Ah, Treachery!

Chapter 13

They had dined at a card table on salad and spanakopita, the Greek spinach and cheese pie that was a specialty of the uncle’s ground-floor restaurant. For dessert, there was a far too rich baklava that General Winfield politely declined. Nick Patrokis ate both portions, then wrapped up the paper napkins, plastic plates and plastic cutlery in the Washington Post that had served as a tablecloth and dumped it all into a big brown plastic garbage can. The General folded the card table and stored it away.

It was just after 9 P.M. when they moved to the golden oak desk for the Greek coffee that Patrokis poured from a Thermos into a pair of small cups. After finishing one cup, Patrokis poured himself another and said, “Sounds like a nice job of mind-fucking to me.”

The General winced slightly, then shook his head. “You have to understand that Henry Viar simply doesn’t care anymore. He spends much of his time in the upstairs front bedroom, sipping whiskey, smoking Pall Malls, watching the street and, I suspect, fantasizing about the farther shores of Might’ve Been.”

“I sailed there a time or two,” Patrokis said, “but always sailed back as soon as possible.”

“Most of us do. But Viar still regards himself as the ultimate realist. You’ve heard the phrase ‘tough-minded’? It was popular during the Kennedy administration.”

“Still is.”

“Well, back then Viar always claimed it was the Kennedyites’ unconscious euphemism for ‘hopelessly romantic.’ The only truly tough-minded people Viar claims he ever knew were pimps, double agents and golf hustlers.”

“Sounds like you guys were friends.”

“We knew each other well, too well, probably, but we were never friends. And yet I introduced him to his wife, you know. To Violet.”

“I didn’t.”

“A mistake I still regret. She was young and fairly well off. He was young and terribly ambitious. To her it was love. To him it was a career move. She came to see me years later. It was shortly after I retired in ’sixty-eight. You know my living room.”

It wasn’t a question but Patrokis nodded anyway.

“She sat on one side of the fireplace and I on the other. I served coffee and, at first, made all the proper social noises. She made no response. None. So we sat there for almost an hour in silence until she rose and said, ‘Thank you, Vernon, you’ve been a great comfort.’ Then she went home and shot herself. Their daughter, Shawnee, who was eight or nine at the time, came home from school and found the body.”

“Sorry.”

Winfield nodded and a silence began that Patrokis eventually ended with a false cough followed by a question. “Which way d’you think Viar’ll bounce?”

Winfield gave it some thought. “He’ll study his options with the aid of a few more drinks, then choose the one he believes will do him the least harm.” He glanced at his watch. “That means he’ll have called General Hudson by now and made a full report on my visit.”

“And Hudson?”

“He’s called Colonel Millwed and they’ll’ve met, or could even be meeting now in some room at the Mayflower.”

Patrokis reached for his Rolodex, found a number and called it. When it was answered, he said, “Mr. Jerome Able’s room, please.”

He listened as the Mayflower Hotel operator rang the room, finally gave up, told him there was no answer and asked if he’d like to leave a message. Patrokis said he’d try again, thanked her and ended the call.

Winfield rose and reached for his hat and coat. “You didn’t really expect them to answer?”

“No, I just want them to wonder who the hell’s calling Jerome Able.”

“The Odyssean mind never rests. Well, I’m going home and to bed. I suggest you do the same.”

Patrokis glanced around the big empty VOMIT headquarters and shrugged. “I’m already home.”

Their room at the Mayflower Hotel was much like their previous room except this one was on the fourth floor instead of the fifth. Their topcoats again were on the bed. Colonel Ralph Millwed sat on the edge of it. General Walker Hudson and his rank again occupied the room’s only comfortable chair. Neither had wanted anything to drink and the General had just lighted a cigar without apology.

He blew the smoke to his left and away from Millwed before he said, “That phone call,” but didn’t bother to complete his sentence.

“It could have been a simple mistake. Some guest, direct-dialing another room, could’ve hit a four instead of a five.” There was no conviction in Millwed’s tone.

“Well, it’d be smart of Jerome Able to empty out his safe-deposit box at the Riggs Bank, cancel his VISA card and join the ranks of the disappeared.”

“Able disappears tomorrow,” the Colonel said, “replaced by Gordon C. Beale.”

“What’s the ‘C’ for?”

“Collin,” Millwed said, then asked, “How’d he sound when he called — Hank Viar?”

“Neutral. But he was born neutral and’ll stay that way as long as he’s on our payroll at — I forget how much.”

“Two thousand a month. Cash.”

“Viar claims he didn’t tell Winfield anything the old crock didn’t already know. And certainly nothing Twodees can’t tell him, if he hasn’t already.”

“Viar drinks too much,” Millwed said.

“Does he, now? But we knew that, didn’t we, when we gathered him into the fold by offering him just enough cash money to keep him in booze and happy pills? We’re his supply line now and, drunk or sober, Hank Viar’ll never endanger it.”

“I don’t trust drunks,” Millwed said. “Especially old ones. The closer they get to the end, the more they start thinking about redemption.”

“That’s your religious drunk,” the General said. “But your bedrock atheist drunk like Viar has a belief in the Great Oblivion that’s as devout as any Christian drunk’s belief in the Great Hereafter.”

“It’s your call, of course, but since you raised the question of life after death, how soon does Twodees find out if there is one?”

“The sooner the better,” the General said. “How much did Emory Kite charge us for the Captain and his wife?”

“Fifty thousand for them and twenty-five more for a rush job well done.”

“You pay him?”

“Not yet.”

“Pay him and then give him the fix on Twodees.”

“He’ll try to double his price.”

“Don’t haggle with him,” the General said. “That’s extortion.”

The General chuckled. After a moment, Millwed smiled and said, “How do you really want to handle it?”

The General examined his cigar, then put it back in his mouth, puffed a few times, drew in a large mouthful of smoke and blew four fat smoke rings at the ceiling. He watched the rings dissolve, turned to the Colonel and said, “Pay Emory some up-front money for Twodees. When he’s done the fix and comes around for the rest of his fee, we’ll have to decide what should be done about Emory himself.”

“And your nephew,” Millwed said, “out in L.A.?”

The General frowned, looked up at the ceiling and sighed.