Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 6, No. 12, December 1961

A Little Push from Cappy Fleers by Gilbert Ralston

I find Cappy Fleers a most appealing character. He has a dog-like devotion to those whom he loves, and a simple, direct approach to the problem of disposing of those who threaten his loved ones.

It wasn’t long after Pop died and the bank took the place back, when I hitched a ride on a truck to New Orleans to get some construction work, or maybe ship out on one of those Gulf freighters. I hung around for a while but couldn’t find anything unless I had a Union card, which I didn’t. So I thought I’d go to California and pick fruit, or maybe get in the movies. Billy Jo Cartright, a fellow I met, went with me. We hitched rides as far as San Antonio, then Billy went to work for his uncle, who grew cotton. The uncle said I could stay too, but I kind of had California in my head, so I said no thanks and went on. I had sort of a plan if I couldn’t find anything to do in Los Angeles, so after I saw the lines of fellows in front of the employment places, I went to the dime store and bought a hammer and nails and a can of paint, and made a shoeshine box. I spent three dollars for some polish and a couple of brushes and went looking for a building, out on the bus all the way to the Sunset Strip, which I had heard about. Out by La Cienega there was a long row of the kind of buildings I wanted, two story, with maybe twenty offices, and no doormen. I went to the rental agent and asked him if I could go around the offices and shine shoes. He talked to me for a while, then said okay, so I began in the upstairs corner office. That’s how I met Mr. Danny Froken.

He had a big place, with some girls at desks in the outside room. One of the girls looked up at me. “I’m the shoeshine boy,” I said.

“Just a minute,” she said, and pressed a thing on her desk. “Mr. Froken, want your shoes shined? The boy’s here.” Then she told me to go in. There were actors’ pictures on the wall and a big desk at the end of the room with a little man at it, looking at some papers. I went over by him and sat down on the shoeshine box. He didn’t look up, just stuck his foot out. I remember the shoes because they were small, like a boy’s, and hardly needed a shine at all. When I was through he stuck a hand in a pocket and gave me fifty cents. He looked kind of surprised when I gave it back to him.

“You’re my first customer,” I said. “This one’s free.”

He had a funny face, all tight and wrinkled and very serious. He looked at me for a moment. I got sort of uncomfortable, then he smiled.

“What’s your name?” he said.

“Cappy,” I said. “Cappy Fleers.”

“That’s an odd name.”

“Not where I come from, Mr. Froken,” I told him.

“Where’s that?”

“Seneca, West Virginia.”

“You’re a long way from home, Cappy.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Thanks for the shine.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Froken.” I started out.

“Cappy.”

I turned back.

“Come every day at ten o’clock.” He smiled again as I went out. I went through that building like a field of wheat and the next one to it in the afternoon. Made enough to pay my room and had two dollars left for food.

Everything went fine after that. Pretty soon I had a whole string of offices to go to and everybody knew me by name. Mr. Froken was the best to me. Every day, when I did his shoes, we’d talk a little. He was interested in the way I lived in Seneca and would ask me questions.

About two weeks after I started the shoeshine business, Miss Faulkner, the lady on the desk outside his office, stopped me when I started to go in.

“Hold it a minute, Cappy,” she said. “Mr. Froken’s got a houseful.”

I waited while she pressed the key on her desk.

“Cappy’s here, Mr. Froken,” she said. “All right to send him in?”

Mr. Froken said it was okay.

The office was full of people, sitting around on chairs, all talking at once. They were arguing about a movie script, two fellows in the corner pretty excited. Over in the other corner I saw Ray Prestwick, the big actor. Fie just sat there big as life, listening and smoking a cigarette while I did Mr. Froken’s shoes. When I finished, Mr. Froken said, “This is Cappy Fleers. If you two could write as well as he can shine shoes, we wouldn’t be here.” Everybody laughed.

“Go ahead, Cappy. Shine ’em up,” Mr. Froken said.

I did the writers’ first, while they got back into their fight, mostly with each other. I never heard such an argument. Finally I got to Mr. Prestwick. He had some nice brown shoes on, English leather. I got a big charge out of doing his shoes. He paid for them all. It was a funny feeling, getting paid by a big star, even for a shoeshine.

“Thank you, Mr. Prestwick,” I said, and headed for the door.

Mr. Prestwick called after me, “Hey, Cappy,” he said. “You know anything about yard work?”

“I know some farming,” I told him.

“This is not exactly farming,” he said. “Mowing, and things like that”

“If it grows, I guess it wouldn’t be strange to me,” I said.

“I need a man on my place. Want a job?”

“Who’ll do Mr. Froken’s shoes?” I asked him. Everybody laughed, even Mr. Froken. I felt kind of bad that he thought it was funny. He smiled at me again, with that nice sort of look, so it was all right.

“Take the job, Cappy,” he said. “I’ll send ’em over.”

Next thing I knew I was in the outside office with an address on a piece of paper in my hand. I sat for a long time in the cafeteria on the corner, thinking about it, and Mr. Froken, and how things happened.

The address worried me some when I looked at the map. It was way up in a place called Laurel Hills, in the mountains back of Hollywood, without any bus, I figured I’d have to get some kind of car to get there to work each day but with only $73.00 in the box in my room I didn’t see how I could work it. I thought about it some when I went back to finish off with my customers.

The next day was Saturday and I was supposed to go to Mr. Prestwick’s house in the morning. I got up early and took the bus way out on the Sunset, where Laurel Street cut in. Then I walked the rest of the way. They lived on top of a hill on a street without any sidewalks, all full of houses that looked like castles. I opened the gate and went into the yard. They had a lot of it, all green and big trees and plants around, everything wet and cool looking, sprinklers going, up near a big stone house. There was a lady over at the side. She had a pair of shears in her hand for cutting flowers and an armful of them already cut.

“Hello...” she said. “Cappy?”

I said I was. She was the prettiest little thing, dark-haired, with her face all lit up with the flowers.

“Ray said you’d be coming up today. Come in, and we’ll talk.” She led the way into the kitchen. It was the biggest one I ever saw, all white tile and machinery. She sat me down at the table and gave me a cup of coffee.

“Mr. Prestwick will be back soon. Was it a hard walk?” I knew then that she had seen me coming up the street.

“No, ma’am,” I said. “I was watching the pretty day.”

“So was I,” she said. “That’s how I saw you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“Come on out. I’ll show you around.”

We went outside again, and walked around the grounds. Everything looked pretty good except some of the trees needed pruning back and the oleander bushes on one side were choking for space. The grass was nice and healthy, with the spring of good turf under it.

“We just got this place,” she said. “The old owner took the gardener away with him. That’s why we need you.”

“I’ve never done this kind of work before, ma’am. I hope I’ll satisfy.”

“Mr. Froken told me you were a farm boy. If we get stuck, we’ll get a book.”

“Mr. Froken?” I said. “You know him, ma’am?”

“Mr. Froken is my husband’s agent. He’s a good friend. That’s how we heard about you.”

“I’ll bet that’s why Mr. Froken used to ask me about Seneca. And all those other things.”

Then she took me back to the pool. There was a shed there with enough mowers and edgers and seeders and things to open a store.

“I think you’ll find everything you’ll need here, Cappy. If there’s anything else, just let me know.”

“We could put in a stand of alfalfa with this, ma’am.” I told her. She laughed like a little girl.

“Your room’s over the garage,” she said.

I must have looked surprised.

“Didn’t he tell you?” she said. “Mr. Prestwick expected you to stay here. We’re away a lot. We want a hand on the place.”

I just listened, marveling at the way things happened.

After we looked around a little more, she showed me my room. There was a bed and a dresser and two chairs, even a television in the corner. It even had its own bathroom.

“I’ll try to keep it neat, ma’am,” I said.

She looked at me for a moment, a funny expression in her eyes.

“You do that, Cappy,” she said finally. “You do that.”

I moved my stuff in the next day, after church, and started on the yard. I had an itch to prune those trees and was up in one of them when Mr. Prestwick came out. I climbed down, and said good morning.

“Everything all right, Cappy?” he said.

I said everything was just fine.

“You’ll find lunch in the kitchen at one o’clock,” he said. “The cook’s name is Rosa. Stay on her good side. She’s a terror.”

I didn’t have any trouble with her. She was a fat Italian lady who really set a table. I didn’t talk much to her at first, just stayed polite and enjoyed the food, which seemed to please her. After a few days we got to be pretty good friends, and sometimes when the Prestwicks were out we used to talk and she would tell me about the Old Country and how she lived in Italy when she was a girl. We were both farm raised so I guess that helped.

It took a while to get the yard and house the way I liked it, all clipped and roomy with the flowers healthy and bright. I put in a new piece of grass in the back and made a little sitting place like a rock garden back of the pool. It was a pretty place, looking out over the tops of the hills. Mrs. Emma, that’s what Rosa told me to call Mrs. Prestwick, liked to sit there when she read a book.

It was a strange time. I didn’t have a car, except Mr. Prestwick said I could borrow one when I had an errand or something I wanted to do, but, even so, at first I didn’t leave the place much. Once in a while, Mrs. Emma would talk to me when I was in the yard, or Mr. Prestwick would ask for something, and I would get it for him in the car. Then I started driving Rosa around when she wanted to go somewhere, or taking Mr. Prestwick to the studio when he was working. He didn’t like driving and I did, so that made it nice. I’ll say one thing. That yard shone. Even my Pop would have liked it.

Time sort of slipped by. Then one day I was clipping the hedge and turned around and Mr. Froken was standing there. He held out a hand to me, that little smile of his on his face again.

“I forgot to send the shoes, Cappy,” he said.

“Mr. Froken,” I said. “Am I glad to see you!”

“You’re doing a fine job, Cappy,” Mr. Froken said. “The Prestwicks couldn’t do without you.”

Somehow, hearing him tell it was better than anything I heard in my life. I couldn’t stop smiling. Like a fool, I couldn’t say much.

“I hope you’re happy here.”

“It’s a wonderful place,” I said.

He turned to go into the house.

“Mr. Froken,” I said.

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” I said.

“That’s all right, Cappy,” he said. “An active agent has to look after the welfare of his clients.”

I picked a big bunch of flowers and put them in his car.

Just before Christmas was a big and exciting time at the house, all kinds of people coming and going, Mr. Froken in and out, Rosa and I so busy we didn’t have time to think about anything, which was just as well for me. Christmas used to be pretty good at our house, even after Ma died and there was only Pop and me. When I thought about it I got pretty low, so it was better to be busy.

Christmas Day was another high time. The house was full of people, we had some extra help in to serve, and I took care of the cars and helped with the drinks, except for Mr. Prestwick, who only drank coffee. Rosa and I started at six in the morning to get ready so when the last of the people left we were pretty tired, sitting in the kitchen with coffee when Mr. Prestwick came out. He said Merry Christmas to us both and gave us each a hundred dollar check. Old Rosa gave him an Italian hug and I shook hands. Then I went to my room. On the dresser was a little Christmas tree, all covered with spangles. Under it was a package. I opened it. It was a wallet, the most beautiful leather I ever saw. Across the front of it was my name in golden letters, “Cappy Fleers”... in gold letters. I just looked at it and at the card. It was from Mrs. Emma, who wrote “Love from the Prestwicks” on it. Next to it was a scarf from Rosa. I sat on the bed, holding the presents in my hands for a long time. Then I noticed something else. On the dresser was another box. In it was a watch, a gold watch, with a gold band on it. My name was on that too, on the back. It said “Cappy Fleers with the affection and admiration of Danny Froken.” Well, I was overcome.

After that, Mrs. Emma decided that I’d better go to school nights, two or three times a week, so I did, the Adult Education course at the high school. I enjoyed it, especially the English. I read a lot of books. Mrs. Emma used to pick some new ones up for me when she went shopping, then when I saw her in the yard she’d talk with me about them.

I met a girl at the school. Mrs. Emma deviled me a little about it, till I asked Norma, that was her name, to go to the movies with me. She wasn’t a very pretty girl but I liked her a lot. She was kind of quiet, like Mrs. Emma, and fun to be with. We had some good times together.

All this time, I took care of the house and yard, and drove Mr. Prestwick to and from his work. I used to drive him down in the morning and go and get him in the afternoon. The fellows on the gate at the studio got to know me, and used to wave me right in when I drove up, and let me park the car right outside the studio door where Mr. Prestwick was working. Sometimes I’d go in and watch the picture being made, and once in a while Mr. Froken would be there and he’d smile that funny smile of his and I’d look at the time where he could see me, so that he could see that I was wearing his watch. It was a little game with us. Mr. Froken was getting old. Each time I saw him he seemed to shrink a little. You could almost see the bones under the skin of his face, he was so thin. I talked to Mrs. Emma about it. She said that Mr. Froken wasn’t very well. She said maybe the layers were peeling off a little so that the kindness and integrity were beginning to show through. Mrs. Emma worried me, she was so sad. Not only about that, but about the trouble that began with Mr. Prestwick.

I guess actors are different in the way they think about things. Mr. Prestwick was always nice to me so I had no complaint, but it was different somehow. Maybe down underneath he cared, but I always thought he kind of saw himself in a place or situation, then did what he thought he was supposed to do. Anyway, he wasn’t like the others. They always said exactly what they meant. Mr. Prestwick said what he was supposed to mean. That’s a big difference. Anyway, when he won that Oscar, things began to change. Mr. Prestwick was busier than ever and the next thing we knew he was playing in that war picture with Kitty Lamson, and was a real big star again. He went away to Mexico to do the location shooting for three weeks and when he came back he was different. That’s when he bought me the uniform and cap to wear when I took him in the car. I didn’t mind, but I heard Mrs. Emma fussing about it to him. Anyway, I wore it and took him to the studio first time I had it on. They were making the interior shots of the war picture and I figured I’d arrive a little early that afternoon so I could watch some of the scenes. I came back at five o’clock, and didn’t see Mr. Prestwick anywhere. I knocked on the door of his dressing room at five-thirty. That’s the first time I ever saw him with a drink. He told me to go back to the car and wait for him. When I turned at the door of the studio, I saw Miss Lamson come out of the dressing room with him. By the time they got to the car, I was waiting with the door open. He put her in and gave me an address at the beach in Malibu. Every once in a while as I drove them, I watched her in the rear-view mirror. She had an actress face, very beautiful, black hair and big red lips. She laughed a lot and made jokes all the way to her house. When we got there he got out and took her to the door. She said something and he laughed and went in. When he came back he was pretty drunk, didn’t say much, just rode home in the back seat of the car. That was the first thing I noticed. Two days later he phoned and asked Rosa to tell me to get a bag packed for him so that he could go away for two days’ location. I brought the bag to the studio and left it in his room. On my way out I saw Al Morgan, the assistant director. I asked him where the location was they were going to. He said that it was on the beach at the other side of San Diego. He told me that the company would be there Monday and Tuesday. This was only Friday. That was the second thing. I worked on the lawn that afternoon, thinking about it.

Wednesday, when Mr. Prestwick had a day off, Mr. Froken came. Mrs. Emma was out and Rosa was shopping, so I went into the house to see if they needed coffee or anything. They were in Mr. Prestwick’s den and I could hear him yelling all the way out in the hall. So I didn’t go in, and I didn’t listen. After a while Mr. Froken came out, got in his car and drove away. I never saw him look like that before — worried and sad and nervous. That was the third thing.

Next day I saw Mrs. Emma in the little garden place I fixed up for her. She was sitting in her chair, all alone. I went to see if she wanted anything. She told me that Mr. Prestwick had another week’s location to do and would I please ask Rosa to pack his bag and take it down to the studio. When I looked back at her, her face was all twisted up and tears were running down it. She just sat there, crying. I went to get the bag, my stomach all tight and knotted up.

This time when I went to the studio dressing room, Mr. Prestwick was in it. He called me in and looked at me, hard.

“Cappy,” he said. “I want you to do something for me.”

“Yes, sir.” I said.

“I am going to stay at the Malibu Beach house for a few days. I want you to call for me there, each morning.”

I said I would.

“And I want you to keep it to yourself. Man-to-man. Okay?”

I started to speak, then didn’t.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

When I got to the studio door again, I felt like I might throw up. When I looked up, Mr. Froken was standing there.

“Mr. Froken,” I said. “What am I going to do?”

He looked at me for a long time. “Nothing, Cappy.” I guess I must have looked funny. He put a hand on my shoulder. “This is not your trouble,” he said. “It’s mine — and Mrs. Emma’s. Do one thing for me?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“If he starts to drink, call me. Sometimes he can’t stop.” Then he went on while I got into the car.

Everything was terrible after that. Mr. Prestwick was living down at Kitty Lamson’s house and didn’t come home at all. Mrs. Emma looked sick and thin, and wouldn’t eat, even when Rosa tried to make her. Rosa looked at me most of the time like I was some kind of a traitor. I brought things down to Mr. Prestwick when he asked me and drove him to work until the picture was finished. Even then he stayed away. All the time Mrs. Emma got thinner and thinner. Then the papers began to write about it, every day some dirty little thing. Reporters called Mrs. Emma. It was a rotten time. Then the phone call came for me. I took it in the kitchen. It was that Kitty Lamson. She was sort of whispering, but very serious.

“Cappy,” she said. “This is Miss Lamson. Better get down here. Mr. Prestwick needs you right away.”

I didn’t like the way her voice sounded so I ran to the car and drove out of the yard without telling anyone. When I got to the beach house, Miss Lamson let me in. She was sort of laughing and sly in spite of being very pretty and I could see that she had drunk a lot. She could barely walk, and just pointed inside. I went into the living room looking for Mr. Prestwick, then onto the porch. The house was way up on a cliff, over the ocean, on the Palisades, and had a big cement porch all across the back, with a stairway going to the beach, crisscrossing right down the cliff. All the rooms faced on the porch and when I turned back I could see Mr. Prestwick in the one next to the living room. He was on a chair, his head down and hanging. I ran in. She was there behind me, giggly and horrible.

“Take him home, Cappy,” she said. “He’s a mess. A real mess.” Then she laughed. Mr. Prestwick looked sort of grey and his breath was making funny noises. I grabbed him up and laid him on the sofa. Then I ran to the phone and called Mr. Froken. He got right on the phone and said to hold everything till he got there. Miss Lamson had gone into the other room. I could hear her in there playing some loud music on the phonograph. I took Mr. Prestwick’s tie off and washed his face. His hands were cold. I rubbed them. I was still working on him when Mr. Froken came. He took a look at him, with his face

sort of hard and set. “Let him sleep a little, Cappy,” he said, “then we’ll put him in a hospital. I know a place.” We went out to the other room. She was still there, still with the crazy music on the phonograph. She was dancing, whirling around and around without her shoes on. Mr. Froken crossed over to the phonograph and shut it off. She stopped like a cat, still laughing. Mr. Froken just stood there, his hands shaking.

“You filth!” he said.

She just stood there looking at him, then she slapped his face. He stood, without moving. Then she spat, right in his face. I grabbed her and put her down on a chair. Mr. Froken took his handkerchief out and wiped his face. He let the handkerchief slip to the floor and walked away from her out on the porch. I watched her for a minute. I was afraid to leave her. Then she got up and began to dance again, wild, round and round the room. I looked out at Mr. Froken. He was way out by the stairway, down to the beach. She was running the whole length of the room, back and forth, under her breath humming music. When she ran out on the porch I ran between her and Mr. Froken. Then I saw him. He was all bent over and holding on to the top of the stair rail. He looked up at me.

“Cappy...” he said. “Cappy.” Then he fell. I ran for the rail. He was maybe twenty steps down, all crumpled up. I went to him. I held him in my arms. Mr. Froken was dead. I wished it was me. I loved Mr. Froken.

After a while I carried him back up the stairs. He was light, like a little boy. She was standing there her hand on her mouth. I went by her and put Mr. Froken down on the sofa in the living room. I called on the telephone for the ambulance, then just stood there, looking at Mr. Froken. The ambulance came, and two fellows from the Police Department a little later. They took Mr. Froken away. Miss Lamson sat in a chair, not saying a word, just kind of shaking her head while the policemen looked around the room. They asked me who the man was in the other room and who I was. I told them. They were making notes, sort of slow about it. Then they talked to her. She sat in the chair, quiet. It was wonderful how she had changed, hardly drunk at all. She told them he fell down the stairs and that she didn’t see it. She said I saw it all. Then they turned to me.

“Tell us about it, Mr. Fleers.” It was the old quiet one who asked.

I sat in the chair, not saying anything for a moment, then I looked right at him.

“She pushed him,” I said. “She hit him, then she pushed him when he was by the stairs. She was drunk. She hit him, then she pushed him.”

“Liar,” she screamed at me.

“I’ll swear to it,” I said.

Suddenly she was at me, clawing and scratching and screaming dirty things. They pulled her off. “That’s what she did to him,” I said. “She was so drunk she can’t remember.”

After, when they took her away, I took Mr. Prestwick home. Mrs. Emma put him to bed. Then I went down to the police station and wrote down what I had said. They said I’d have to come back when the trial came up. I said I would and they took down a lot of other things I told them. It wasn’t really a lie. About the pushing, I mean. She did push him. She pushed us all, Mr. Prestwick, Mr. Froken, Mrs. Emma, Rosa, me... the whole family. I just pushed back a little.

Things are getting back to normal now. I can’t tell you what’s happened to Miss Lamson. I feel so bad about Mr. Froken, I don’t even read the papers about it, and her trial hasn’t come up yet. I’ll bet you one thing. I’ll bet she won’t get off. Not after what I wrote down at the police station.