Black Dog

Fifty-Two

Eddie Jr. entered the house through the service entrance to the kitchen, tilting a hat over his face to thwart a possible camera. He stood inside the butler’s pantry and listened for signs of security people, while he pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He removed his shoes and held them in his hand, as he traversed the kitchen. He went to his father’s dressing room and found the door leading to the master bedroom uncharacteristically closed and, by the position of the thumb lock, locked. He liked that, because if anyone tried to enter, they would first have to unlock it, making noise that would alert him.

He emptied his pockets, stripped off the shoulder holster, then hung up his father’s overcoat, suit, and tie. He then went to the laundry room, removed his shirt, underwear, and socks, and dropped them into the washing machine. He added a dollop of detergent and switched on the machine. Silently, it began its work.

He thought about using the bed but changed his mind. Instead he took a blanket and pillow from a shelf and stretched out on the sofa, making himself comfortable. After a moment, he got up, went to where he had left his pocket contents, removed the silenced pistol, and returned to his makeshift bed. After a moment of listening for alien sounds, he fell asleep.

He woke before dawn, went to the laundry, and shifted the washed items to the dryer, then he took the iron from its cupboard and lowered the built-in ironing board. By the time he had shaved, bathed, and dressed, the dryer had finished its work and he removed the contents, ironed the shirt and boxers, and folded them carefully. Somewhat to his surprise, he found himself with two pairs of socks and underwear, and he remembered that he had previously left a set in the dryer.

He put away the shirt in its appointed place, folded the socks and shorts, and put them with their mates. Then he took the extra socks and underwear back to the dryer and dropped them inside.

He dressed and let himself quietly out of the house well before eight o’clock, which would be when the security people changed shifts. Then he put on his shoes and walked over to Lexington Avenue where there was a good diner. He ate a hearty breakfast, then he caught a cab to Eleventh Avenue, where most of the car dealerships lived, and browsed the showroom and sales lot of the Mercedes-Benz dealer.

A salesman materialized but didn’t crowd him. “May I answer any questions?” he asked gently.

“Tell me about that,” Eddie said, pointing.

“That is an E55, three years old, with twenty-two thousand miles on the clock. The engine is from the AMG department, and it is the fastest Mercedes of its time. The color is obsidian black. Would you like to drive it?”

“I would,” Eddie said.

The man produced a key and handed it over. “I’ll be here when you return. Try not to get arrested.”

Eddie got into the car, adjusted the leather seat, started it, listened to the engine for a moment, then drove into the street. He got a hint of what the car could do, then returned it to the lot without getting arrested. The salesman named a price, and Eddie made an offer. He followed the man into the showroom, where he consulted his boss.

“Any financing?” the salesman called from his manager’s desk.

“I’ll give you a check,” Eddie said. “Your bank can call my bank.”

After a chat with the dealer’s financial person, Eddie signed some documents and asked that they register the car to another Delaware corporation that Eddie had set up. He wrote a check for the full amount and waited ten minutes while the man disappeared and made the requisite phone call to his bank.

Three-quarters of an hour after he had walked onto the lot, Eddie was driving north on the Henry Hudson Parkway, and after that on the Sawmill River Parkway, which was great sports-car country.

Later in the morning Eddie parked semi-legally on Madison Avenue and went into a Realtor’s office to inquire about rental apartments. He couldn’t continue sneaking into and out of his father’s house, without being shot by a security guard or having to have an annoying conversation with the police. He soon found housing — a cozy, one-bedroom furnished apartment in the East Sixties with a garage in the building. He would make one more visit to his father’s house that night and leave with two suitcases full of clothing.

One of the Strategic Services men took his boss into the laundry room and showed him the dryer. “Boxers and socks still there,” he said. “No prints.”

“So, he hasn’t been here?”

“Yes, he has. Let me show you something.” He led his chief into the dressing room and pointed at a rack of hanging clothes. “There was a beautiful tan cashmere jacket hanging there yesterday.” He knew because he had been thinking of stealing it when the job ended. “Also, some other jackets and suits, plus, shirts and underwear from the dresser. And two large alligator suitcases have been taken. Looks to me like the guy has moved out.”