Silent Treatment

Chapter37

High Hills, in elegant Short Hills, NewJersey, was an expansive fifteen-room colonial with a coach house and pool onthree rolling acres. Built and christened by a liquor baron in 1920, it hadkept its name through four subsequent masters. Phil Corbett, the latest in theline, had been living in the estate with his family for almost three years. Hedisliked the pretentiousness of house names and was constantly threatening toreplace the High Hill placard on the fieldstone stele at the base of thedriveway with one reading High Upkeep.

When the phone began ringing at ten-thirtyon the night of August 30, Phil was eight hundred dollars up and studying apossible royal flush. The once-a-month, six-man game rotated from house tohouse, but the participants enjoyed playing at High Hill the most. Shortlyafter moving in, Phil had converted the music room into a soundproof,walnut-paneled, Wild West card room, complete with honky-tonk background music,sawdust on the floor, an overhead fan, Cuban cheroots, and brass spittoons.Stakes in the game were high enough to make it interesting. But there wasn'tone of the players who couldn't comfortably absorb a five-thousand-dollar ding.

Earlier in the evening, several of the menhad mentioned the latest news blitz involving Phil's older brother. Two of themMatt McCann and Ziggy White, both millionaires who had never finished college,had grown up with Phil in Montclair, and had known Harry fairly well.

'Talk about your big-time comedown,' Mattsaid. 'Remember how we all used to idolize Harry? He was the scholar who wasgoing to go to college. We were the little shits who were going to go to jail.'

'You still should idolize him,'Phil replied. 'He's a terrific guy. While we're all out trying to make anobscene amount of money, he's off helping people get well. Half the time, hedoesn't even get paid.'

'But what about all this nonsense at thehospital? This post-traumatic stress?'

'Harry has about as much post-traumaticstress as you do. Someone's out to get him. That's what he tells me, and that'swhat I believe.'

'I hope you're right,' Ziggy said. 'Ialways liked Harry a lot. But you know, even Dillinger had a brother.'

'He's not Dillinger, Ziggy. .'

The ringing persisted — five, six, seventimes. Phil's agreement with Gail was that if she was in the house on pokernight, she would answer all phone calls. But tonight, she had gone to themovies with friends. Phil studied his ten, jack, queen, king of diamonds, andthen glared over at the phone, trying to will it to cease. Finally, he slappedhis cards down.

'You gentlemen'll have to wait a minutefor me to take your money,' he said rising. 'But I'd advise you all to fold.I'm working on a straight flush.'

'Yeah, sure,' someone muttered.

'Hello?'

'Phil, it's me. Are you alone?'

Phil had no trouble picking up the urgencyin his brother's voice.

'Ah, no. No, I'm not.'

'Change phones, please.'

Phil put the call on hold.

'I was lying about the straight flush,' hesaid, burying his cards at the bottom of the deck. 'You guys play on without mefor a while.'

In twenty minutes, Phil was back, his faceheavy with concern.

'There's been some problems with mybrother,' he said. 'I'm afraid we're going to have to call it a night.'

'Anything we can do?' White asked.

'Actually, there is. I'd like it if youand Matt could stay behind. The rest of you just head home as quickly aspossible. We'll settle up tomorrow. And if any of you want to, feel free to saya prayer for Harry. He's in it pretty deep right now and he's going to need allthe help he can get.'

'Phil, you be careful, now,' one of theother three men said. 'No one wants to believe somebody in their family couldget into big-time trouble, but it happens.'

'I know, Stan. Thanks. I'd like you toforget I got that call just now, but in the end, that's up to you.'

The three men exchanged concerned glances.Then, without further question, they hurried for their cars. Ziggy White andMatt McCann remained behind. A few moments after the last car had left, apolice cruiser, lights flashing, came up the drive.

'Matt, I'm going to need you to stay andwatch the kids until Gail gets home,' Phil said. 'Maybe around eleven-thirty.Ziggy, I'm going to speak with these guys. Then I have to get out of herewithout being followed. Any ideas?'

During their school years, White had beena daredevil among daredevils — always diving in from the highest rock orshoplifting some unneeded item from the most theft-conscious store. He had goneon to make a small fortune as an options trader. Now, he mulled over theproblem for just a few seconds.

'No sweat,' he said, excitedly. 'Matt'llhide while the cops are here. You make it clear your wife is out and you'rebabysitting. I'll walk them out and have a chat with them by the squad car.Meanwhile, you slip out the back. Take a flashlight, but only use it whenyou're certain it's safe. Go through your backyard and then across that littlebrook you have back there. If they're going to stake you out, they'll have towait somewhere past the end of the driveway. I'll leave when they do and headout like I'm going home, but I'll turn off at Maitland. I'll meet you right bythe Griffins' driveway. They're in England until after Labor Day. You knowwhere that is, right? Okay. You can drop me off someplace near my house andkeep the car as long as you need it.'

Harry knelt in the dense undergrowth justbeyond the soft shoulder of a rural two-lane road. The night wasn't thatchilly, but he was soaked through and shivering. Thank God Phil had been home.Thank God he hadn't hesitated in agreeing to help. Now, if he would only showup. Accessory to murder was nothing he wanted to expose his brother to. Butuntil he found Anton Perchek and a way to bring him down, staying free was theonly realistic chance he had.

The biggest problem, since he didn't knowexactly where he was calling Phil from, and Phil didn't know the Fort Lee areawell at all, was finding a way to meet up. It was finally left to Harry tochoose the right person to bribe into driving him to a spot they both knew — alittle-traveled roadway that swung past a power substation not far from theirchildhood home in Montclair. It was the place where Harry first took hisyounger brother to introduce him to beer and cigarettes, only to find that Philwas already well acquainted with both.

The lucky man Harry selected was amotorcyclist on a Harley chopper. Harry watched from the woods beside a servicestation as the biker lumbered into the restroom and called him over as soon ashe came out. The man was well tattooed and grizzly bear huge — as unlikely tobe frightened off by Harry as he was to be tight with the police. The fare forthe half-hour ride was agreed upon in seconds — a thousand dollars. Over hisyears in medicine, Harry had seen the ravages of bike accidents often enough tohave developed a healthy fear of ever riding on what the ER docs cynicallyreferred to as 'donorcycles.' But the biker, whose name was Claude, was worththe risk. Harry donned the spare Panzer Division helmet, hunched as low as theraised passenger seat would allow, clenched his teeth, and wrapped his armsaround the bear.

'Hey, if you're gonna get that friendly, Iwant another hundred,' the biker said, laughing.

'You don't speed and I won't get fresh,'Harry replied.

Within the first mile or two, they hadpassed four police cars heading in the opposite direction.

'You must be some hot stuff,' Claudecalled over his shoulder.

'Parking tickets,' Harry yelled back.

During the half hour Harry had beencrouched in the bushes by the substation, six cars had passed, one of them aMontclair police cruiser. Now, as he wiped a muddy hand across his forehead, hewondered what his next move should be. If there was any workable optionavailable to him, any at all, his mind hadn't settled on it yet. On the plusside, he had miraculously made it through the trap Perchek had set for him inFort Lee. Still, by the time the forty-minute ride was over, Harry's teeth werechattering mercilessly. He tipped the biker with a hundred-dollar bill ascasually as if it were a one and accepted a death's-head pin in return. Now, asthe fear that he and Phil had somehow miscommunicated took hold, he wished hehad kept Claude around.

There were bends in the road about fiftyyards in either direction from where Harry was concealed. The headlights ofapproaching cars reflected off the trees several seconds before they actuallycame into sight. Each time, as soon as he heard the engine noises or saw thereflected light, he flattened down in the shallow swale beside the road. Andeach time he got a bit filthier and, if possible, a bit more sodden.

Through the darkness and the persistentdrizzle, he heard engine noise to his left. Moments later, reflected lightshimmered high off the trees. A truck, he thought, burrowing back undercover. What it was instead was a mobile home, as large as a bus, moving alongslowly, followed closely by a car. Harry froze as the two-vehicle caravanslowed even more and then stopped not ten feet away. Both drivers cut theirengines and killed their headlights. Immediately, heavy darkness settled inagain. The interior light on the massive RV flashed on and off as the dooropened and closed. For several seconds there was dense silence. Then Philcalled out.

'Harry? You out there?'

Before he could even reply, Harry had towork the immense tension from his muscles and his jaw. He worried in passingabout the second car, but at this point he had to trust that Phil knew what hewas doing.

'Right here, bro,' he said.

He pushed himself to his feet and made anineffectual stab at brushing some mud off. Phil met him at the front of the RV,which Harry could see now was a Winnebago.

'You okay?'

'Soaked, scared to death. Is that the sameas okay?'

'Well, believe it or not, I have a warm-upsuit inside that'll fit you.'

'Who's in the car?'

'It's Ziggy White. Remember him?'

'The one who used to bet people he coulddrive a mile blindfolded?'

'I didn't want him to come with me, but heinsisted. He can't get enough of living on the edge — you'd think being anoptions trader would do it. Besides, he says he'll never forget that you oncekept Bumpy Giannetti from beating the snot out of him.'

'Thank Ziggy for me,' Harry said as Philhelped him up the step. 'But tell him that if that's really the case, Iprobably just showed up at the right moment and presented Bumpy with a punchingbag less likely to hit back.'

The interior of the Winnebago was as grandas any hotel Harry had ever stayed in.

'This is incredible,' he said, strippingoff his shirt. 'Is this yours?'

'For the time being, it's yours. TheLuxor. Thirty-seven feet of everything you could ever ask for in a motor home.Two TVs with a dish on the roof, fax, phone, bar, ice maker, stereo system,washer/dryer, driver and passenger airbags, cherrywood cabinets. Youtold me you needed a car, but I got to thinking that you also needed a safeplace to stay. Then I realized I had both all rolled up in one. We lease thisbaby from time to time to some people who need a hotel room, but don't want ahotel. It's registered to my corporation. The registration's in the glovecompartment, along with a couple of sheets on where you can and can't take itand park it. My beeper number's there, too. You can reach me twenty-four hoursa day.'

'Phil, I … thanks. Thanks a lot. This isperfect. How much does it-'

'Hey,' Phil said, stopping him with araised hand. 'If you have to ask, you really don't want to know.'

Harry toweled off and pulled the stacks ofsoggy bills from his pockets.

'You neglected to mention theall-important microwave,' he said.

'Just don't do them all at once.' Philtossed over the black Nike warm-up suit. 'I don't think I could stand thethought of all that cash vaporizing in my RV. The fridge is pretty well stockedand there are some clothes in the closet that I think will fit you. Just becareful and don't stay in one place too long. Is there anything else you need?'

Harry thought for a moment, then took apen and paper from the small mahogany writing desk and dashed off a note toMaura.

'The doorman at my co-op will take this upto her,' he said. 'Then I want you to back off and keep out of this. You'vedone way more than enough.'

Phil slipped the letter into his pocket.

'We've had a funny life, Harry,' he said.'I won't deny that over the years, especially after you won those medals inVietnam, I pushed myself in business because I wanted to beat you out atsomething.'

'Well, you did.'

'So what? The point is it was always justsomething inside me. You never did or said anything to make me feel I had totop you. What difference does it make anyhow? It's not a contest. It never hasbeen. It's our lives. You're my only brother, Harry. I don't want to lose you.'

Harry stared at his brother through thedim light. It was the first time he had ever heard Phil talk this way. Heleaned against the soft, leather headrest of the passenger seat.

'Remember that day in front of my officewhen you told me not to worry, that something would come along for me to pushagainst? Well, something has, Phil. A monster. His name's Anton Perchek. He'san M.D. And I'm not going to stop pushing against him until he's finished or Iam.' He wrote the name down and passed it over. 'If anything happens to me,this is the man who killed Evie. He also killed Caspar Sidonis, Andy Barlow,one of my favorite patients, and God only knows how many other people. The Fedsknow who he is, but they might not admit it. I think he did some torture workfor the CIA. He's supposed to have died years ago, but they have a fingerprintof his taken from Evie's hospital room.

'I had stopped caring, Phil. I don't knowwhy — maybe turning fifty, maybe Evie, maybe that goddamn family curse I'vebeen so wrapped up in. But I care now, Phil. Thanks to that bastard, Perchek,things matter to me again. That woman, Maura, the one the note is for, she'svery special. I want the chance to get to know her better. Maybe get marriedagain someday- if not to her, then to someone like her. Maybe have a kid or twoso you can be an uncle.'

'I'll spoil the hell out of them. Do youknow where you're going from here?'

'I do, but I don't want you to know.You're already going to have to lie to the police because of me.'

'You know how to get hold of me.'

'I do. Don't worry, Phil. I'm gonna winthis one.'

'I know. I know you are. Well. . um.. we'd better get going.'

'Thank Ziggy for me. And give my love toGail and the kids.'

For a few seconds, the brothers stood insilence by the door. Then, for the first time since the death of their father,they embraced.

Rocky Martino, the night doorman atHarry's apartment building, had more than enough reason for having an extra nipor two. It had been the longest, most stressful night of his life. In the spaceof just a few hours, half of Manhattan seemed to have descended on him,everyone looking for Harry Corbett. The Manhattan police, the New Jerseypolice, even the FBI — something about moving a body across state lines. Crewsfrom several TV stations and some radio people as well had come by and spokenwith him. But all he could tell any of them was that he had no idea when HarryCorbett had left the building or when he would be back.

The one thing that he did not tell any ofthe news people, but he did tell the police, was that Maura Hughes had comeback to the apartment at ten-thirty and was still there. Two officers had goneup and spoken to her for over an hour.

Early on, Rocky knew that he was in overhis head and had the presence of mind to call down Shirley Bowditch, thepresident of the co-op association. She had handled everything. Now, at last,he was alone. He went to the maintenance closet just behind the door to thecellar. On the bottom shelf, in the base of a locked tool box, was his supplyof nips. He selected an ounce of Absolut and downed it in a single gulp. Theraspy burning brought warm, familiar tears to his eyes. When he returned to thelobby, a tall, broad-shouldered man in a sports coat was tapping on the glass,holding up a police badge. Rocky buzzed him in. The huge man introduced himselfand the branch he was with, but whatever he said didn't register. Rocky toldhim his name.

'We need your help,' the policeman said.'How long are you going to be on duty?'

'Noon,' Rocky said. 'I work midnight untilnoon. Armand Rojas, the other doorman and I decid-'

'Good. Good, Rocky. Now listen up. There'sa woman up in Harry Corbett's apartment. Her name is Maura Hughes.'

'So?'

'If she goes by cab to meet up with him,we want to be driving her.' He guided Rocky to the street and pointed at a cabparked half a block away. 'When you want a cab for her, just point at that one.We'll do the rest.'

'O-Okay,' Rocky said, intimidated by theman's size and brusqueness.

The giant fished out a bill from hiswallet and handed it over. It was fifty.

'Do this right, Rocky, and not a word toanyone, and there'll be another one of these in it for you.'

Rocky took the bill and watched until thepoliceman had disappeared from sight. Then he headed back to the tool kit. Hewould do what the man asked because he was frightened of what would happen ifhe didn't, and because he wanted the other fifty. The guy who had gone upstairsan hour before with an envelope for Maura had only given him twenty. Hepolished off another vodka. He liked Harry Corbett, and was sorry he was insuch trouble. But hell, it wasn't Rocky Martino's fault.

He returned to the lobby. It was almostfive in the morning. He had new money in his pocket and a glow in his gut aswarm as sunrise. Outside, half a block away, the cab stood waiting. He lickedhis lips and thought about the sudden windfall, soon to be increased by anotherfifty bucks. No one could criticize him for cooperating with the police. No oneat all.