19 Purchase Street (38 page)

“Yeah?”

“My intuition tells me it helped.”

Daniel, Gainer thought, in the lions' den.

Leslie gave up the straw, swigged Savannah Sneak from the goblet, buried the tip of her nose in the shaved ice. Her nose and ears were flushed, Gainer noticed, and thought she should stick to red zinger.

“You didn't really want to stay here alone.”

Gainer admitted he didn't.

“Tell you what,” she said, trying to sound up, “let's cancel out the thought that someone tried to kill you—”

“Easy said—”

“Hey, I'm at stake too, you know. If anything like that happened to you, it's almost a sure thing I'd kill myself—”

“Don't talk about it.”

“Exactly. Let's go at it here as though we're on holiday at some five hundred dollar a day swell place. Swim a lot, play tennis, caviar them to death.”

He had to laugh a little, despite everything. For all he knew, his beer might have contained a slow undetectable poison. His mind jumped from death to life: the appreciation of Leslie's left leg, her exposed toes and all the way up to where the slit in her dress was as parted as it could be, and ridden up higher because she was seated. He could see where her thigh and buttock made transition. He'd been over every millimeter of that leg every imaginable way, he thought. The idea of not ever being able to again caused what felt like an emotional collision inside him, all drives in him hitting head-on.

“You're terrific when you're jealous,” she said.

“I'm not jealous.”

“Your eyes get all broody, greener, very attractive.”

“When was I ever jealous?”

“Three or four minutes ago.”

“You read me wrong.”

“Possibly, but I think not. You know, Darrow doesn't seem so dangerous, more like another well-bred old bore—”

“Your intuition needs a major tune-up.” Gainer reached for his glass and accidently tipped it over.

Leslie sighed. “Such a heavy number, jealousy. I'm glad I'm never burdened by it.” She worked her eyelashes some to let him know she wasn't a serious hypocrite.

He leaned across.

She leaned across.

Their kiss made them both realize they hadn't kissed since the night before.

When they opened their eyes, Darrow was standing beside the table. “Everything has been arranged.”

“I'm going to drive back into town for some essentials,” Leslie said, and asked Gainer, “How about you?”

Gainer decided he'd better not, not yet.

“Okay, I'll also pick up a few of your things. Anything special?”

“Old shoes and People Paste.”

Darrow wondered if that was some sort of code.

“Leave everything to me. I won't be long.” She seemed to bless him with her smile before she departed.

She would, as usual, Gainer thought, not let up a single mile per hour at the toll stations, would streak right through the gate kept open for those cars bearing special parkway toll plates, which she didn't have. He should have told her he loved her before she went. He had promised himself, since Norma, never to leave it unsaid again.

“Exceptional woman, Mrs. Pickering,” Darrow was saying. “One of the world's great beauties, in my estimation.”

“Yeah.”

“I suppose you've met her husband.”

“Not directly.”

Ambiguities annoyed Darrow. “Come with me,” he said brusquely, and led the way into the house to his study.

Hine was there.

Darrow didn't sit behind his desk. Casually imperious, he half sat on a front corner of it, his right haunch taking most of his weight. After a pause he said: “Favor for favor is fair, don't you agree Andrew?”

“I guess.”

“It so happens at this moment we are short-handed.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Fill in for Norma.”

Gainer's heart jumped.

“One carry, two at most.”

“Let me think about it.”

“By all means, think about it.”

Gainer didn't like the italicized sound of that. “When am I supposed to go?”

“You're on the two o'clock from Kennedy to Zurich. That's correct, isn't it Hine?”

“Two o'clock,” Hine said.

“Today?” Gainer asked.

Darrow's nod was just barely discernible.

“Hell, I don't even have a toothbrush.”

“You will.”

“I'm supposed to go dressed like this?” Gainer lifted a trouser leg to show his best shoes but no socks.

“You won't. There'll be a bag containing appropriate things of yours handed over to you at Kennedy. Including a passport.”

That meant the shits had been into his apartment or were there now. The pair of locks on his door were probably no more than toys to them. Gainer especially resented their doing that, putting hands on his personal things. He thought of Alma's love letters in the top drawer where he also kept his passport. Somehow the letters were more vulnerable than anything. They didn't deserve to be sullied.

Sweet entered the study bearing a man's suitcase, a thirty-incher, an all leather one that apparently had endured its share of travel. It had a red and white tag attached to the handle. Sweet placed the bag within Gainer's reach.

What, Gainer wondered, would happen if he refused to go, just said he didn't want to, wouldn't? The carry was very possibly—surely?—a way of setting him up, certainly it had been invented within the last hour. Still, for his reasons, not theirs, he'd go along with it.

“How much is in there?” Gainer asked.

“Three million,” Darrow told him.

“Not two or two and a half? You're sure?”

Darrow looked to Hine, who deferred to Sweet, who held up three fingers.

“Three exactly,” Darrow said.

Gainer made a dubious face.

“Take my word for it,” Darrow advised.

“No.” Gainer insisted the suitcase be opened.

The neatly packed hundreds were there.

“We're not going to count it for you,” Darrow said, betraying some annoyance.

Gainer grinned. “I didn't figure you'd even open it. Okay. When I get to Zurich, then what?”

As soon as Gainer had gone off to the airport, Darrow phoned Hunsicker at Intelco in New York. He told him he wanted his most recent order changed.

Hunsicker begged pardon, said he did not know what Darrow was referring to.

Darrow realized Hunsicker was keeping to the strict line, going by the book. Such business was never supposed to be handled by telephone, no matter how cryptically. However, Darrow reasoned, in this instance it was such an uncomplicated thing there could be no misunderstanding, nor was it possible that anyone listening might know what it was about. He got on with it, told Hunsicker he did not want to cancel the order, merely hold off on it until he gave word otherwise.

Hunsicker suggested Darrow meet with him to clarify the situation.

Darrow was in no mood for a sit-down with Hunsicker, but if it had to be … “All right, when shall I expect you?”

“I'll be up there next week, Wednesday or Thursday.”

“I want you up here this afternoon.”

“That won't be possible.”

“Why not?”

“I have another appointment here an hour from now, and later in the day I'm off to Los Angeles.”

“This is important,” Darrow said impatiently.

“Then I suggest you come here to my office. I'll make time.”

Darrow was so furious he very softly and precisely placed the telephone receiver on its cradle. Of all the gall. He shouldn't have to go across the room to accommodate someone on Hunsicker's level. The man was being purposely difficult, sticking so narrowly to an irrelevant rule.

The rule, screw the rules—

The word seemed to hang in the air around him, and brought him up short. He reprimanded himself for having such a risky attitude, even for a moment. Hunsicker was right.

As if in retribution, Darrow reviewed the rules that pertained to orders, mentally recited them.

May only be issued verbally, person-to-person
.

May only be cancelled or revised by the initiating party, verbally, person-to-person
.

May not be carried forward after the death of whoever issued the order
.

The last, Darrow understood, was not only a matter of tidiness but also to avoid having one man inherit the judgment of another. Twelve years ago, when he had taken over at Number 19, there had been two of Gridley's orders outstanding. They were automatically dropped and he, Darrow, had begun with a clean slate.

Now, as much as he did not want to, he would put on business clothes and be driven into town to see Hunsicker. It had become to his advantage that he put the Gainer order on hold.

He had to give Hine credit this once.

It was a splendid idea to have Gainer make a carry. As Hine had pointed out, quite possibly Gainer would take the opportunity to visit the three million he undoubtedly had gotten from Norma's last carry. And, as Hine had not considered but was even more promising, it gave Darrow time alone to impress Mrs. Pickering.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T
HAT
afternoon, while Darrow in New York was four hundred feet above street level putting Gainer's temporary reprieve in Hunsicker's ear, Gainer was at sixty thousand feet in Air France Concorde Flight 002. The plane was approaching the so-called point-of-no-return, a designation Gainer thought appropriate for him personally as well.

So much had happened, changed in just three-quarters of a day. He was not where he should be. He felt displaced. On his way to Zurich via Paris faster than sound.

He might have felt better about it had he been able to reach Leslie. He'd tried, rung her apartment and his from the airport terminal and got no answer. He didn't have the telephone number of Number 19. It was unlisted. Besides, by then he had barely enough time before departure to go into the men's room to change. The matching all-leather bag that wasn't his, but it contained needed things of his. It had been waiting for him when he arrived at the terminal. The skycap had greeted him by his name with a sir after it and informed him that part of his luggage, that smaller bag, had already arrived. The thirty-incher containing the three million got checked right through. What amazed Gainer was not that Darrow's people could pull strings but that they held so many.

Sweet had driven him to Kennedy.

Sweet had tucked a ten-fold of hundreds into Gainer's shirt pocket for expenses.

Sweet had gone all the way to the boarding gate with him and stood at the window until the ramp was disconnected and the Concorde sealed and moving away.

It was obvious to Gainer that Darrow wanted him out of the way, far away, soonest possible. A direct Swiss Air flight leaving at seven would have avoided the hurry, been almost half the fare and put him in Zurich only an hour later tomorrow morning. Darrow's motive appeared to be Leslie. If it was
only
her, Gainer could feel relieved. The old bastard would need a diamond-edged chisel for a prick to get through to her.

But maybe Leslie wasn't it.

Maybe they had decided to deal with him a different way. The three in the bag could be really dirty, dirty millions, marked, identifiable, and he was flying to take the fall. How, in the first place, had they been able to come up with three million all banded and packed and ready to travel in mere minutes? No one had run out to the bank.

Watched over.

Darrow had said he would be.

Gainer had spotted two other passengers who might be doing exactly that, but not necessarily for his protection. One was the thirtyish, apparently well-off woman across the way and one row down. A blond wearing beige and navy. Gainer had caught her eyes on him three times, the third time with a trace of a smile. Probably a styled-up ex-Vegas showgirl, Gainer thought. Then there was the man a couple of rows back with the haggard if polished look of a lawyer. He was reading the
Harvard Law School Journal
but had been on the same page for an hour.

Ignore them.

Gainer plumped his pillow, requested another and filled in the space between the seat and the window for his head. He gazed out at the night, couldn't see the moon or a star or a cloud, just black. Even one star would have helped counter his sense of unreality. To pass the time he tried making a mental list of things he didn't love about Leslie. Got nowhere with that. Switched to the things he loved about her and they were like sweet sheep leaping one after another over a fence.

He napped without dreams until the moment of touchdown at Charles De Gaulle Aéroport, stretched his face and neck awake and filed off the Concorde. He saw the blond fellow passenger being met by a casually dressed, distinguished-looking man who kissed her as though he owned her. The other lawyer-type passenger was met by a sort of young version of himself who gave him a son's hug.

It was midnight Paris time, but six hours earlier Gainer time. Again, he tried phoning Leslie and again, got no answer. He remembered a knockaround street guy in New York who had claimed a couple of times he had the connections to get any unlisted number in the world in five minutes. Gainer reached him, told him what he wanted—Darrow's number. When, as agreed, Gainer called back in a half hour, the guy's wife or woman or whatever said she didn't know where he was, that she thought he had gone over to Meadowlands to the trotters.

So much for that.

The connecting Air France flight to Zurich would not leave until seven-forty. Gainer had all night. He thought of the container of Norma's ashes only a few miles off in that crypt in the Cimetière du Père-Lachaise but was not able to feel any closer to her for that. He bought an Italian edition of
Playboy
and a paperback in English of John Cheever stories. He looked and read at the counter of a bistro while he had a Croque Monsieur and then a glass of
vin ordinaire
for a change of pace. Every so often he would casually glance around for whoever was supposed to be watching over him. No one likely, as far as he could see. Certainly not the slight, brittle-looking old man across the way who had either a bad summer cold or sinus problems.