The Erection Set

XIII

My contact at Weller-Fabray answered my coded inquiry in French with the statement that they were closed until morning, which meant I was to call back on the hot line that had a scrambler attachment. I redialed and asked, “Your lines bugged?”

“They could be. We had Treasury Department agents in here this morning. Apparently the Sûreté in Marseilles are monitoring overseas calls. Jason placed two to us from the Pavilion of Crosses restaurant just before one of the couriers from Istanbul was shot to death. He had twenty kilos of heroine in a suitcase prepared for shipment to the United States.”

“Who hit him?”

“Nobody knows. They seem to think it was an attempted hijacking. The murderer escaped completely.”

“Damn,” I said. “Who got the stuff?”

The voice on the other end chuckled. “That is the joke. Nobody. The courier had anticipated a possible double cross and had substituted packages. The genuine stuff is still hidden somewhere. Had all gone well he would have accepted the money and told the transfer agent later where to recover the proper goods. Unfortunately, he didn’t anticipate being killed.”

“Any leads at all?”

“So far, none. The courier was a professional. Now the big hunt is on. It will be... how do you say?... finders keepers.”

“Who’s working our end?”

“The Irishman O’Keefe and Pierre Dumont.”

“Hell, O’Keefe has a record in Berlin and...”

“A simple assault charge. It’s not very likely he’ll be recognized. Besides,”... he chuckled again “you should be the one to worry.”

“Now what’s up?” I asked him.

“The affair had your stamp on it. Your MO, so to speak. It is being rumored that the courier didn’t know a switch had been made and it was a first-class hijacking with the killing only a red herring thrown in to confuse everybody.”

“Nice.”

“Certain parties are very angry. Le Fleur himself has directed a bonus for either the recovery or your demise.”

Le Fleur, the flower. A gentle name for a human fungus. Someplace the bastard sat in royal opulence and pushed the buttons that could trigger the kill of anyone from a dope-head to a diplomat. Narcotics built his empire and the ones he couldn’t squeeze out he eliminated or organized. The only ones he couldn’t control were nibbling holes in his elaborate structure and if it happened often and successfully enough the whole damn thing would fall apart.

I said, “This may bring him out into the open.”

“No, I’m afraid not, although there are many who would like to know his true identity. Once that happened any one of the others in a fairly strong position would take steps to have him removed. These are the days of science and equipment. An aerial bombing raid on a stronghold is not an improbability and financially simple to arrange.”

“But complicated,” I told him.

“Quite. Therefore it is simpler to pick the fly out of the ointment, which, in this case, they think is you. One member of the syndicate has been selected to act as your executioner, especially in view of the fact that his natural animosity and suspicion has led him into instigating a kidnap order on you... followed by your death, of course.”

“The Turk?”

“Exactly. They already know what has happened to his two men. Either they succeed in the near future or The Turk becomes the object of Le Fleur’s attentions. This he certainly doesn’t desire.”

“Hell, he’s working at it. They tried again and I was lucky. They missed me. My friend wasn’t so lucky and they damn near killed him.”

“You shouldn’t expose your friends to yourself, Dog.”

“The Turk should know better.”

“Perhaps he didn’t take your retirement seriously.”

“But he’s going to. Who’s come in the last few days?”

For a second he didn’t speak and I could hear his fingers tapping against the phone. “Nobody we know of through routine channels, but that means very little. I understand they landed a shipment through Mexico and into Nevada a day ago. Someone could have come in with that. And the Coast Guard missed a night interception of a fast cruiser that was heading toward Miami, so who can be sure?”

“Okay, then we’ll take it from there. I want two foreign types about my size with no outstanding characteristics. They speak English with an accent, possibly Belgian. Their clothes are all new and expensive, but they’re wearing brown shoes with dark outfits, so that might give you a lead. Check into foreign-language movie houses, hotels catering to people from that area, restaurants... you know the scoop.”

“I understand.”

“Somebody’s laid the groundwork for them here, so they have a contact. I doubt if they’ve had time to establish any kind of reliable identification, so that might help. They’ll be operating on a cash basis in a credit card economy.”

I could hear his pen scratching as he wrote it all down. “Another thing... one had a .38, the other guy packed a .22 on a nickel-plated heavy frame.”

The writing stopped a moment. Then he said, “Arnold Bell.”

“A Belgian national.”

“Dog, you know what kind of a man this is, don’t you?”

“I’ve heard the stories.”

“No one’s better. He works in close because he likes to do it that way. He has been the hit man on eleven important people. His only failure was an attempted assassination of General De Gaulle. He was almost caught then. Almost. So far he has been apprehended for nothing. Dog... they must want you very badly.”

“Why would he use a backup man?”

“Most likely because he is unfamiliar with the country. Like you say... the brown shoes?”

“Looks like they both need a refresher course,” I said.

“When will you be calling in?” he asked me.

“Tomorrow.”

“That isn’t much time.”

“Do what you can,” I said. “Incidentally, how did you explain the scrambler phone to the T-men?”

I could almost see him shrug. “A business necessity. The competition would most like to have the identity and whereabouts of our very select clientele.”

Leyland Hunter’s friends in the right places had made it easy for me. Both Bridey-the-Greek and Markham were released from the hospital at their own request and against the advice of the doctors. The only thing they forgot was that cops can be curious creatures of habit even in matters that don’t necessarily concern them. One detective had left word to be notified if there was any unorthodox departure. The clerk at the desk, who had a brother on the force, complied.

The cop’s name-was Sergeant Tobano.

He didn’t get in from a special assignment until a quarter past two, booked the two punks he had with him, then turned around when the uniformed desk man pointed to me at the bench in the back of the room. He was tired, unshaven, his clothes rumpled and he looked annoyed at the world.

His eyes had that universal flat look and he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I was wondering when I’d see you again.”

“Why?”

“One of those feelings.”

“Let’s go talk,” I said.

“There’s an office back here.”

I followed him through the gate and into a wood-paneled room that smelled of a century ago, waited until he had closed the door, then sat in the chair on the other side of the cluttered table facing him. “Let’s hear it,” he said.

I reached for a pencil, wrote a number down on a piece of scrap paper and pushed it over to him. “Make a call first.”

“What?” The word had a sharp, nasty tone to it.

“Just call. It’s a local number.”

Tobano didn’t do anything at first. He sat there watching me with those dark hawk eyes, imprinting me in his mind. Finally he reached for the phone. “If you’re another joker, your tail is in a sling.” He dialed the number, and when it answered his eyes went from the paper in front of him to me, narrowing slightly. He identified himself, then started to say he was interrogating a person named Dogeron Kelly. He didn’t get much further. He nodded absently twice, said okay and hung up. Then he called another number, ran a check on the first one and cradled the receiver. “You got some pretty important friends, Kelly.”

“It helps.”

“Right now I’ll let it go. Just keep in mind that I don’t give a shit who anybody is when they get out of line or interfere with my business. All you have coming is ten minutes’ worth of talking.”

“You kept a surveillance on those two guys who got clobbered in the garage toilet.”

“A normal precaution.”

“They ducked out.”

“And you want to know where.” He made it a flat statement.

“Right.”

“Why?”

“I could go to the trouble of running them down myself if you want.”

He ran it through his mind, knew it could be done and nodded. “The Greek’s in a rooming house on the West Side.” He scratched an address on the same paper I had given him and shoved it back. “Markham checked into the Ormin Hotel. They left at different times and each one took two different cabs getting to his pad. It didn’t work.”

“They weren’t charged with anything, were they?”

“You don’t book a guy for getting beaten up. They even paid the hospital bill.”

I pushed the chair back and stood up. “If you managed to snag prints from those two while they were unconscious, tell the boys in Washington to process them through some of the European departments.”

“I’ll do that.”

“You still covering that pair?”

“The message went to the right ears.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

Tobano’s face was thoughtful. “Why did they skip out of the hospital?”

“Maybe they were afraid of me,” I said.

Fifty years ago one of the steamship tycoons had willed his midtown East Side mansion to a young legal fraternity. What had at one time been a handy dormitory for impoverished legal beagles now was one of New York’s most exclusive private clubs occupied only by the mighty of the profession who constructed or destroyed empires.

I sat across a black walnut table from Leyland Hunter nursing my drink, picking out the faces I knew, aware of the acoustical quality of the room that totally muffled all but the loudest voices into a soft hum. “You live well,” I said.

Hunter gave me a little smile and shrugged. “Protective coloration. Besides, it intimidates the more reluctant clients. Care to order?”

I nodded and he touched the button that brought the waiter, ordered for both of us and picked up his drink. I said, “I hope the cops didn’t ruffle you any, Counselor.”

“They didn’t. Although I must say it’s been some time since I’ve had communication with them.”

“Want to know what happened?”

“Not particularly. You haven’t asked for advice yet. Do you intend to?”

“Nope.”

“Very well then. What else is on your mind?”

“The Mondo Beach property set?”

He sipped his drink gently, savoring the taste. “Completely. I expedited the deal and as you supposed, your cousins assumed the money came from the long lost relative. I suspect they intend renewing the friendship before long.”

I grinned at him and flipped a cigarette out of my pack. “They’re really hurting for cash then. I figured they would.” I lit the butt and blew the match out. “I don’t think that old boy would buy in anyway.”

His nod was a solemn one. “I rather doubt it. He died ten years ago. Out of curiosity I made some inquiries and only by sheer luck managed to find out about it. He was gold rich, all right, but blew it all on uranium exploration during the boom and went totally broke. He died in a mine cave-in trying for another lucky strike.”

“I guess he had his fun.”

“Probably, but what joyful pleasures are you contemplating?”

I took the check out of my pocket with the note of details stapled to the corner and handed it to him. “Buy me a house, Counselor. Then get a crew in to repair everything as it was in its original condition.”

He studied the note and the check, then looked over the rim of his glasses at me. “This isn’t to be in your name?”

“You see what I want.”

“Aren’t you a little too old to be playing games like this?”

“It isn’t a game, friend.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Sure. I never had a house. I like somebody else to enjoy the pleasure. Any complications?”

“No. I suppose I am to expedite this too?”

“From the size of that check,” I told him, “it’s pretty obvious.”

“Dogeron Kelly,” he laughed, “you are a pisser.”

“Terrible language from one of your stature.”

“Balls,” he said. “Now, is that all?”

“No.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Just a question now. Why haven’t Dennie and Al married?”

Hunter looked at me several seconds then finished his drink. “I was wondering when you were going to ask that.” The waiter came, put down our plates, and when he had left Hunter tasted his food, approved and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Several matches were arranged for both of them shortly after the war. I assume you remember how the family handled such things.”

“How could I forget?”

“Unfortunately, your female cousins made a botch of things with their errant behavior. Although the Barrins are mere upstarts, those doing the arranging were quite chagrined about the whole episode and let the matter drop right there.”

“That all?”

“Not quite. I have to go on hearsay now, but both Dennison and Alfred never seemed to pursue marriage as a career. Both preferred their position of heading the Barrin estate. At one time Dennie showed an interest in the Have-lock widow, but she married into an old chain-store family with all her wealth. Cousin Alfred squired several unattached, and, I might add, unlovely daughters of riches here and there, but nothing seemed to take. Those people with all their war profits didn’t buy Alfred’s type at all. I think they knew what he was after.”

“But nothing now?”

“Neither is of choice marriageable age at the moment, Dog. Financially, they aren’t the best risks, either.” His eyes had a strange glint to them. “I went over the books last week when we were in Linton. Your cousins have accepted several large and important contracts. On paper, everything looks quite sound, but the reports from the plant managers are pretty disturbing.” He paused a second and let it sink in. “Barrin isn’t going to be able to handle them unless they retool and they haven’t got the money for that.”

“Come on, Counselor, they can’t be that stupid.”

“Then the answer is obvious, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “They’re figuring on some sort of financing. But how?”

“That, my friend, is up their sleeve.”

“Any estimates on the retooling job?”

“Roughly several million.”

“How rough?”

“About fifteen million.”

“That’s pretty damn rough,” I said. “They’re not looking to start the job and then plead for an extension, are they?”

“Not with these contracts. No, they’re hoping for something.”

“Grand Sita up for sale?”

“Oh, they’d sell, but there are no buyers. Maybe in two years the picture will change, but they couldn’t wait that long. Those contracts will go into effect next month. They’ve already invested the Mondo Beach money in factory renovations, so they are definitely going ahead.”

“This ought to be good,” I told him.

“It’s going to be better. I’ve heard a rumor.”

“Oh?”

“Cross McMillan is ready to move in at the next board meeting. It’s scheduled a week before the contracts are formerly activated. Barrin Industries will come crashing down.”

The thought pulled my mouth apart and I said, “How about that?”

But Hunter didn’t grin back. He just sat there looking at me, then finally said, “That bastard streak in you sure shows. Eat your lunch.”

I had the cabbie drop Hunter off at his office, then head back down to the Flatiron Building. Al DeVecchio was still eating salami and slopping coffee from an oversize mug with one ear glued to a telephone. When he hung up he invited me to a snack, but I refused and sat in the empty rocker.

“You made the papers, kid,” he told me. “Both Madcap Merriman and Lagen have squibs about you. See it?”

“Nope.”

“Merriman’s description makes you out better than a movie star. A real sex symbol.”

“Good for her.”

“That Lagen’s a corker. He’s posing hypothetical questions... have you come back to take over the ailing Barrin Industries and all that.”

“Should be good for a rise in the stock price.”

“Not in today’s market.” He put his cup down and leaned back in his rocker. “What’s bugging you, Dog?”

I stared out the window toward uptown Manhattan. The haze was thick and the outline of the Empire State Building was barely discernible. “You have any mob contacts, Al?”

He stopped rocking, his eyes squinting at me. “What?”

“Rackets. Mob. Organized crime.”

“Look, because I’m Italian...”

“Don’t give me any ethnic crap, Al. You handled the bookkeeping on the Cudder Hotel chain. You set up Davewell Products and engineered all the business details for the Warton merger.”

He came halfway out of his chair. “How the hell did you know about that?”

“I do some homework too.”

He sat down slowly, the amazement on his face. “Some damn homework. Those were all clean deals or I never would have touched them.”

“How did you feel when you found out who was behind them?”

Al took another sip of his coffee and put it down with a grimace. “Shitty,” he said. “Old buddy, I’m giving you grudging respect, which is something coming from me. As for your first question, my mob contacts are nil and they stay nil. They offered me two more fat deals I told them to shove all the way and that ends it there.”

“Why did you get involved in the first place?”

“Easy, friend, real easy. They maneuvered through top-notch people I thought were clean and it wasn’t until a long time afterward that I found out I was putting dirty money into legitimate businesses. I even turned the information over to the feds, and right there it stopped. Graft can go into some pretty high places. Some of our elected or appointed officials have hot, sweaty palms.” He gave me another stare and shook his head. “Man...”

“How about the contacts?” I repeated.

“Forget it.” I waited for a good minute, then: “Why?”

“A consignment of heroin for delivery here was sidetracked in Marseilles. I want to know who the receiver was.”

“Dog, you are out of your fucking mind!”

“I’m not in the business if that’s what’s bothering you.”

Al got up, paced the room once, then stood there glaring down on me. “What the hell business are you in?”

“Trying to stay alive, for one.”

“Man, you’re nuts. You think I’m going to ask anybody questions like that? You think I’m going to stick my neck out that far? You think I’m going to get involved with narcotics?”

“Sure I do, Al. Why fight it?”

“Go frig yourself.”

I grinned at him, a big fat grin. “You can’t help yourself anymore. Now you got to know what it’s all about.”

He let his hands drop helplessly by his sides, then turned them palms up in despair. “Where the hell did I go wrong? I put money in the poorbox, I support my family, I belong to the right clubs...”

“Quit clowning,” I said. “Wait until you hear the facts.”

“Sure.”

“You’d better sit down.”

I didn’t tell him too much. There are times when it’s better to let them figure things out for themselves. Conscience and guilt complexes are factors that can throw a monkey wrench into anything and Al DeVecchio had more than enough of both. All I wanted from him was a probable lead on who was handling the big buys of heroin. There were other ways of finding out, but Al had an in and if he listened right even a hint could point in the right direction.

It took a while, but eventually he decided to go along because my ass was in a sling and for no other reason. I said, “How long do you think it will take?”

Al shrugged his shoulders. “The Davewell bunch wants me to do another audit. I was going to turn it down. Maybe I’ll start there.”

“When?”

“Tuesday. You care if I get somebody else in on this?”

“Use your own discretion.”

“If I did, I’d tell you to go piss up a stick. I never had any urge to go back into the gun business.”

“Just watch your step and you won’t.”

“I don’t want any bathtub treatments, either.”

My knuckles whitened when I squeezed my hands together, remembering what almost had happened. “That was before I smelled what was going on. Now I have Lee’s place locked off, a private security guard is on the floor and Lee knows enough to stay on his toes.”

“What about your other friends?”

“I’m the target. They know damn well I’ve never been connected with anyone on this side of the Atlantic. I’ll either be walking alone or ready to cover anything that happens.”

“You’d better have eyes in the back of your head then.”

“Don’t sweat it,” I said. “They may even get the picture that I’m out of the action all the way.”

“You know better than that.”

“It’s still a possibility.”

“Okay, have it your way. I still think I’m a nut for getting talked into this. At least you can keep the hell away from me for a while. If I learn anything, I’ll call that number or get you at the apartment.”

“Fine.”

“What are you planning on doing now?”

I smirked at him and got out of the rocker. “I got a date with a teenybopper named Sharon Cass who’s taking me to supper with Walt Gentry and her boss. Nothing like living big, old buddy.”

Al let out a few choice barracks words under his breath and didn’t even bother to say so long when I left.

Ordinarily, S. C. Cable could field any question with the nimble dexterity of the professional con man, but when Sharon threw the curve at him he was stopped cold and looked across the table at Walt Gentry in absolute amazement, groping for an answer. Walt just smiled his silly little smile that showed which side he was on and left the big tiger of Hollywood dangling.

Sharon wasn’t about to let it alone. “Well, why not?” she insisted. “It saves months of exploring for a practical location site, there’s power facilities, plenty of room, authentic period buildings and a cooperative management.” She probably had her fingers crossed under the table when she made the last statement, but I wasn’t worried a bit about it.

S.C. finally found his voice someplace under his mottled chin. “Are you mad, Sharon? We haven’t even got a working script yet. The budget isn’t...”

Sharon’s smile had a dagger in it. “You haven’t signed the contract with Walt yet, either. And since you expect me to put my virtue on the mattress for your gigantic production, the least you could do is humor me.”

“Humor you!”

“Exactly, or Walt cancels the deal. It’s as simple as that.”

Cable suppressed a choking cough and looked at Walt again. When he saw the affirmative nod he turned to me. “Are you the instigator of this... this...”

“Don’t look at me,” I told him. “I’m only going along with the idea. Frankly, it sounds pretty realistic... if you like realism... and I’m in a position to push for that management cooperation Sharon mentioned. I read the book and as far as the Barrin factory in Linton is concerned, that place has everything you need including the historical details. In fact, some of the truths about that place would goose your story up a little.”

“This is blackmail,” Cable said. “It’s illegal.”

“So is assigning women to perform an immoral act for profitable purposes,” Sharon purred.

“You’re fired,” S. C. Cable said.

“You’re hired,” Walt Gentry told her. “The project is now in your hands.”

Cable looked at me helplessly. “See how they trap you? Business ethics mean nothing. A deal is only words. You try...”

“Nobody called the deal off yet,” I reminded him. “Looks like your move now.”

“Shit,” Cable said, “so well look over the factory. So if it’s okay, why not? Any more problems?” He looked around and nobody said anything at all. “Can I hire this broad back? I can’t afford to let her go working for anybody else.”

“We’ll talk about my raise later,” Sharon said.

“Oh, boy. I’m broke before I start,” Cable moaned. “Now let’s eat while I still got an appetite.”

Under the table I gave Sharon’s hand a squeeze. My finger felt the funny little ring on hers. When she realized I was touching it she looked at me with a quiet smile and eased her hand away.

She had left the sleek business facade back at the restaurant. The hard maturity, the total awareness the city seems to nurture to a peak was gone now. The velvet claws that could bend the business giants with a single soft silken scratch were sheathed. She had unfastened a golden pin so that her hair could swirl around her face and had changed from the black chiffon into tight little short shorts and an even tighter halter that form-fitted into every crevice and curve of her body. The little girl was back, but the woman was still there and it made me uncomfortable to look at her.

There was that strange something about her. Purpose. Call it purpose. Then again, all females were dedicated to something or other. Sharon saw the way I was looking at her and smiled, a cute little feline smile that made me want to lay my hands on her and squeeze a little bit. But even little felines could bite back and I had just seen her nip two of them.

“What made you pull that off, kitten?”

She crossed the room and turned down the volume on the record player, then brought me my coffee. “I don’t know. Maybe I was just thinking... well, Linton was my home too. It might be nice to see something good happen there again.”

“What do you figure the rental for the site will be?”

Her shrug was a little wistful. “Not all that much, really. What I had in mind was some of the other locations. There are people who can use the money a lot more than the Barrin clan.”

“You’re a sentimental do-gooder,” I told her. “I thought you hated that place?”

“I guess I did. Seeing the beach and my old house... well, a little nostalgia set in. Did I do wrong?”

“How much do you figure the company will drop in the town?”

“They won’t budget less than five million. At least two will go directly into the economy of Linton for housing, subsistence, rentals and all the other details.”

I let out a little laugh. “Those cousins of mine are going to be obligated to take the deal if they want to retain their public-spirited image.”

“You think there’ll be any trouble?” she asked me.

“Trouble, but no difficulty. Not from them, kitten. If there’s any roadblocks they’ll come from another angle.”

“Cross McMillan?”

“That slob won’t cooperate with the Barrins to wipe his own tail,” I said.

Sharon refilled her coffee cup and smiled. “But he’ll cooperate with Walt.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Because the handsome young bachelor prince owns a big chunk of McMillan holdings and that cute little-boy smile of his holds a mouthful of tiger teeth. No, Cross won’t buck Walt, and Walt won’t buck me.”

“Nice,” I said.

“Or you, Dog. Walt thinks you’re a real cobra.”

“Oh?”

“I think you are too.” She put her coffee down and came over and sat beside me. “You’re a snake, my friend. You don’t hiss and you don’t rattle. I haven’t decided if you’re a constrictor or venomous. I’m wondering what it would cost me to find out.”

“Some one of these days you’re going to lay your virginity on the line and I’m going to pop it, kid.” I looked at her and let her see a face full of teeth. Getting played with by a slippery, beautiful blonde wasn’t my idea of fun when there wasn’t sand around to make up some friction.

“Keep talking, Dog.”

I handed her my cup and stood up. “Screw you, little girl, I’m not all that moral. I wish I knew your fiancé. I’d slam him on his ass and make him marry you just to take a walking land mine out of circulation. I heard you put down that lover boy... what’s his name?”

“Raul?”

“Yeah. Just don’t give me that garbage. Not again. You got a hot wet body, sugar. I like it. I shouldn’t but I do. No more skinny-dipping like Hunter and old Dubro and no more sacking it in cobwebby houses. I couldn’t take it.”

“Dog,” she said softly.

“What?”

“You love me?”

“Hell no.”

“You bastard.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

I grinned at her and slipped into my coat. “You love me, kid?”

“Certainly,” she said matter-of-factly.

“A terrible affliction I infect all the women with,” I said.

“You really are a bastard, Dog.” She smiled back at me, her teeth white and shiny.

“A cobra, remember?”