The Erection Set

IX

We met Leyland Hunter in the coffee shop of the inn, both of us looking a little silly like kids caught playing doctor behind the barn. He noticed, but outside a small smile, said nothing. When we finished eating, he said, “I understand you met another old acquaintance.”

“Cross McMillan. The CIA should have this town’s grapevine.”

“Not really. It just happens that he is negotiating for the Mondo Beach property. His lawyer has to deal with me. Mr. McMillan wants the situation expedited.”

“How does it stand, Counselor?”

“McMillan has first option to buy outside the family. It was put on the market last year by your cousins. It has rarely been used, the buildings are destroyed and pretty well depreciated and they don’t see any reason for keeping it.”

“In other words,” I said, “they need the money.” Hunter nodded. “Frankly, yes. They intend to put it into renovations in the factory.”

“It’s prime property, buddy. Why haven’t they sold for a year?”

“Guess.”

“Waiting for further development of the area,” I said.

“True. There have been rumors of a new highway and some of the bigger land speculators have been probing around.”

“Only there were no highway appropriations and the land boys are holding off.”

“And now Alf and Dennie are really in a bind. What’s the asking price?”

“One quarter of a million dollars.”

“Come on, Counselor, that’s a steal.”

The lawyer looked at me and shrugged. “For McMillan it is. He has the property boxed in right now. If he got that he’d have the nicest chunk of valuable property in the state.”

“How long before he picks up the option?”

“Another week.”

“He the only bidder?”

“Sure,” Hunter told me. “The way his land surrounds Mondo Beach nobody wants to be bothered with development. The really valuable acreage would be his for commercial development and he won’t sell. Right now the beach and the right-of-way belong to the Barrin estate. He wants it all.”

“Let’s screw him, Hunter boy.”

The lawyer’s eyes tightened a moment and he watched me carefully. I grinned and took out my brand-new checkbook, wrote in it and tore out the page. I handed it to him. “This ought to take care of sales, fees, taxes and insurance,” I said.

His forefinger ran up and down the edges of the check, then his eyes ran up to mine again. “Sometimes I can go along with a joke, Dog. Sometimes I can’t. Will you excuse me a moment?”

I nodded and he pushed back his chair and left.

Sharon was looking at me with an expression of puzzled humor, like she had heard a funny story she didn’t quite understand. “Where did he go?”

“To make a phone call,” I told her.

When Hunter came back he slipped into his chair with his mouth set in an odd grimace.

I said, “Well?”

“You astonish me, Mr. Kelly.”

“What happened to our pet names, Counselor?”

“Anyone who hands me a check for over a quarter million is automatically a ‘mister.’ ” He ran his fingers across his head with a nervous chuckle and stared at me again. “You are now sole owner of Mondo Beach, my young friend. You’ll have the papers shortly, the undying hatred of Cross McMillan and the everlasting animosity of the Barrins for having underrated you.”

“You bought the beach?” Sharon asked incredulously.

“He did,” Hunter informed her.

“Just like that?” She snapped her fingers to emphasize the point.

“Just like that,” Hunter repeated.

“But... why?”

I said, “They never let me play Robinson Crusoe before, kitten. Remember?” I squeezed her hand and my fingers played with the ring she wore. I glanced at the green mark on her skin and she pulled her hand away gently. “Counselor...”

“Yes?”

“Don’t bother mentioning who bought the place. Okay?”

“The deed will specify...”

I cut him off. “It’ll be a corporate setup. All in the family. I’m the sole stockholder. If there are any complaints you can bust the story, but sit on it if you can. Incidentally, what was the option price?”

“McMillan put down fifty thousand.”

“My cutie cousins are going to hate to give it back.”

“I wish I knew what this was all about,” Sharon said.

The lawyer let out another sigh. “So do I, my dear, so do I. Now, shall we go?”

Habit kept me sitting so I could see the side mirror on the limousine, and the white car that had dogged our trail since we left Linton was still there. It would lie back, then catch up whenever we ran a close traffic signal, and now it was three cars back, but staying to one side so it could keep us in sight.

I opened the sliding glass panel and tapped Willis on the shoulder. “How about pulling over at the next station for gas?”

“Oh, we have plenty, sir.”

“So fake it. I want to use the john.”

“Certainty, sir.”

A quarter mile up a flashy new service area beamed its neons at us and Willis pulled into the driveway and stopped beside the pump. The white car went by, slowing down, and rounded a turn out of sight. I jumped out, went inside to the pay phone, got the operator and gave her my number.

A voice I didn’t recognize said, “Yes?”

I recited the recognition sentence and said, “Did Chet pull that tail off me?”

“One moment, sir.” I heard him patch into another line, then Chet came on himself.

, “I thought you were going to cool it, Dog.”

“Cut the comedy, Chet. Am I being tailed?”

“Not by us.”

“Somebody’s on me.”

“Tough, kiddo. You expect anything else?”

I let out a hard laugh. “I’m not yelling for help, pal.”

“The best help you could get would be to be dead, then nobody could squeeze anything out of you. They got some pretty tricky gimmicks today to make a guy talk. I never should have voted down that hit.”

“Who are they, Chet?”

“My bet is they belong to The Turk. Three of them came in yesterday. We figured them for that new expansion operation in Jersey, but it could be anybody’s guess. We’re laying off them until they make a move.”

“The Turk ought to know better.”

“He carries a big grudge,” Chet said. “Anything else?”

“Nope. See you.”

“The hell you will,” he told me and hung up.

Hunter was busy with his paperwork and Sharon was sitting there with her head back and eyes closed when I got in the car. We eased back into traffic and a half mile down I saw the white car half backed into a driveway. It gave — us a hundred yard lead, then got behind us again. I felt my mouth pulling into a grin, then I leaned back beside Sharon and took her hand. My fingers found the ring again and rubbed against the little stone. I held up her hand and looked at it. “That thing is going to poison you,” I said.

“I think it already has.”

“Why don’t you throw it away?”

She gave me an annoyed poke and took her hand back. “It has sentimental value.”

“Worth the poisoning?”

“I think so.”

Hunter shuffled his papers, his eyes smiling at us over the top of his glasses. “Must be nice to be young.”

“I wouldn’t know. Besides you had your chance with old Dubro and blew it.”

“I didn’t blow it.”

“Okay, horny. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Who’s old Dubro?” Sharon asked sleepily.

“Some dame he went skinny-dipping with when he still was a charger.”

“And what’s skinny-dipping?”

“Honey... bare-ass swimming is what it is. Like last night, remember?”

“He sleep with her too?”

“Mighty Hunter didn’t have the nerve,” I grinned. “Maybe she was lucky. Counselor here has got himself a reputation.”

I saw him flush and make a negative motion with his head, his eyes darting sidewise at Sharon.

“Can you imagine being married to that old doll, buddy?”

The stem grimace twisted into a grin. “Yes, I can. Maybe that’s why I’ve stayed happily unmarried.”

“Nothing like being wedded to a job, kid. Now you can screw a tort instead of a tart.”

Sharon’s elbow jabbed into my ribs and Hunter let out a grunt, then went back to his papers.

Behind us the white car had closed up until only a station wagon separated us. Ahead was the madman maze of concrete that led into the city of fun and when we stopped at the tollbooth it pulled into the adjoining aisle and I had a look at the driver and the guy alongside him.

The Turk was stupid. He should have used somebody else. Markham, who drove the car, was an on-the-toes shooter, but he was to damn direct. He laid everything on a moustache and goatee hiding the snap in his nose and Bridey-the-Greek who rode the jump seat beside him had the idea that all his kills had gone unnoticed. A little nothing of a guy who could be buried in a crowd of two thought he was still one of the grand gang of anonymous killers. A first-class ice-pick man who could cripple or murder on order. It couldn’t be murder, or The Turk never would have sent Bridey-the-Greek along. I was to be an example. Markham would hold me under the gun and Bridey would do the job.

Right side paralyzed, Turk? Or maybe from the waist down? You want, I can make it so that only his head swivels around. He can’t even pee without somebody holds his dick and somebody else squeezes his bladder. Like that sex operation, a vase-something, you know? All the way it can go with one slice and not only babies don’t he get, but no fun either.

Shit. The Turk was laying on a twenty-five-grand job split two ways and all I could think about was why my price went down. Last year Kurt Schmidt had me on open season for a half million. The two Frenchmen tried me and after that he had no takers at all. Marco could have had me in the pub outside of London, if he had really gone for it, but what good is a half million if you’re dead? I had the .45 in my hand under the table and the sound of that hammer going back was like the crack of thunder, even if the girls didn’t hear it. But he heard it. He smiled a little bit, kissed Lisa’s hand without taking his eyes off mine and told all the others that I couldn’t be made unless it was in the back.

But The Turk was no Kurt Schmidt. He couldn’t get over his kid days of haggling for fake rugs with the tourists and would try for a fistful of cheapies before he went the big route. Or he got scared out of the marketplace.

Leyland Hunter rattled his papers back into their folders and stuffed them into his briefcase. He popped open the bar, poured himself a short brandy and downed it. “That one was for you, Dog.”

“Thanks.”

“Help yourself if you want to.”

Sharon and I shook our heads. I said, “What’s next on the agenda, pal?”

The old lawyer gave me a wry look and folded his hands in his lap. “I am empowered to conduct an investigation into your moral character. Needless to say, after our, er, recent episode that is hardly necessary.”

I had to laugh. “Old buddy, a lawyer you may be, but a psych pro you’re not. The little laughing ladies you are referring to wouldn’t cop out for all the cash in the world. You’d have to admit your own participation in the group therapy and I can see the boys at the club giving you the heave-ho already.”

“You do have a point there, Doggie boy.”

“What are you two talking about?” Sharon demanded. She was giving each one of us funny looks, waiting for an answer. I spelled it out for her in a couple of succinct sentences and she glanced at me wide-eyed and started to giggle.

“Maybe I can help, Mr. Hunter. We slept together last night, all naked and warm playing tickle finger — all over until we fell asleep.”

“I would hardly enjoy involving you, my dear,” Hunter told her.

“It probably wouldn’t do any good anyway,” she said. “The big lunk refused to violate me. I could even have a doctor verify it.”

“And ruin his reputation?” Hunter smiled.

“Well, it could prove how high his moral standards are.”

“My cousins wouldn’t like that,” I said. “Why don’t I just give you an affidavit to the effect that I have been a little promiscuous at times?”

“Don’t make it easy for them. Besides, I’d rather enjoy the investigation. My reading matter has been rather dull lately.”

I grinned back and glanced at the mirror. The white car was still there, tucked behind two others. It squeezed through a yellow signal light, closed up some so we wouldn’t separate at the next traffic light and followed us up the avenue to the spire of Hunter’s office building.

Hunter said, “Can I drop you two somewhere?”

I glanced at Sharon. “Home for me,” she said. “I’m on East Fifty-fifth.”

“That puts me two blocks away, Counselor. We’ll go back in style.”

“Good. The garage is right in the same area. I won’t be needing the car again today.” He picked up his briefcase and checked the clasp. “Do you, er, have any specific plans, Dog?”

I squeezed Sharon’s hand. “I’m contemplating a few.”

He caught the action and smiled. “I mean in reference to your family.”

I nodded and shook a butt out of my pack. “Don’t sweat it, friend. I have three months to think about it.”

“And it’s a frightening thought. Are you sure it’s worth the now-paltry sum involved?”

I watched him, my lips tight across my teeth. “You bet your sweet ass it is,” I said.

We let him off in front of his building, went crosstown to First Avenue and turned north. For a minute I thought we had lost the white car in the tangle of traffic at the intersection, then I caught a flash of it crowding the opposite side of the one-way street and settled back against the cushions.

Things were going just right. I slid open the glass partition and told Willis we’d drop Sharon off first, but she bounced up with a hard negative and. said I was going to walk her back from the garage and things weren’t going so right after all. The time and the place to intercept the two goons in the white car had to be mine or I’d be hurting. I was betting they were being paid for a smash job, but if it was necessary a direct hit would be acceptable. For the first time I missed the comfortable feel of the iron that used to hang on my belt and the way the spring-loaded holster would throw it into my palm at the right touch. There were other ways to do things, but it was nice knowing the advantage of a standard Army .45 automatic with alternating rounds of armor piercing and lead nestling in the clip.

The garage was midway up the street and the driver nosed down the ramp into the bowels of the building above it, swept around the fender-scarred concrete columns with skilled ease and stopped. I hopped out in front of the ticket booth, gave Sharon a hand through the door and watched the car pull up to the open elevator at the far end. A Volkswagen came down next, scraped one of the pillars, then pulled into an open slot on one side evidently reserved for it. Then I looked around the curve and saw the white reflection of the next one in line and knew it was time.

I told Sharon I’d be right back, asked the guy behind the window of the ticket counter where the men’s room was and walked off in that direction.

The flat windshield of an older car made a good mirror. Bridey-the-Greek and Markham had left their car and were right behind me, Markham splitting up to take an angled course through the parked vehicles. I spotted them again in the plate glass of a framed ad for a Broadway show just before I turned the comer of the alcove that led to the toilet.

I had my belt off and wrapped around my hand, feeling that funny expression I always got cutting creases into my face. Maybe the slobs thought I had been away long enough to forget the tricks. Or that being out of the game would spook me. Hell, it was spicing up the day for me.

I pushed open the door and went inside. There were two urinal bowls and three unoccupied toilet booths and I knew I had lucked in. I picked the one to the right, took my shoes off, placed them so anybody looking down would figure I was squatting there nice and helpless on the pot. I closed the door, locked it, hopped over the top and got behind the entrance door and waited for Markham.

He came in right on schedule with a snub-nosed .38 in his hand, saw the single closed toilet door and my shoes in position and walked right past where I was behind the opened door and never even looked when it snicked shut. He never heard me come up behind him in my stocking feet and was just raising his foot to kick the toilet door when I smashed him in the skull behind his ear and sent him splintering through the wooden partition so hard his knees broke the seat right off the bowl. Before he could yell I had his head in my hands, slamming his face against the two-inch dirty ceramic and his teeth broke like dry matzos in a splatter of blood that speckled the stagnant water like obscene curds.

Markham was totally unconscious and never felt what happened to him. He never heard me break the bones in both his hands and never even moaned when I cupped my palms and clapped his eardrums into split pieces of delicate flesh. But in a few hours and for a month later he’d be one hellish piece of agony and his days of usefulness to The Turk would be over.

I picked up his gun and put on my shoes.

Outside the door Bridey-the-Greek would have heard the noises and be anticipating the finish. It was a pleasure to oblige him. All I did was open the door and say, “Come on,” and by the time he realized it wasn’t Markham’s voice he was already inside looking up at me with eyes gone suddenly wide with fear.

He tried one lunge with the ice pick and I broke his wrist with the barrel of the .38 then laid it across the side of his head before he could let out a scream. He went down in a heap like dropping an old laundry bag, the pick rolling from his fingers. It was a nice new sliver of steel, that pick. You could buy them in any dime store and when you loosened the handle and sunk it into somebody you pulled back all your fingerprints and only left pain and slow death behind. Voorhies and Brown had gone that way. Bridey had given it to Bud Healey in the spine and Bud had been a paralytic from the waist down ever since, vegetating in that cottage outside of Brussels.

So I broke every finger on Bridey’s hands too, then stitched him up the side of each cheek so he’d never be invisible in a crowd again. I opened his belt, pulled his pants and shorts down and waited the two minutes until he started to wake up, holding the point of the pick right over the two goodie sacs, and just as a groan wheezed through his lips and his eyes opened and rolled toward mine I drove the ice pick through those lumps of tissue into the rubber-tiled floor and the frenzied yell of horror he started never got past the sharp hiss of his sucked-in breath before he fainted.

The next person to go in that bathroom would do more than relieve his bladder or bowels.

Sharon watched me walk toward her, her face expressionless. Then she frowned momentarily and teased her lower lip with her teeth. I took her arm and walked up the ramp to the street. Her apartment was only five minutes away and she didn’t speak until we turned at her comer.

Then she said, “There’s blood all over your shirt.”

“I’m a messy dresser.”

“Two men followed you in there.”

I nodded.

“They didn’t come out.”

I nodded again.

“Did you know them?”

“Yes.”

We reached the canopy that strung out over the sidewalk in front of her building and stopped.

“They were in that white car that followed us all the way home, weren’t they?”

“How did you know that?”

“Because I was watching you. I saw them in the rearview mirror.”

“They were from another time, kitten. Forget it.”

“What did you do to them?”

“Jogged their memories a little so they’d either be more careful the next time or never do it again at all.”

“Which one will it be?” she asked me.

“I don’t think they’ll try to renew our old acquaintance, sugar.”

“Can you tell me why it happened?”

I lit a cigarette and stared down the street, “No.”

“I see.”

“Want to see me again?” I asked her,

There was something solemn in her face. Her eyes went to mine, looking deeply into each one Finally she said,

“Yes.”

I tilted her chin up and kissed her gently. “You’re going to be sorry.”

She nodded. “Yes, I know.”

“And don’t care?”

“No.”

Lee had left a note on the dresser that my suits had arrived from Weller-Fabray and were hanging in the closet. There had been a call from Al DeVecchio and I was to call back at my own convenience. A secretary from Dick Lagen’s office had called, but had left no message. He ended the note with an invitation to join him for supper at a new place called Oliver’s Lodge if I had the time.

Not that my old buddy wanted my company that much. He was chewing his nails to know what the gig was with Sharon. I tossed the note back on the dresser top and thought about Sharon again. Crazy broad. Professional virgin. I wondered what the action would be at the final second if I had taken up her offer of deflowering her. You might think you could avoid a knee in the balls, but them damn dames could bite too and even a small bite in the neck or shoulder could pretty well discourage the hardest ardor. Crazy, but nice. Like having a lion cub. Soft, cuddly and fun, but watch it when they grow up.

I walked to the closet and took a look at my new threads. I had forgotten to tell them to take in the extra fullness that usually covered the outline of a rod, now I was glad I hadn’t. Times and conditions weren’t getting any better. If anything, they were worse and promising to get even more tangled.

The note from Betterton and Strauss in London was coded on W-F stationery, a seemingly innocuous letter thanking me for my patronage and suggesting certain other additions to my wardrobe. What it really meant was that Garfield and Greco the Spaniard had gone headfirst into the last trap I had set for them and were completely out of the action now. Simon Corner who operated out of a book-shop in London’s Soho district was trying to take advantage of my absence, but was moving cautiously until he knew which way the wind was blowing.

Things were working out nicely, I thought. When nobody knew anything they suspected everything. In those circles, no news was bad news. It represented superefficiency. Right now they’d be counting noses every day to see who was missing or who was sweating too hard. Waiting for the ax to fall was the hardest part of the game.

I climbed out of my clothes, showered and shaved, put on my new outfit and dialed Al’s number. When he answered I said, “Hi, paisan.”

“You’ve been getting around, soldier. That damn number of yours never answers.”

“You know how it is.”

“How are American broads shaping up?”

“Not bad. They have a few raunchy ideas, but this women’s lib bit doesn’t seem to affect most of them. What’s up?”

“A few pieces of information. You’re still my client.”

“Shoot.”

“You familiar with Farnsworth Aviation?” Al asked me.

“Didn’t they just relocate somewhere out in the desert? There was something in the paper about that.”

“Correct. They were major pollutants in the Los Angeles area and the ecology groups came down on their necks. Trouble is, their product is essential to the government and they made some kind of a deal.”

“Pity the poor Indians.”

“No redskins where they are. Anyway, they have a little gadget they want to subcontract to Barrin Industries. It seems that they have the only facilities to handle the job immediately.”

“Nice. Where did you pick up this tidbit?”

“Casual conversation with an old friend who works for Farnsworth. There’s a catch to it though.”

“Oh?”

“Barrin will have to do some revamping. It’s going to cost more than they can afford if my information is correct.”

“How much more?”

“Roughly, two million. So don’t be surprised to see something go on the block.”

“What have they got outside the physical properties of the corporation?”

“A few patents, pal. It seems like some of the old technicians were ahead of their time. If it weren’t for a couple of cagy codgers who had lifetime contracts with your grandfather, they would still be in the vaults. Anyway, they’ll be losing one hell of a potential if they let them go.”

“Those cousins of mine are bird-in-the-hand types,” I said. “They’ll sell.”

“Yeah. Do you know they sold Mondo Beach?”

“Sure. I bought it.”

There was silence for a few seconds, then: “How much?”

“Two fifty G’s.”

Al said, “Uh-huh,” and the tone meant he was wrapping up all the pieces into a rubber body bag so the sight or smell wouldn’t make anybody sick.

I deliberately let him hear my soft chuckle. “Clean, you computer-head,” I told him. “I earned it and I got it. Plenty more, too.”

“Dog,” he said quietly, “you were never smart enough to grab that kind of cash.”

“Let’s say there are some people more stupid than I am then.”

“What kind of people?”

“There are all kinds of stupid people.”

“Yes.” His tone was far away again and I could see him toying with a beer can, reading the fine print on the label. “There’s another thing. Cross McMillan is setting up for a proxy fight. Most of the old stockholders are dead and their heirs hold the shares. They don’t feel any old-line loyalty, so the company’s just liable to change hands in the management department. That wouldn’t be so bad, but McMillan is strictly a raider. He’ll take Barrin Industries apart block by block, pocket the proceeds and thumb his nose at the stockholders.”

“He ever make an offer to buy?”

“I understand he did some years ago but was turned down flat. Now he’ll get it without paying for it.”

“Maybe, Al.”

“He’s head of one of the biggest conglomerates already. But he hasn’t got Barrin and that’s the one he wants most. It’s the one he’ll fight hardest to get, too,” AI reminded me.

Too bad Al couldn’t see me grinning. “He wanted Mondo Beach.”

“I know. Guys like McMillan don’t like to be undercut in anything. Now he’ll be mad as hell.”

“And whom the gods would destroy,” I quoted, “they first make mad.”

“I wish I knew you better,” Al told me.

“So do I,” I said, and hung up.

I waited a few seconds with my finger on the cutoff button, then let it up and dialed Leyland Hunter. The old man said, “And how are you going to brighten the rest of the day, Mr. Kelly? You couldn’t have caused panic in the few hours since I’ve seen you.”

“Strictly business, Counselor. On the Mondo Beach property... there’s a company called Ave Higgings, Incorporated. I’m the sole owner. It doesn’t do anything, but it’s in existence.”

“Right-o.”

“My grandfather had a second cousin a lot younger than him who wound up being a recluse in Canada. Word had it that he was gold-wealthy, but nobody knew for sure. At least he used to send some pretty damn expensive presents out. He even sent old — Cameron a racehorse once. Now, if it isn’t against your principles to lie a little, just mention the money was a certified check, the letter postmarked from Canada and Cousins Alf and Dennie will do the rest. They’ll remember the old relative and think he’s just coming through with a helping hand like he did a couple of times before when old Cameron was in a spot.”

“Lying isn’t one of my foremost capabilities. I do represent Barrin interests, you know.”

“You’re doing your job, buddy. They put the beach up for sale, set the price, now the terms of the will are being fulfilled... first crack at the property goes to a family member. If it soothes your conscience any, tell the slobs who’s buying. If they need the money they’ll have to sell anyway.”

“Why not tell them?”

“Let’s save it for a surprise. That way McMillan will be squirming too. He’ll be all shook to know there’s money hidden on one of the relatives. Just consign the property to Ave Higgins, Inc. and I’ll get all the papers in your hands within two days. Can do?”

“You’re more fun than defending on a rape case. Yes, can do if I compromise my principles a little. By the way, who handles all your business affairs?”

“From now on you do, great Hunter. Look for a big package in the mail.”

When he said “so long” I called Western Union, sent the wire that would get his big package delivered into his hands, made one last call to Dick Lagen’s office whose secretary told me he was out at the moment, but could be reached in an hour, then left for the two-room office in the dilapidated building across town where a stringy guy in a greasy leather apron was very happy to sell me a clean .45 automatic, belt holster, a pair of extra clips and two boxes of standard Army cap and ball ammo. I checked out the action of the piece, loaded the clips, slammed one into the gun and jacked a shell into the chamber with the hammer on half cock. The stringy guy pocketed my money, nodded once and went back to his bench and began filing down the sear on a dissembled foreign weapon.

Outside there was a muted kettledrum roll of thunder and I knew it was going to rain again. I was glad I had brought my trench coat.