The Erection Set (17 page)

“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.

Lee and Rose were on their second round of Martinis when I walked into the Spindletop restaurant on West Forty-seventh Street. They were upstairs in the rear scratching names on the back of an envelope, arguing about one of them and crossing it off.

I pulled out a chair and said,
“Cozy.”

Rose gave me a silly grin and raised her glass. “Hello, big man.”

“Nice to see you with your clothes on,” I told her.

“She's better bare-ass,” Lee grunted. He folded the envelope and stuck it in his jacket pocket. I signaled for a drink, and when it came Lee leaned back in his seat and leered at me. “Cradle robber.”

“Eat your heart out,” I said.

“Well, let's have it, Dog. The way the rumors are flying, you're liable to be up for statutory rape.”

“Not him,” Rose said lightly. “Seduction, yes. Rape, no. He makes a girl beg for it.”

I gave her a quick look and Lee grinned. “Don't sweat it, kid. Share the wealth, that's my motto. Rose tells me you're quite a card. It's good to know you square types have rounded comers, at least.”

“Hell, are you a kiss and tell doll,” I said to Rose.

“Tell? Man I was bragging on you. It's a goal for these puppies to shoot at.”

“Things sure have changed,” I said.

“Shee-it,” Lee laughed. “You haven't forgotten those leaves in London, have you? There was you in one sack with that tall Wren and me in the other with the cute little WAAC dispatcher from squadron five, switching beds every time the air raid siren went off. Why, man ...”

“I had forgotten it until now.”

Rose giggled over her glass. “She leave a painful memory, Dog?”

“No, but we both had to chip in on an abortion fee for the Wren. Neither one knew who did it.”

“Forgot about that,” Lee muttered. He took a quick sip of his drink to try to erase the look of worried concern that began to cloud his eyes. When he put the glass down he nodded to me approvingly. “Nice threads, kiddo. I'm still impressed.”

“He's got that
in
style,” Rose said. “Welcome to the now generation.”

“I've never been away.”

Once again, I got that funny glance from Lee.

I said, “What have you been up to?”

“A bash,” Lee told me, “a first-class, Sunday-supplement-making, swinging bash. I'm trying to work up a list of guests.”

“What's the occasion?”

“Didn't Sharon tell you? Hell, she pried loose a few million from Walt Gentry for big daddy S. C. Cable. They're going into a coproduction deal with Cable Howard pictures. Old S.C. optioned the current best seller and is going all out to change his sex-exploitation image into that of artist-genius public-entertainment benefactor.”

“What's the book?”

I let out a grunt and lit a cigarette. “That title and no sex?”

“Where've you been, kid? Everything's sex. It's just how you handle it. S.C.'s giving this the modem treatment, as they say, telling it like it is.”

“How is it?” I grinned.

Lee looked at Rose and laughed. “He's asking me,” he said. “Good, man. I haven't found anything to take its place so far.”