The Erection Set

XIX

S. C. Cable moved his company into Linton with all the fanfare my buddy Lee Shay and a top publicity outfit could muster. The caravan was quartered at two motels with offices in the old hotel uptown and the production crews getting the sites ready for filming. Somehow there seemed to be an aura of prosperity hanging over the town and everyone moved a little quicker and a little happier.

McMillan was playing his cards right too, making the front pages of the local paper with photos of himself, Walt Gentry and S. C. Cable, the story recounting his association with Walt in other ventures, and to the casual reader the whole deal looked like his idea to start with. It was going to make a big impression on the stockholders when the meeting took place and if there were any swing votes left, they’d damn well go to his side. Old Cross was a real cutie, all right. Funny thing was, I was beginning to like him. Good enemies were hard to come by. When he wanted something he’d go all out to get it.

The sun was starting to set in the west and I climbed up to the widow’s walk that jutted up from the roof, lay down on the weathered boards and scanned the beach area with my binoculars. A few birds were still charging at the surf, pecking furiously into the wet sand for late tidbits and the tall grass rippled under the pressure of the breeze. A quarter mile away a large stray dog sniffed among the dunes, but outside of that, the beach was empty. A pair of fishing boats cruised by, outriggers up, heading for home. The lone sportsman in the second one was stretched out on the deck enjoying the late sun. He’s lucky, I thought. Not a damn thing to think about except who was going to clean his fish.

I put the glasses back in the case, went downstairs and got into my car. It was getting to be about that time.

The few that were left were older now, wearing their regal armor of corsets and tiaras with a posture two generations old, beat-up old biddies with their aging consorts and subservient relations in strict attendance somehow dominating the ballroom of the hotel.

Rose said, “They belong to you?”

I grinned at her and shook my head. “That’s another end of the Barrin chain. The ones who made sound investments and held onto their dough.”

“Society, huh?”

“High, kiddo. Real high.”

“Your cousins are stupid. Look at them kissing hands.”

“They’ll kiss more than that to stay in good with the family. Those old dolls pull a lot of weight.”

“Which one am I supposed to go after?”

“Alfie. The one with the snake face.”

“If what you think is true...”

“It won’t go that far. I’m just hoping you’re as good an actress as you say you are.”

“When it comes to johns, I’m the best.” She looked at me over her champagne glass, one eyebrow cocked. “And if I pull this off I get a part in the picture?”

“Uh-huh. Guaranteed.”

“You sure Lee knows about this?”

“Up to a point. He’s shaky enough without giving him all the details.”

“Suppose I have to ball him?”

I laughed at her then. “You’re profession sort of calls for that sort of thing, doesn’t it?”

“So I want a bigger part.”

“Okay, another page of script.”

Her laugh tinkled out and she dipped her tongue in the champagne. “Only kidding, Dog. I’ll take care of my end.” She glanced over to where Alfred was hanging over the oldest aunt in the family, studying him carefully. “You know, if you’re right, he won’t be capable of balling anyway. I’ve seen those types before. They take out their inabilities in other ways. I still have a few scars to show for it.”

“Then you’ll know when to cut out.”

“You have the room all set?”

I handed her the key and she dropped it into the tiny purse she carried. “Exactly as I diagrammed it. Everything is preset, available light is all you need, the activators are in four selected positions and if things get touchy, you bust out through the closet in the bathroom to-the next suite. Extra clothes are there if you have to run bare-assed.”

“Money sure can buy everything, can’t it?”

“Not everything,” I said.

“How do I look?”

“Like you took off ten years someplace. How’d you do it?”

“Cosmetic science, a clear conscience and a happy mind.”

“Kid, you can sure rationalize.”

“A girl in my position has to. I don’t want to be a whore all my life.”

“Then marry Lee.”

“I’m thinking about it. He’s asked me twice in the last three days.”

“Why didn’t you take him up on it?”

“Because I’m not too sure he won’t have regrets about my past. Most men want to start out with a fresh one.”

“Not Lee, baby. He wants to ride a mount already broken to the saddle. He means what he says.”

“You sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

After a few moments she smiled and nodded, her lips pursed in thought. “Okay, I’m convinced.”

“Then get to work.”

“Roger, boss man.”

Leyland Hunter waited until she left, then walked over to me. “You’re taking a big chance.”

“Not really,” I said. “One of my guys will be standing by if things get rough.” I stayed in the corner out of sight scanning the faces of the crowd. Another bunch had come in through the main entrance and were shaking hands all around. In the center of the group, Cross McMillan had Sharon on his arm and Walt Gentry escorted Sheila. S. C. Cable was a smiling producer with a bundle of white fox with hair to match holding his hand. His new leading lady was strictly from England via old-style Hollywood.

I said, “Take care of things, mighty Hunter.”

“Yes, I suppose I had better pay my respects to the rest of the tribe. For old times’ sake, of course.”

“Naturally. Be sure to line up their proxies.”

“I’m afraid there won’t be that much among them to help. They’ll commit to your cousins out of family loyalty, but their shares are nominal. Am I going to be able to reach you if necessary?”

“Let me call you, Counselor. I don’t want you exposed to my presence any more than necessary.”

He gave me one of his courtroom glares, nodded and walked off, picking his way through the chattering crowd of minor celebrities and local big wheels.

A lone waiter spotted me in the dim corner, cut around the piano and held out a full tray of bubbling champagne. “Drink, sir?”

“No thanks.”

“Very good, sir.” He started to swing around when the nameplate on his jacket hit me like a short hard jab.

I said softly, “Ferris.”

He kept on walking.

“Ferris!”

“Sir?”

I tapped his plastic nameplate.

He glanced down, then smiled and shook his head. “Oh... I’m sorry, sir. No, I’m not Ferris. I’m Daly, John Daly. Apparently the jackets they fitted us with got mixed up. You see, we were only hired for the night. Ferris must be here someplace wearing my name tag.”

“Who did the hiring?”

“There was an ad in the paper two days ago. We simply answered it.”

“All local help?”

“Well, I do know most everyone who applied. A few were strangers to me. If I see the one with my tag shall I send him over?”

“No, I’ll find him. And thanks.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Contact made. But from which side? Ferris 655 had run me down and found a way to reach me. It had to be an alternate route because he couldn’t have been sure I’d be here, but it was a.cute arrangement and deliberate as hell. I knew there wouldn’t be any Daly nameplate circulating end spotting the one with Ferris meant that I was either tagged or supposed to get thinking. But what would any other alternates be?

Ferris 655. The seed in my mind that had germinated into a stalk that bore leaves now began to sprout a blossom that would erupt into fruit. Ferris. Ferris. It was something from a long time ago. Something obscure, but supposed to be remembered.

I went out the side door cf the ballroom, took the back corridor that led to the parking lot, let my eyes get adjusted to the darkness and picked my way between the cars to the street ramp. Traffic seemed normal enough and the few pedestrians on the sidewalk didn’t pay any attention to me at all. I stayed in the shadows, found my car two blocks away, checked out the one parked in front of me, then got behind the wheel and sat there looking up at the stars. Ferris, I thought.

Hell, I had been concentrating too long on the name. I had damn near ignored the numbers, and now I had half of the cryptic message right in front of me.

Twenty-three years ago, 655 was a post office box number and a picture postcard to that address was an alert signal that a shipment of contraband was ready for a drop and I had to designate the time and place through old Mel Tarbok. But Mel had been dead for fifteen years now and that post office box had long been discarded.

Which left Ferris and I didn’t have the slightest idea who or what Ferris was.

I turned the key and let the engine idle a minute, then pulled out into traffic behind a bakery truck. I turned left at the next intersection when I saw the car behind me finally flip on its lights and when it slowed for the next turn it was still behind me. When it turned I was already parked and waiting in a doorway with the .45 in my hand. The lights from the window threw a good, solid glow across the roadway and lit up the faces inside the sedan. A pair of teen-agers were laughing and one was taking a pull from a can of beer. They cruised right on past and farther down the street one leaned out the window to whistle at a lone girl walking by.

I put the gun away and got back in my car. I was getting spooked again and almost got annoyed at myself until I remembered that getting spooked easily had saved my neck more than once. This time I made sure nobody was behind me and I picked up the old Stillman road that headed out into the country hoping I could remember Tod’s directions.

Curiosity had made me look over the old bawdy house that was falling apart, then led me into making an inquiry at a real estate place. The old man told me the place had never been put up for sale as far as he knew and Tod had confirmed it. Over the phone he had told me, “Hell, Dog, Lucy Longstreet never did go far. She and that colored maid moved out on a little farm where the old way station was when the buses first started.coming through. Still there as far as I know. Saw them about a year ago, playing Scrabble on the porch. Doesn’t want nothing to do with nobody, though.”

And now she was still there playing Scrabble on the porch with Beth, the colored towel girl, both of them old and tired with screechy voices, armed with huge, dog-eared dictionaries. Years had taken the fat off Lucy, leaving the flesh dripping in folds from her arms and chin, but her hair was still the same off-color red that didn’t belong there at all and the diamonds still glinted on her fingers, only this time the pudginess wasn’t there to hold them on and the jewels hung on the underside of her hand.

It was Bath, aged but timeless, who recognized me and simply said, “My, oh my, look who’s here, Miss Lucy.”

Madam Longstreet had a mind that could dip back, bend and reform like a steel spring and after a five-second inspection she closed her dictionary and nodded. “Cameron’s bastard grandson with the idiot name.”

“You made me, Lucy,” I said.

“Been reading about you too.” She pointed to a chair. “Have a seat. Beth, go make us all a drink.” I tossed my hat on the table and slid into an overstuffed wing-back. “Good to see you, kid,” she told me.

“You haven’t changed much.”

“Who you kidding, sonny? Take a good look.”

“I was talking about your attitude.”

Beth came in with a bottle and three glasses on a polished silver tray. I remembered that being passed around her old parlor. Beth poured out the drinks over ice, added some ginger ale and went back to her dictionary. “Don’t mind me,” Lucy said, and spilled down her drink in one long pull. “Very seldom get a chance to have one anymore.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have retired.”

“Hell, the amateurs get all the action these days. Nobody can run a decent operation anymore.” She pulled a long cigar out of her pocket, stuck it in her mouth and held a lighter to it.

“At least you could have bitten the end off of it,” I said.

“I ain’t no woman’s lib type, sonny.”

“You never were.”

She sat back puffing on the stogie, her legs crossed, then let a smile flash at me. “Got the word you might look me up.”

“Who’s that smart?”

“Cop named Bennie Sachs. Aren’t many people who know I’m alive, but he had some funny ideas about you and passed the word.”

“About what?”

“Something about those cousins of yours.”

I shrugged my shoulders and tasted my drink. It was a real powerhouse. “Why bother if you’re out of circulation? This could be a visit for old times’ sake.”

“Pig poopie, sonny. I have a telephone, an ear for gossip and a few select old pals I enjoy talking to. Beth there, she goes to town right regular and picks up things from other quarters. Whether you know it or not, the old clearing house of information is still in operation. Now, what’s on your mind?”

“An angle on Cousin Dennison.”

“How about Alfred?”

“I got that one from Sachs.”

“My money says it’s true.”

“A real bet?”

“Down the line,” she told me. “One of the girls was the daughter of a kid who used to work for me. And that’s as far as I go, sonny.”

“Then give me Alfred.”

She made three smoke rings, then blew them apart. “He plays, all right. Nice and quietly, but he plays You know how many gays are running around you never know about?”

I nodded.

“You won’t catch him at it,” she said.

“I don’t have to,” I said “All I have to do is know.”

“Now you know.”

“But I could push him into it. You’d be surprised at the people I know who would be glad to cooperate or else get twisted a little.”

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised at all, sonny.”

“Should I?”

“Why bother. You’d do better concentrating on the other one.”

“How bad is he, Lucy?”

“Dangerous, sonny.” She took another drag on the cigar and let the smoke curl out of her nose. “He’ll kill the next one.”

I felt my hands tighten up around the arms of the chair and swore silently. She must have seen what was in my face and the cigar came out of her mouth. “You got him set up already?”

“Yes.”

“Be careful, sonny. Be damned careful.”

“I try.”

Lucy yelled for Beth to refill her glass and when she had it poured she sat back contentedly and flicked the inch-long ash from her cigar onto the floor. “An old friend came to see me awhile back.”

I looked at her, waiting.

“Stanley Cramer. Seems like you’re digging around a lot of dried-up garbage heaps these days.”

“Just picking up the pieces of the past.”

“Asking a lot of oddball questions too.”

“So?”

“Nobody else ever bothered,” she said. “You got Stan all primed up and he wanted to know where you stand.”

“Outside the back door is where,” I told her. “They don’t let the family bastards at the dining table.”

“Quit feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Come on, Lucy.”

“No shit, sonny, don’t let it reach you.” She gave me a sudden smile and did the same thing with her drink as she did with the first one and put the glass down with a sigh.

“Those old boys who used to be with old Cameron were a pretty terrific lot.”

“They made the business,” I said.

Something far away touched her eyes. “They could have made it even bigger.”

“How?”

She threw her hands open with an impatient gesture.

“Oh, hell, I guess I’m getting old myself.”

“You’d never know it.”

“Ho, I’m living on memories. I go back too damn far. I’ve listened to too many stories and held too many heads on my lap while I stroked their foreheads. Good fun, though, and I’m not complaining, but sometimes I wonder if the things they told me were real or just pipe dreams. The old days were better.” She looked back at me again, her face serious. “Stan and the boys are your friends. Look out for them.”

“Sure, Lucy.”

“There are a lot of strange faces in town. Your name has been coming up here and there. The ones who ask about you speak with forked tongues, sonny. If I were you I wouldn’t stay in any one place too long. Even here. I’ll listen around and if I hear anything I’ll pass it on. Don’t worry, I know where to reach you.”

I got up and grabbed my hat. “Good to see you again, Lucy.”

“Anytime.” She put her cigar down and pushed herself out of the chair to walk me to the door. “Incidentally. what’s this stuff with you and the Cass kid?”

“Just friends. Where’d you pick that up?”

“I read the columns. Heard about you two being in Tod’s together. Doesn’t sound like friendship to me.”

“You’re a nosy old biddy.”

“Always was.”

“Had her down on the beach too, didn’t you?”

“Bennie Sachs again?”

“Nobody takes a friend on the beach like you did unless you were pretty good friends.”

“She’s engaged, Lucy.”

“Yeah, I know the guy.”

I stopped in the doorway and turned around. “Who is he, Lucy?”

She looked at me, her eyes bland, then shook her head.

“You wouldn’t know him.” She reached out and caught my wrist. “Go easy on the kid. She’s okay. I knew her old man real well. Beth there midwifed her birthing.”

“She won’t get hurt.”

“I don’t know. You’re just like your old man. And your grandfather. Sometimes they got a little out of line too.”

I patted her shoulder. “Sure. Take care, Lucy.”

“You don’t see me with any brats around,” she answered. “I always took care.”

I was running out of choices. I couldn’t stay in the corners anymore or let the shadows keep me covered. Ferris was going to have to make contact and I’d have to stay available, And if I was available for Ferris I was available for Arnold Bell.

Hell, I tried to stay out of it. I had left myself wide open so everybody would know I had cut out, but the game had its own rules and they didn’t want you to cut out unless you did it on a slab in the morgue. Only then could they be sure. Time and distance didn’t mean a damn thing. They were always those gnawing suspicions that you were just sitting by, waiting to pounce and start all over again.

Okay, I was back in the running again, all the way. It was hare and hound, but the rabbit had sneaked out in front and now the hounds ere baying at its heels, but this rabbit was jungle bred and had fucking big teeth and fucking long claws with a tiger for its father and a lion on its mother’s side and the end of the canyon was coming up where the rabbit had to turn and let loose with all the armament and screw the odds. You died once... that was it... time’s up, Charlie, and hope you had a nice life. Up your ass, Mac, just make sure I’m dead, that’s all.

The party had thinned out and separated into tight little groups making their own points with champagne perfection. A tired orchestra played to a half-dozen couples rubbing pelvises on the small floor. Walt Gentry was smiling at the blonde leading lady who had left her white fox somewhere and was holding him off in a dance designed to give him a full view of her chest that was barely encased in swath of see-through chiffon. His demeanor was one of total satisfaction, like the deal had been made hours ago.

Cousin Dennison was hovering over Leyland Hunter who was-drawing up some kind of a document, with Cross McMillan gloating beside them, and S. C. Cable was busy talking to Sharon. She was taking notes, consulting the two elderly gentlemen alongside who were apparently quite happy with everything. One owned a whole tract of downtown property and the other was the mayor of Linton.

I didn’t see Rose and I didn’t see Alfred.

Nobody had seen a waiter with a Daly nameplate, either.

Over in the Comer Sheila McMillan was holding a glass of champagne in either hand and when she saw me standing by myself beside the piano she put the glasses down and walked around the edge of the crowd to my little nook and said, “Take me out of here, Dog.”

One of the waiters brought her jacket and we walked back through the kitchen to the side entrance I had used before. She was weaving a little bit and her face had a peculiar set to it. “Why this way?” she asked me.

“People talk,” I said.

“I don’t care about people anymore.”

At the door I flipped the overhead light out and she leaned against me for a moment breathing the cool air. “Want to walk?”

“Yes. I need it.”

The parking area was half empty, but I never did like rows of quiet cars and took the path to the right that led behind a row of bushes and cut into the main entrance. Under the light at the door Bennie Sachs was talking to another uniformed cop and I didn’t like that either, so I led her across the grass and angled toward the comer of lawn to the street and stood in the darkness of the trees a minutes to look around.

“You’re waiting for somebody,” Sheila said.

“Not really.”

“Somebody’s out there.”

“Everybody’s out there, kitten.”

I felt the shiver run through her and held her hand. “Get me away from everybody, Dog.”

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“No, not home. I took a room at the hotel for the night. Cross is going back to New York and I didn’t want to stay in the big house alone. I’m tired of being alone.”

“What’s bugging you, kid?”

“Nothing. Please, just take me to the hotel.”

So we walked to the car, listening to the night sounds, my ears trying to pick up anything that didn’t belong to the night alone. I got her inside, went around the car and shoved the key in the lock. She shivered again and stared straight ahead. “Trouble?” I asked her.

“Why do people do things to people?”

“Beats me, sugar.” Inadvertently, I put my hand on her thigh and although it was only a quick touch I felt her contract in a spasm of emotional anguish that only stopped when I had both hands on the wheel.

The inn was a two-storied affair with a semicircular drive that cut in front of the main entrance, with a cut-off drive for deliveries that circled the building. Just to be sure, I went around the back and stopped when the taxi drove up to the front to unload a foursome.

The taxi driver took his money and drove off and I shoved the car into gear and that was when they jumped me.

Their only trouble was that I had seen them coming and shot one right through the middle of his forehead and left him standing there with only a mangled mess from his eyes up until he hit the ground and ran over the other one with both wheels, then backed up over him with the same two wheels in a sound like running over a wooden bushel basket.

I was out and rolling when I spotted the third one coming in fast to see what the hell had happened and just as he saw the tangled heaps on the ground I broke his arm with one smashing chop and his neck with the next.

All three of them had guns with full loads, two .38s and a 9 mm. P-38, all with the hammers back and ready to go, but they hadn’t been fast enough to use them. It only took a few seconds to go through their pockets. The one I had shot was unrecognizable and his name didn’t mean anything at all. The other one’s face was contorted in some exquisite agony, but I recognized him. Up close he didn’t look like a teen-ager at all, but he was the side man in the car that had followed me earlier. The guy with the broken neck had a very familiar name. He was one of the Guido brothers’ hit men, a backup on what was expected to be a sure kill.

When I looked up, Sheila’s face was framed in the window of my car, one eye looking at me through the hole the .45 had punched in the glass. She was smiling distantly and I could sense the waves of shock and terror that were sending signals through every nerve of her body. I got in the car and this time when I put my hand on her there was no response at all except a slight widening of her eyes that’ didn’t mean a thing.

They were all around me and there was no place to go except a beat-up old clapboard house on the ocean.

There was an oddity to her state of shock, as if she had been squeezed dry. She walked with a strange lightness, her smile an enigmatic Mona Lisa twisting of the lips with no desire to explain her attitude. She neither complained nor resisted, simply going where I directed her, across the sandy hillocks to the warped boardwalk and into the house, where she stood quietly until I pulled the blinds and lit the kerosene lamps.

“You all right?” I asked her.

She waited, turned her head slowly and one corner of her smile twitched. Her eyes were much too bright. I took her hand, led her to a chair and sat her down. “Wait here.”

In the kitchen I turned on the gas stove, set the kettle over the burner and while the water was getting hot, disassembled the .45. I fitted in a new barrel, took the old one and the ejected shell that had flipped onto the dashboard and buried them under the sand. When I was finished the water was boiling and I made us both a cup of coffee.

Sheila was still sitting where I had left her in exactly the same position. I didn’t like it a bit. For ten seconds I held the coffee cup out to her before there was a semblance of recognition, then she took it from my hand with a tiny nod and lifted it to her lips.

There wasn’t going to be any way of getting through to her for a while so I just sat there toying with the coffee, watching her face.

By now they should have found the bodies, I thought. Or perhaps not, too. Maybe that service drive wouldn’t see any use until the deliveries started tomorrow. I had fired the shot from inside a closed car on the dark side of the building and even waited a reasonable length of time before moving out. There had been no alarm, nobody around to investigate, so in all probability the sound of the blast hadn’t been heard at all. There hadn’t even been a yell from any of the punks who were mashed to pieces back there. Overconfidence had caught them asleep and all they knew was that last second of horror.

Tomorrow I’d have the window glass replaced and the tires changed on the rented car and I hoped it would give me the time I needed. There was still the problem of a witness who sat across from me in a stupor. Maybe she would talk, maybe she wouldn’t, but to let anybody see her as she was now was inviting immediate disaster. Right now Sheila McMillan’s mind was one huge mass of turmoil trying to bury itself in some deep, dark place and anything could trigger it in the wrong direction.

She had finished the coffee and I took the empty cup from her hand. “Come on, Sheila,” I said. My fingers went under her arm and she responded to the touch, rising slowly, clutching her pocketbook. I picked up a lamp and led her upstairs to the one bedroom I had fixed up. I put the lamp down and turned back the covers while she stood in the middle of the room staring at the wall. When I crossed her line of vision her eyes seemed to follow me vacantly and she was still smiling that faint smile.

She was easy to undress. I simply unzipped the back of her gown and let it fall to the floor. She didn’t have anything else on except her shoes. I took them off when I lifted her feet from the tangle of fabric around her ankles, then put my arm around her and made her sit on the edge of the bed. I pushed her back gently, took her legs and stretched them out, then brushed her hair away from her face.

She was beautiful, all right, soft skin nicely tanned that was white across her breasts and thighs, a body lushly mature with hidden sensuality in the mounds of her pink-tipped bosom and the tawny triangle of hair where her tapered legs met.

For the first time her eyes moved and the smile relaxed from its fixed position, her face watching me almost absently. I took the tips of my fingers and drew them slowly down her body, over the rise of her breasts, across the flatness of her belly through the soft vee of hair and in a wavy line down her legs. I gave her toes a little squeeze, pulled the covers up under her chin and patted her cheek.

“Poor kid,” I said softly.

The brightness in her eyes seemed to mist over, then the lids closed over them, her mouth softened and her chest rose in the regular rhythm of sleep.