The Erection Set (36 page)

“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.”

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.”