly happy for Hugh’s good fortune. Everybody was busy as hell rationalizing, doing their damndest to deprecate the other guy’s success.

How many does that make? the man whispered fiercely into the woman’s ear.

Why, this is only my second, she said, looking up at him with wide open glazed eyes.

You’re a goddamn liar. You’re drunk.

I’m not, either. I’ve just had...

Neil smiled. The same old hassle.

I want to go out to the pool, a very young girl in a startlingly revealing green gown said to her escort.

Stay here. I don’t like that crowd out there.

What’s wrong with them?

Never mind.

Well, I don’t care. I’m going.

Janice! Wait for me.

Neil stopped and took the dead pipe from his mouth and carefully placed it in the top pocket of his jacket. At the moment he stood nearly in the center of the living room. He looked up, over the bobbing, weaving heads, toward the upper level of the entrance hall. Hugh Dewitt was standing by the door, talking to a short dark man and a large bosomy blonde. Neil frowned as he recognized Angelo and Lola Rizzola, and started out in their direction.

Hugh Dewitt smiled and ran his hand through his thinning, curly red hair. He was a big man, well over six feet, and thick bodied, with square powerful shoulders and a huge neck. At forty-seven he was still as hard as he had been in his prime.

Angelo and Lola! Who in hell is watching the store? Dewitt’s voice boomed pleasantly, and he shook his head, grinning at the Rizzolas.

Listen, Angela said, reaching up to give Dewitt a friendly tap on the shoulder. When a buddy of mine makes it, I want to be there to congratulate him. Know what I mean, pal? Rizzola never forgets a buddy.

‘I’ll be damned, Dewitt said. You’re the last ugly bastard I expected to see tonight. Glad you could make it."

Well, we wasn’t exactly invited, Lola said. But Angelo here insisted you’d be glad to see us. We wanted to pay our respects.

Yeah, that’s right, Angelo said. Ain’t seen you in a helluva long time, buddy. Thought you’d cashed in or something. Then I read that story in the paper and, man, was I surprised.

Dewitt grinned. Have a drink and look around the place.

That reminds me, Angelo said. You ain’t placed a bet in months. What’d you do? Switch bookies?

No time for horses now, Dewitt said. And besides, I don’t need that long shot as badly as I used to. Hugh knew it was the liquor doing the talking, but at the moment he didn’t care. Here he was. Just plain old Hugh Dewitt. A guy who had started out in life with nothing. A guy who had worked hard for thirty-one years, since the age of sixteen. And then suddenly, he had made it. Made it real big. Bigger than most guys who had been born with it. And he had made every cent of it the hard way. A lot of people thought that owning an oil well was a pretty soft touch. Maybe it was for those who stumbled across one accidentally. But not for the oil man, the wildcatter who broke his back year after year for nothing. For every wildcatter who struck it rich, there were thousands who died paupers. You had to be tough and clever and experienced and maybe a little lucky to end up like Hugh Dewitt. Hugh could count the guys who had made it this big on the fingers of one hand. And he had known thousands of wildcatters. Some had been tough. Some had been clever. And some had been experienced. But it took a combination of all three to really make the grade. Standard Oil had offered twenty million dollars for the Calabasas leasehold and he and his partner, Nathan Small, had convinced the other stockholders to turn it down.

Man! You’ve hit your long shot, Angelo cried.

Gee, I sure love your house, Hugh, Lola said, glancing around the room. You got a swimming pool?

Yeah. Out back. Don’t use it much myself, but the wife and kid use it plenty.

Wow. That’s what I’d like. It’s real good for figure control. Tones up the muscles real nice. When I was in the show at Vegas, I used to swim every day. I miss it now. It was loads of fun. You know—with the gang around and everything.

You want to take a swim? Dewitt said. There are suits in the dressing rooms.

Well, gee, that would be grand.

No time for that, Angelo said, his pinched face anxious. We just dropped in to wish you all the best. You know, buddy, I was sort of worried the way you just stopped coming to the store. I always treated you squarely. You used to buy all your liquor from me. My prices are as low as anybody in town. I remember one time back there when you was in to me for some loot but you didn’t hear me squawk.

Dewitt smiled. You’ve got a long memory, Angelo.

"You bet I do. I never forget. For example, I remember one time you and I were yakking it up at the store and you was