The Devil's Only Friend (17 page)

There were three of us now. We couldn't match up in any way but bluster to the four musclemen who had worked me over. But I was always looking out, hoping to meet up with them again in the daylight. I wanted to know where they had come from, why they had almost killed me, why they had let me live. Any idiot could have seen I knew nothing of value. I wanted to put my face close to the Hardiman boys, to see if they'd flinch, if they knew all of what happened to their father, if they knew what kind of man he really was. More and more, I was driven by thoughts of my father, and I wanted to see how Whit Lloyd could possibly walk straight with the Old Man towering over him. I wanted to know, just for the sake of knowing, who had taken Walker's sister and Miss Avis Davis apart.

It was after eleven when we rolled up to the Lloyd plant. I had Federle circle around the place, trying to get a sense of where everything was located. You couldn't even get close to the parts along the river, and the rail yard was a vast tangle of tracks and sidings where an auto couldn't go. Even with the extra security, I could see it would be easy for someone who knew the place to skip in or out. There were fences and gates and walls, but it was such a sprawling monstrosity that you could only hope to control it or tamp down on it enough to keep everything from bursting into flames. Tens of thousands of men—and now women—slipped in and out every day, over three main shift changes. And I knew that with so many men and women thrown together in such a trying time, some would find a way to pair off in a nook or a cranny or between stacks of lumber or pig iron. Though the Old Man had made it his personal mission to stamp out the dope, I knew that there would be a supply of marijuana and heroin and opium working through the plant. Plenty of the men took whiskey before they clocked in, and they stole sips from flasks during their bone-tiring shifts when they could manage it, if the Lloyd plant was anything like the thousand other shops in Detroit. Workingmen were hard by nature. I knew that Walker could handle himself, and I had to believe that Federle had training and experience; but it seemed ridiculous to think that we could ferret anything out in that jungle or prevent any crime from happening.

“Pull around to the security department,” I said. “We'll see if we can get Walker some credentials.”

Federle worked the car around the long, circular drive. There was no marking or sign to tell the location of the security offices; we knew where to go only because we had been taken there the previous day. The security men, it appeared, wouldn't stand for any extra army guards to cover them as the administration people had. There was nothing blocking the drive, and the only person we saw outside the building was a bandy-legged old man who came out to take the car to the inside lot.

We all got out, and Federle handed the key to the old man. Walker strolled toward the building, and Federle went after him. The old man squinted at me for a moment until I fished a dollar from my pocket and held it out for him.

“I can't take it,” he said. “Mr. Lloyd pays my wage.” He hobbled and swiveled himself over to the fender of the Chrysler and propped himself with a ragged hand. “See how the paint don't match?”

“So what?” I said.

“That's one of Frank Carter's old cars. They patched up the bullet holes here, you see? They had to replace the whole door, so it was easier to get the paint to match.” He peered at me. The sagging flesh of his aged palate caused him to snort as took in a big breath through his nose. He said, “How'd you come to own this vehicle?”

“We stole it off the lot in the back,” I said. “You security guys got your thumbs up your ass.”

He turned his head and looked sourly over the brick-heavy facade of the building. “They don't let me on the inside anymore now that Frank Carter's gone. I'm just parking cars now, I guess. Greasy bastards can go suck.” He turned back to me, and it was a moment before his lazy eye came even with the other one. Both eyes searched over my damaged face, considered my build and height. “Fred Caudill's boy, are you?”

“Sure.”

He chewed it over and decided not to say anything more about it. Bracing himself along the fender and the roof, he got into the car. He had to help his last leg along with both hands. I came over to help him with the door, but he stopped me from closing it.

“These doors are bulletproof, see? The side panels, too. But not the windows. You got to duck down.” He hunched himself a bit to show the technique but didn't really move much. “There's a steel plate covering the gas tank.”

“You think we'll need all that?” I asked him.

He smiled up at me, showing both racks of worn-down choppers. “It ain't like the old days,” he said, “but it don't ever hurt to have a little extra in the hole.” The old-timer jerked his stubby thumb toward Federle, who was standing with his hands on his hips in his bright suit, and said, “Is he a friend of Dorothy?”

“I don't really think so,” I said.

“Better watch him anyway.”

“All right, I will.”

“The Negro?”

“He's fair to middling, maybe better,” I said. “I don't worry about him.” Then I bent over to speak closely, in part because I knew it would appeal to him to be a part of any action. “Listen,” I said. “I got a piece squirreled away in one of the holes back there, and I'd appreciate it if it didn't get found out.”

“Don't worry,” he muttered, turning shifty and squinty, “I got my eye on it.”

“I appreciate it.”

“My name's Pickett.”

“Okay, Pickett,” I said.

He grunted, and I pulled the door shut for him. Then he turned the engine over and let his hand work the shifter all around till he remembered how to drive the setup. Time had shortened him so that he had to crane up to see over the dash and hood. Federle and Walker hot-stepped out of the way as the old man careened toward a gated lot off the end of the building.

“An old man is a nasty thing,” Federle said. “He ought to think about staying home.”

“You're not from here, Federle,” I said. “You don't know what things are worth.” Whenever I spoke to Federle, I tried to use the kind of tone that wouldn't bite. He had a bad habit of shooting off his mouth, but I didn't want to discourage him entirely because it let me know what he was thinking.

“I know an old man when I see one,” he said. “Maybe I'm just thinking that I'll be getting old, too.”

“You have children, Mr. Federle?” asked Walker.

“Call me Ray. I got two at home.”

“Well, it's been my experience that worry about your children will make you old before your time.”

“Why's Pete look so bad then? He don't have no kids that he knows of.”

“I guess the detective has had his share of worry in his time.”

“We're like private dicks now,” Federle said. “Me and Pete anyhow. We got badges. Walker needs a badge.”

“Listen, Walker. We'll go in and see about getting you a badge. But if it doesn't pan out, see if you can find somebody to talk to out here.”

“Some jobs you got a man on the inside,” said Federle; “some jobs you got a man on the outside.”

“You follow me, Walker?”

“I got you.”

The three of us went inside. Federle and I had pinned the badges on the pockets of our jackets, as the Lloyd security men liked to do. You could feel right away that it wasn't a place to bring a Negro. There wasn't a woman on the inside, either. The security house was run entirely by white men, and they were all either dressed in gray suits or in medium-blue uniforms that looked something like police outfits and something like work clothes. All wore badges; there was an elaborate system of shapes and colors of metal to show who had pull and who was a flunky, but I didn't care to put much time into figuring it out. Federle and I had the good kind of badge and Walker was plain out of luck. I could see by the mug of the counterman, another old-timer, that Walker wasn't likely to have an easy time getting a leg up.

“We'd like to see about getting Walker here a badge,” I said.

The counterman puckered his face and looked us over shrewdly. I could see just a bare glint of his eyes through the droops and wrinkled bags that surrounded them.

“We don't just give out badges without authorization,” he said.

“We got badges,” said Federle.

“I don't have any say about that.”

“Gold badges.”

“I can see that.”

“Who's got the big say around here?” I asked. “Can't we talk to somebody worthwhile?”

The counterman was already burning. “It's a whole procedure. First you got to get hired in. Then—”

“Hand me up your telephone,” I said.

He choked down his irritation and opened his filmy eyes a little wider. Very slowly, he lifted the phone up onto the higher counter of the desk and set it down with a ding.

“How do you get hold of Whitcomb Lloyd on this thing?”

“I can't say if Mr. Lloyd is anywhere on the premises.”

“I mean how do you work it?”

He thought for a moment before he answered. I knew that he was angry and a little afraid that Federle and I—outsiders—had possibly been brought in just to look into the security system itself.

“Pick it up and dial zero for the switchboard,” he said. “But you'll need something more than luck to reach Mr. Lloyd directly.”

“What's your badge number?” I asked him.

“Zero-one-one,” he said, drawing his flaccid cheeks back in a lizard smile. “I been here a while. What's yours?”

I knew that my own had a five-digit number but I didn't bother to look it up for him.

“Only got silver after all these years?” Federle said. He had pushed his hands down into his pockets and muscled up his neck to show how little he cared for the desk monkey.

I picked up the handset and dialed the phone with my littlest finger. Though I knew it wouldn't put me out of earshot, I turned away and let the angry counterman stare at the back of my neck.

“This is Pete Caudill at the security house. Can you get me Mr. Lloyd's secretary on the line?”

“Mrs. Bates is not in today. I'll connect you to Mr. Merriweather. It may take a moment.”

While the line was quiet I gave Federle the eye. He broke away from the desk and made like he was scanning the place for problems. If I had been worth my salt, I would have secured a couple of clipboards or a little notepad like Hank Chew used so we could pretend to write things down. In a shop of any kind, it's the one thing that provokes the most anxiety in the men. It fouls them up; they have to put on a show of disdain with the other men, but only if they have a spotless conscience can they really afford not to worry. Walker stood close by with his hands at his sides and his face angled politely away. He was smoother by far than any of us. His social graces were the better part of him. It had always taken effort for me to work my way around people, to slip in and do my business without attracting too much bad attention, but it came naturally to Walker. I was glad that he agreed to come along with us.

The crackle of the telephone line brought me to attention.

“Yes? This is Mr. Merriweather.”

“This is Pete Caudill. You remember me from yesterday?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“I got a fella down here at the security house with me who needs a badge like the one I got yesterday.”

“I'm afraid I have no authority to order such a thing myself. There are channels—”

“Can you get word to Whit Lloyd that we're down here?”

“Mr. Lloyd is—possibly en route between facilities. If I am in contact with him at all today, I can broach the subject. I'm afraid that's the best I can promise, sir. If you had given me some sort of advance—”

“That's all right. We're coming in. We'll leave Walker here for now. If Lloyd shows up, have him come down and take care of it.”

I did my best to imagine the look on Merriweather's face.

He said, “I'll be certain to give him the directive, sir.”

I put the handset down in the cradle.

“No dice on the badge for now, Walker. You'll have to hang fire here while Federle and I take care of our business.”

“I can do that,” said Walker. “I'm a patient man.”

“He can't wait in here,” the counterman said. He seemed to be immensely pleased with himself.

I leaned my elbows on the counter. “You saying you don't want my man in here?”

“Oh,” he said, feeling in charge of his domain again, “that's just counter to SOP. We can't have an unknown man lurking about the building, the center of security for the whole complex. You want to see the manual?”

“Does Walker make you nervous, Zero-one-one?”

He met my eye calmly and let his lips curl up in a nasty smile. “There's a bench outside the door,” he said.

I turned to look mildly down on him, and then put the telephone down on the lower desk. He could not have known anything of Walker's character, or that Walker had a personal interest in the situation. From my experience with my colored friend, I knew that he'd likely find out more than Federle and I would, even though he might be shut out of the plant itself. Walker could draw people along—something I could not hope to do. And what's more, I knew I could trust him. I couldn't say what I thought of Federle.

“Zero-one-one,” I whispered, as if I were trying to memorize the number.

“That's right,” the counterman said. “You want me to write it down for you?”

Federle and I went back into the guts of the plant through the red metal door that had disgorged us the previous day. It was foolish to come; it was stupid, even. But I had to admit to myself that there was a bit of a thrill to be wearing a gold badge, to have some sway in such a place. It was just a small bauble of plated gold, but in my degraded state it let me feel some of the pride I had felt when I first put on my police cadet's badge so many years ago. I knew it couldn't last. I knew all of it would fall to pieces soon enough and that they could take away the sense of privilege Federle and I enjoyed as easily as they had handed it out. You could make your way in the world, but I had come to understand that there was nothing so solid that time and fortune could not wipe it away. I'd try to enjoy the trip if I could. I had been a Detroit boy all my life; I had grown up and become strong surrounded by brick and steel and concrete, and just then it felt right to let the red door close behind us and to walk down the corridor into the heart of Jasper Lloyd's industrial monster.