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

Brother, Dear by Glenn Canary

Just as there is no closer tie than that of blood-kinship, so there is no feud mare bitter than that between two brothers. Add rivalry over a woman, and you have the makings of a first-class vendetta.

It was snowing outside. Fat, soft flakes were falling, piling up on the window-sill. The sidewalks and streets were already covered. Across the street Paul Sarling could see people lining up for the bus and over their heads the clock and thermometer above the door of the bank. He looked back down at his desk, waiting, and pretended to study the papers there.

Sam Juraska looked into Sarling’s office and said, “You going to stay here alone all night, boy?”

“I have some work to clear up before I leave,” Sarling said.

“A man has to go home sometime, Paul. You can’t work all the time.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sarling said. “A bachelor like me can work as late as he likes. No one’s waiting for me.” He laughed. “I’m just building up time for the next hangover I have.”

He listened to Juraska leave the office. He heard him tell Sally to be sure to lock the safe before she left. The front door slammed and Sarling heard Sally pulling down the blind over the door, hiding the legend that said, Home Loan Company.

She came into his office. “Aren’t you ready to leave yet?” she asked.

“Not quite yet.”

“This was a long day.” She smiled at him. “Is there anything I can do to help you get finished?”

“No. I just have to finish these papers. You go on.”

“I’ll be glad to wait for you.”

“That’s not necessary. There’s nothing you can do.”

She went out and put on her coat and scarf and then came back and said, “You be sure the door is locked when you leave.”

He knew she wanted him to ask her to wait. She was thirty and had never been married even though she was plumply pretty. He felt sorry for her somehow and any other day he would have suggested that they have a drink together. But not this day. He looked at her face, and he was coldly angry that she didn’t leave.

“Go on,” he said. “I won’t forget to lock up.”

“And the lights”

“I’ll get them too.”

He thought there was something sad in her face and his anger died and he was sorry that he had been curt with her. But not this day. He kept his head down, staring at the papers until he heard her go out. She passed the window and waved at him but he didn’t look up.

He shivered slightly; he was depressed. He sat up straighter, hesitating, and then stood up, picking up his briefcase, and walked into the outer office.

The safe was behind a counter so that it could not be seen from the street window. He went to it and put down the briefcase and knelt beside it. When the safe swung open he sat down heavily on the floor and looked inside it for a few seconds. The money was piled neatly, bound in bundles with paper strips.

He felt calm but his hands shook a little when he started taking the money out. His briefcase was too small to hold it but he put in as much as he could and snapped it shut. He filled his pockets, too, but there was still money left in the safe. He left it there; he had enough to do what he planned.

He slammed the safe door shut and twirled the dial, relocking it, and then stood up and went back to his office. He put on his hat and coat and picked up the briefcase.

When he went out it was colder than he had expected. The snow cracked when he walked on it and the wind burned his eyes. It was already dark.

He lived on the second floor of a wooden building. There was a cigar store under him. He took a cab home. He was nervous now, excited and on edge, but he went up the stairs and into his room. He took off his outer clothing and tossed it over a chair.

Even though he knew it was too early to start, he looked at his watch and then lay down on the bed. On the dresser, across the room, was a photograph of a smiling woman in an evening dress. He looked at it and smiled, “Cindy,” he said out loud, “beautiful, beautiful Cindy.” He turned and lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling, and went on as if she were in the room. “This is the night, Cindy.” He closed his eyes. “I can’t get to you, but I can still get to him.”

He shook his head as if he were laughing at himself and reached across to the night-table and turned on the radio. It came on just as a piece of recorded music was ending. An announcer said, “You have just heard one of the hottest pieces around these days and on a night like this anything hot is welcome.” He turned the radio off and looked out the window. It was still snowing. He hadn’t eaten anything since lunch and he thought of getting up and going out to eat, but he was too excited to be hungry.

He looked at his watch again. Too early. But he couldn’t stay in the room. He was too keyed up to simply lie there and wait. He got up and put on his hat and coat again and went out, taking the briefcase with him. His car was parked on the street and he put the case into the trunk and then drove downtown and parked and went to a movie. He used his own money to pay for his ticket. He watched a double feature selection and was able to relax. When he came out, the snow was more than ankle deep and still falling. The wind had stopped blowing, though, and it felt warmer.

He walked back to his car and stood there, watching the people who passed. A young man and woman came by, laughing; they had their arms around each other. He spoke to them.

“What did you say?” the man asked.

“I asked you to come over here.”

“What for?”

“I have something for you.”

The man looked suspicious. “What do you want?” he asked.

“To give you a present.”

“A present?”

“Here.” Sarling held out a bundle of money he had taken out of his pocket.

“What’s that for?” the woman said.

“It’s a present.”

“No one gives money away,” the man said.

“I do,” Sarling said.

The man shrugged and looked at the woman. “It may be some newspaper gag or something,” he said. “But I’m sure not going to be the one not to take money.” He took the bundle of bills and looked at it. “How much is it?”

“Five hundred dollars.”

“What’s the catch?”

Sarling just shook his head and walked back to his car. He heard them call to him but he didn’t look around. He started his car and drove away. When he looked in the rear-view mirror, he saw them on the sidewalk, counting the money.

The streets were slick with snow and he didn’t want to drive very far. He turned off the main street so the man and woman to whom he had given the money wouldn’t see where he stopped, but then he parked and went in to the first bar he saw. He opened the trunk and took the briefcase in with him. It was warm inside the bar and crowded. A juke box was turned up loud and a Frank Sinatra record was playing. The room had a whiskey smell. He was glad of that. He didn’t like bars that smelled of beer and he didn’t like the people who went to them. There were only two women in the bar. Both of them had bleached hair. They gave him a sudden idea, an embellishment of his plan. He liked it and he was chuckling when he sat down on a stool. He ordered whiskey. When the bartender brought it, he slid it across the counter but held on to it and said, “That’ll be sixty cents, mister.”

Sarling laid the briefcase on the bar and opened it. “Take it out of one of those,” he said.

The bartender let go of the whiskey and stared at the money. “Judas,” he said. “Judas. That’s a lot of money.”

“I know it. Aren’t you going to take your sixty cents?”

“Don’t you know you could get into trouble showing that much money?”

“I don’t think I’ll have any.”

The people sitting near them had seen the money. The room grew quiet in waves as men told other men what was happening. There was a moment of tension but Sarling swung around on his stool and said, “Drinks are on me. Then I have something to do.”

A man down the bar broke open the silence by shouting, “What the hell, it’s his money. Let’s drink it up.” Everyone started laughing and talking again.

Sarling sipped his drink and watched them. One of the women walked over to him and said, “What are you doing with all that loot, honey?”

“Having a good time.” He smiled at her. “Would you like to have some of it?”

“Sure, sweetie, but I’m not cheap.”

“I don’t imagine you are.”

“Where do you want to go? I have a place.”

“No, not that.”

The second woman saw them talking and said, “Don’t do it, mister. She ain’t worth fooling around with.”

“Shut your mouth,” the first one shouted.

The men all laughed and the bartender said, “Take it easy. I don’t want no cat fights in here.”

“Sure,” said Sarling. “There’s plenty here for both of you.” He stood up and looked at them. “Listen. It’s worth a thousand dollars for me to see something. Five hundred each, cash in your hands.”

“What?”

“I want to see which one of you two is stronger. I want you to take turns hitting each other.” He grinned.

“You’re nuts,” one of the women said. “I don’t do nothing like that.”

“I will,” the other one said, “for five hundred dollars.”

The second woman hesitated and then nodded. “All right. I will too.”

The men were gathering around them in a large circle. Sarling made the two women stand facing each other. “Now you,” he said, pointing to the smaller of the two, “when I drop my arm, you slap her face. Then she’ll slap you. Then you slap her again. Keep at it until I say stop.”

The woman slapped the other and the men applauded. It wasn’t a hard blow but it made the second woman angry and when she slapped back it was harder, a stinging slap that cracked and made the woman who was hit gasp with pain.

The juke box had stopped; there was no sound except the blows being struck. The women’s hair came undone and flew wildly each time they struck. Their faces were red and one of them had a small line of blood at her lip.

The smaller woman, the one who had begun the game, started to cry.

“That’s enough,” Sarling said.

The men were cheering. The women panted heavily, staring at each other.

Sarling picked up the suitcase and threw it. The money scattered out. “Split it up,” he yelled and the men ran for it. He started to walk out but he stopped and looked at the women and said, “There it is. Go pick it up.” They looked at the men fighting for the money but they didn’t say anything.

At the door he turned and looked back at the two women. One of them was crying. The other was leaning over the bar, holding her head in her hands. “That was for you, Cindy,” he said softly. “You wanted money that badly, too. You would have done what those women did.”

He started his car and made a U-turn and drove back to the center of town. When he reached the square, he stopped and parked in the middle of the street and took the remaining bundles of money from his pockets and stacked them on the seat beside him.

One by one he stripped off the paper bands and threw the money out the window, letting the wind catch it. Cars stopped and people jumped out as they saw what was happening. People came running from the sidewalks. One man brought some of the money over to the car, intending to give it back, but Sarling just laughed and rolled up the window. He lit a cigarette and waited for the police.

It didn’t take them long to get there. A few people were still standing around, watching him, but most of them had grabbed what money they could and run. Two men got out of the patrol car and came over to him. He rolled down the window and said, “Hi there, you all.” He laughed.

“All right,” one of the officers said. “What’s going on?”

“I’m throwing money away.”

“That’s what we hear,” the cop said. “What are you doing it for?”

“That’s none of your business.”

They made him get out of the car and stand with his hands in the air while they searched him. They looked at his wallet but his name didn’t seem to make any impression on them. He was surprised at that.

When they were sure he didn’t have a gun or anything hidden away, they asked him again, “Why are you throwing your money away?”

“It’s not my money.”

“Whose is it then?”

“I stole it from the Home Loan Company. I work there and I stole it tonight.”

“I think he’s nuts,” one of the cops said.

“I’m not,” Sarling said.

They put him in the squad car after one of them pulled his car out of the middle of the street and they took him to headquarters. They put him in a small room and told him to wait there. He nodded and sat down. He thought that probably one of them was outside, watching to make sure he didn’t run away, but he didn’t bother to look. He lit a cigarette and leaned back in the chair. After a few minutes a different policeman came in and asked, “Are you Ralph Sarling’s brother?”

“Yes”

“Oh, my God,” the cop said. He went back out and slammed the door. He came back in a short while and sat down across the table from Sarling. “Your brother’s on the way,” he said worriedly.

“Good.”

“Tell me now what it is you’ve done.” He took out a pencil and notebook.

Sarling told him about it. He left out the part about the two women and only said that he had given the money away in a bar. The women were between him and Cindy; it wasn’t important to this man.

“Why did you do it?” the cop asked when he had finished.

“That’s my business.”

“It might help you if we knew why you did it.”

“I don’t want help.”

The policeman looked at him disgustedly and rubbed his hand through his hair. “Anyway,” he said. “You won’t mind signing this statement you just gave me.”

“Sure.” Sarling signed his name in the notebook.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” the cop said.

“Book me, of course.”

“Of course,” the cop said sarcastically. “Your brother will love that”

“You could call the paper. They’d love it, too.”

“And your brother would undoubtedly promote me when I told him I had called the newspaper.”

Sarling spat on the floor. “He’s just the mayor, not God.”

“Yeah. Well, I think I’ll wait till God gets here before I call any paper or book anyone.”

“Have you called Juraska?”

“Who’s he?”

“The manager of the loan company.”

“Oh, yeah. I called him all right. Had to, to find out if you’re telling the truth about stealing that money.”

“What did Juraska say?”

“Said he didn’t believe it.”

“He will.”

“You’re nuts,” the cop said. He went out, swearing.

It was another half hour before Ralph Sarling got to the police station. A policeman started into the room with him but he shut the door. “What’s this all about?” he said.

“Didn’t they tell you?”

“They told me. I want to know why.”

“Can’t you figure that out, brother dear? I mean Your Honor. Mr. Mayor. I’m never quite sure how I’m supposed to address your magnificence.”

“Have your fun. Don’t you know the trouble you’re in?”

“Sure I know. That’s why I did it.”

Ralph Sarling sat down and slammed the table with his fist. “And election only a month away,” he said.

Paul Sarling laughed at his brother. “That’s right, brother. And now this. What chance do you have now of getting elected again?”

“Tell me why you did it.”

“You figure it out. You were always smarter than I. You were always able to see through me. You said that once.”

The policeman who had questioned Paul opened the door and said, “Mr. Mayor, Juraska just came in. The money’s gone all right.”

“Keep him out there. I’ll be right out.” He waited until the door was shut and then said, “I don’t blame you for hating me, but why this way to get back at me?”

Paul lit a cigarette and dropped the match, still burning, on the floor. He didn’t speak until it spluttered and went out. “When you took Cindy away from me, you took everything I had.”

“She was going to leave you anyway. I didn’t take her.”

“I’d have managed to keep her somehow. We were happy together until you started butting in. But you could get her things I couldn’t because you’re a big man. You made a money-hungry witch out of her, Ralph. And then you killed her.”

“It was an automobile accident. I didn’t kill her.”

“How do you think I felt, brother dear? I’ll tell you. I wanted to keep her even after I knew she was having an affair with you. You probably don’t understand that.” He stopped, trembling, and took a drag on his cigarette. “You were always the big man at everything. Football, college. Everything. Well, I hate you for killing her. But most of all I hate you and her too for humiliating me. I think that’s why I stayed with her even after I knew she was running around with you. I didn’t want her any more. Not after that. But you had always had everything and you took her too. I was determined I’d get her back from you. I’d make her want me instead of you. I’d get back my self respect by winning against you in competing for her. And then I’d walk out on her. But I never had the chance. You killed her instead and all I have to remember is the humiliation.” He looked up and smiled. “There were two women in that bar tonight. I did something to them, something humiliating. In a way, that makes me even with Cindy. Now it’s your turn. Try to explain away in your campaign speeches what I did tonight. People won’t blame you, but they’ll laugh at you. And they won’t vote for you. They’ll just laugh at you. See how you like it.”

“You’re stupid,” Ralph Sarling said. “You could go to prison.”

“I’m planning on it. You managed to cover up the fact that you and my wife had been to a motel the night she was killed. At least it was officially covered up, wasn’t it? The fact that a few people know about it doesn’t matter to you. They won’t talk, they’ll just laugh at me. Well, to send me to prison, they have to try me. And I’m looking forward to the trial.” He stood up and looked down at his brother. “How long can I get? Five years maybe. Time off for good behavior. It’s worth it to ruin you.”

Ralph Sarling got up and left the room.

Paul Sarling was shaking but he felt good. He walked to the window and looked out. It was still snowing, even harder now, and he thought it was pretty. The shaking stopped and he felt calm; he hummed a tune under his breath and waited.

It was nearly an hour before his brother came back. Paul was still at the window, looking out. He turned and smiled at his brother. “Well,” he said, “are they ready to book me now?”

“They’re not going to book you.”

“Why not?”

“I gave Juraska my check for the amount you stole and he agreed not to say anything about it. Ten thousand dollars.”

“It was less than five thousand.”

“I figured that. It was worth it to me.”

Sarling felt sick at his stomach. “What about the statement I gave to the police?”

“It’s been destroyed.”

“I won’t let it go,” Sarling shouted.

“You can’t help it. What you did tonight never happened.”

“How did you do it?”

“Money. And I told Juraska you were sick.”

“Crazy, you mean.”

“Whatever you say. You should have figured I could buy you out of it. Ten thousand dollars isn’t much, to save my whole career.”

Sarling sat down at the table and put his head on his arms. “All right,” he said. “You win.”

“You can leave whenever you want to.”

“All right.”

“There’s no reason for this sort of thing. She wasn’t worth it. Why don’t we just talk it over like two grown men?”

“You’ve said that before.” He looked up. “All right,” he said. “Let’s talk it over.”

“You mean it?”

“Why not?”

“Well then, let’s go to my house and have a drink.”

“All right, Ralph, Let’s go to your house and talk about it.”

They went out of the station together, Ralph’s arm around his shoulders. Juraska was already gone and none of the policemen looked at them. Sarling wondered whether, when he was gone, they would laugh at him or pity him.

Ralph made a fire when they reached his house and didn’t turn on any lights. He said they could talk by firelight. Men talk more honestly, he said, when the lights aren’t too bright. “You know,” he said, sipping at his drink, “this is more sensible than hating each other.”

“Did you hate me?” Sarling asked. “What did you have to hate me for?”

“Oh, I didn’t hate you. But you hated me. That’s what I meant. And it was for nothing.”

“For nothing?”

“She would have left you anyway. And we’re probably both better off with her out of the way.”

“Is that your justification, that she would have left me anyway? Even if you hadn’t had an affair with her? I heard a man say once that a woman he killed with his car was sick and didn’t have long to live even if he hadn’t hit her.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No.”

Sarling looked into the fire again. “You know,” he said, “you’d have been better off if you hadn’t stopped what I tried to do tonight.”

“I’d have been ruined and you’d have gone to prison.”

“You humiliated me again tonight.”

“I saved you.”

“You saved yourself.” He put down his glass and stood up. He picked up the poker from beside the fireplace.

“Don’t.”

Sarling looked down at the poker, surprised, and put it back. “Did you think I was going to kill you?” he asked.

“No. No, of course not.”

Sarling smiled. “That was fear, brother.” He laughed out loud. “How much money do you have left after tonight?”

“Not much. You know that.”

“I know. You know, I thought you might buy me out tonight. I hoped Juraska wouldn’t let you, but I thought it might happen.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“What will you do tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“I’m going to rob the bank.”

“You’re crazy,” Ralph said, jumping up. “I’ll stop you.”

“I don’t think you can, not until after it’s done. This time I think I’ll spend the money on myself. It should take them a few days anyway to catch me.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe.” He walked past, ready to leave. “That’s the wonderful thing about the human mind, though, there are so many possibilities.” He stopped at the door and turned. “Incidentally,” he said, “I rather hope you get me out of this one, too. Next time I think I’d like to write a threatening letter to The President. That should bring an interesting number of Secret Service men on the run. I may even sign your name to the letter.” He laughed. “You really should have kept your money, Ralph. You’ll wish you had it to retire on.”