Fletch

13

Fletch brought a chair from a neighboring table and sat in it. John Collins sat facing his daughter. At one o’clock, the sunlit tennis courts were empty. The pavilion was full.

Joan had moved the Polaroid camera.

“John’s in the furniture business, Dad. From Grand Rapids, Michigan.”

“From Butte, Montana,” Fletch said.

“Oh?”

Fletch was correct. Besides no one’s being able to remember for long the name he gave, no one cared to inquire too deeply into either the furniture business or Butte, Montana. He believed himself absolutely unmemorable.

“Martinis before lunch?” John Collins said.

“I mean to take a nap this afternoon.” Joan stared at Fletch.

“I’m glad to see at least John is drinking orange juice.”

“It’s a screwdriver.”

“Ah. Well. If you drink enough of those, they’ll make your head hammer.” John Collins beamed at them both. His daughter groaned softly. “You play tennis, John?”

“Just hack about, sir. I enjoy the game, but I have so little time for it…”

“You must make time in life to enjoy yourself and be healthy. It’s the best way to get a lot done.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of course it also helps if you have a very able son-in-law to take over your business and run it for you. Sometimes I feel guilty that I’m playing and Alan is working. How do you know Alan?”

“We were in the Air Force together. In Texas.”

“John said that Alan buzzed a house once, in San Antonio. Did he ever mention that to you, Dad?”

“He certainly didn’t.”

“We were lieutenants then,” Fletch said. “He was severely reprimanded. I guess I talked out of school.”

“Delighted you did,” John Collins said. “Time we had a bit of dirt on Alan. I’ll put his nose in it. Got any more dirt?”

“No, sir.”

“He’s off flying someone’s idea of an airplane in Idaho this weekend,” John said. “Do you still fly?”

“Only with a ticket in my hand.”

“Good for you. I wish Alan would give it up. He’s too important to too many people to be taking such risks. Were you overseas with him?”

“No, sir. I was sent to the Aleutians.”

“Oh.”

Fletch smiled. No one cared about the Aleutians, either.

Without having ordered, John Collins was brought a grilled cheese sandwich and a bottle of ale.

“Aren’t you two going to order?” he asked.

“Sliced chicken sandwich,” Joan said. “Mayonnaise.”

“A grilled cheese,” Fletch added. “Bottle of Coors beer.”

“How very ingratiating of you,” John Collins said.

He was used to young men complimenting him over his choice of lunch.

Fletch laughed. “I’m very happy in the furniture business, thank you.”

“Actually, Alan needs more young men around him. Friends. People he can trust. He’s stuck with all my old office cronies. I keep telling him he should retire them all off, but he’s too smart for that. He says he would rather have attrition than contrition.”

“Dad. He never said anything of the sort.”

“Well, he would have, if he had a sense of humor.”

“He has a lovely sense of humor,” Joan said.

“Tell me something he ever said that made you laugh,” John said. “Anything.”

“Well. He said something to Julie the other day. But I can’t remember it. Something about going to bed.”

“A riot,” John said. “My son-in-law is a riot. Did he have a sense of humor when you knew him in Texas?”

“A pretty serious fellow,” Fletch said.

“I worry about people who don’t have a sense of humor. Here’s your lunch. Take everything seriously. They’re apt to kill themselves.”

“If the cigarettes don’t get them first,” Fletch said.

“What?” John Collins leaned on him.

“The cigarettes. Alan was always dreadfully afraid of cancer.”

“He should be. No one should smoke.”

Joan said, “Alan’s never mentioned his fear of cancer to me.”

“He must be used to it,” Fletch said. “Or over it.”

“Everybody should be afraid of cancer. Does it run in his family? Of course, how do we know? Never met his family. Ought to look them up and see if they’re still alive.”

“Alan never speaks of them,” Joan said. “I doubt he even hears from them.”

“I don’t blame him. Any man who makes his son box is a jackass. A stupid sport. Alan would have been a great tennis player if he had started young and not been forced to waste all his time getting bopped on the nose. Rather, I should say, any man who forces his son to box wants to see him in a coffin.”

“You’re in top form today, Dad. One right after the other.”

“Why not? Pleasant company. His father just never realized what an intelligent lad Alan was and is. Wonder he didn’t get his brains knocked out of him.”

“Before you came, Dad, we were talking about the damn-fool ranch Alan is buying, in Nevada.”

“Yes. Good idea.”

“It’s a terrible idea.”

“This family doesn’t have anywhere near enough invested in real estate. And what there is is downtown space. Or the place in Aspen, whatnot. We should be much more heavily invested in land. No one’s ever wanted to manage it. I’m glad Alan does.”

Joan said, “I hate the whole idea.”

“You don’t have to go there.”

“The way Alan talks, a million acres in Nevada is going to be our spiritual home.”

“You’ll have to go there once in a while, of course, while Alan goes over things. Do you both good to get away. With Julie. You must be sick to death of your mother and me living on top of you.”

“She’s not well.”

John said, “I remember the first day I saw your mother taking martinis before lunch. Gin is a depressant, my girl.”

“My golly. You do live on top of us. I never noticed before.”

“Was Jim Swarthout helpful?” John asked.

“Who?”

“Jim Swarthout of Swarthout Nevada Realty. Biggest firm in Nevada. I sent Alan to him when he began talking about the ranch I understood he’s been dealing with him.”

“Oh, yes. Very helpful. He’s the man who found the ranch for Alan. He’s mentioned him several times. He is the real estate broker. We’re going down next weekend, cash in hand.”

“Cheer up, old girl. Alan’s dead right about our investing in a ranch. He couldn’t be more right.” John Collins drained his ale. “Now the job is to see if we can get young John here a tennis match ”

“No, sir. Thank you anyway. I haven’t the time, at this point. My plane leaves midafternoon.”

“Oh.” The man seemed genuinely disappointed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“This is a beautiful club, though. Joan mentioned the extent of your contribution to it ”

“Well, she shouldn’t have. But I consider it very important. Young people have to have a place to go, and healthy things to do. You know, I understand young people can’t even go to the beach here anymore.”

“Oh?”

“Drugs. Goddamn it. Drugs everywhere. On the beach, of all places. Hard drugs. Heroin. Opium. Let alone these pills and amphetamines. Sending a youngster to the beach these days is equal to sending him to hell ”

“People literally selling drugs to children. Pushing drugs on them. Can you imagine anything worse than that?” Joan said. “What sort of an insane, evil person would actually urge children to take drugs for just a few bucks?”

“I’ve had several conversations with the chief of police, Chief Cummings,” John Collins said, “urging him to crack down more actively on this business. I’ve even offered to pay to have special investigators come in, to clean the whole thing up. That’s a bill I wouldn’t mind paying at all. He tells me he’s doing everything he can. He has an informer on the beach, he says, but it’s very difficult, as young people drift in and out, live on the beach, go by phony names. Apparently it’s much too fluid a situation to control. There are no constants. He said special investigators wouldn’t do a darn bit of good.”

“I didn’t know you made that offer, Dad. How sweet.”

“It’s not sweet. It’s necessary. With the rate of burglaries we’re having here at The Beach, muggings and robberies, something has to be done. There’s going to be a murder soon, and then people will sit up. But what really bothers me is all these young people staggering around, destroying their brains, destroying their bodies, killing themselves. How very awful for them. They don’t know better. Their lives must be just hell.”

Fletch said, “I quite agree with you, sir.”

“However, the esteemed chief of police is retiring soon, and a man close to retirement isn’t apt to be at his most energetic. That’s what I keep telling Alan: retire the old farts; give them their money and let them go. They’re not doing anything for the company anyway. Chief Cummings is busy setting up some retirement home. He’s not paying attention to police business here in town. Might as well get rid of him. Perhaps after he retires, we’ll have a better chance to wipe out this nest of vipers and sickies.”

Fletch said, “You never can tell. The thing might break by itself, somehow.”

“I’d like to see it,” John Collins said. “And I’d like to know who is going to do it.”

“Well,” Fletch said. “The club is just great.”

“There are no drugs here,” John Collins said, “except for martinis imbibed before lunch by certain dopes.”