By The Sea, Book Two: Amanda (14 page)

"Looks like you've been in a dust-up, old
man," said Geoff quietly, surveying the arm from the recent
sprained wrist to the wrapped shoulder. "At least it wasn't your
good arm. Knife or gun?"

David looked at his sister as any defendant
does to his lawyer. His eyes said, "Can I answer that?"

Amanda took over. "The bullet grazed his
shoulder as he was running away. He's fast, or he'd be dead. His
friends don't fool around." She let out an explosive, exasperated
sigh. "David, you are such an ass."

"I thought you were on my side," her brother
mumbled.

"Only in the sense that I'm not on
their
side, you idiot. This is going to kill Mother, and
Dad's going to kill you. And me too, for getting involved in this.
Not to mention Geoffrey," she added, without looking at Geoff.

He wondered whether that was an invitation
to join the conversation. "What, exactly, is the nature of my
involvement?" he asked dryly.

"I wish you wouldn't use that tone with me,"
said Amanda, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it in a fury.
"You know it sets my teeth on edge."

She seemed to be taking on everyone
simultaneously: her brother; Geoff; her parents; the other guys,
whoever they were. She was pacing back and forth, her head bowed
over her arms held akimbo, her cigarette held carelessly between
the fingers of one hand. She sent smoke whistling through her
nostrils toward the worn-out flooring. Geoff half expected the
boards to burst into flame. Perhaps because of the hour, perhaps
because of her mood, she was back to wearing very little under the
simple, clinging shift that moved in time to her body. Geoff tried
to put the thought out of his mind as he waited for her to say her
piece.

"All right," she said at last. "This is how
it is: my brother the entrepreneur chartered a freighter to some
less-than-top-drawer types who planned to use it to run some booze.
Fine. We all have to make a living as best we can. But the boat
wasn't seaworthy, and it sank like a stone when it ran into heavy
weather in the Bay of Fundy. All the cargo was lost. No problem
there, either, if you believe in poetic justice."

She took a deep, deep drag on her cigarette,
and her words tumbled out smoldering. "The only fly in the ointment
is that the gang managed to scramble into a lifeboat, make their
way back ashore and down the coast, show up in my brother's New
York office a little salty but none the worse for wear—and demand
their money back. They're businessmen too, after all. But unlike my
brother, they do tend to back up their promises with action. David
eluded them for a little while, but they flushed him out of his
rabbit hole and, perhaps as a friendly warning, shot a little piece
out of his shoulder as he sprinted across their path."

She found an ashtray and ground her
cigarette into shreds. "I think that about covers it, don't you,
David?" she asked coldly.

"Except that your version flatters me too
much," he muttered sarcastically; but his spirit was broken
completely. By calling her in to help, he had plea-bargained away
his dignity.

It was harder for Geoff to fathom Amanda's
rage. Was it a mother's anger after a child has brushed close to
danger? Was she furious because she stood to lose favor with her
father? Did she care either way?

"So. You want me to—" He was damned if he
knew what she wanted him to do. He sure as hell wasn't going to pay
for the loss himself.

"I want you to negotiate with the thugs, of
course," said Amanda crisply. "They won't take me seriously. We
don't dare go to my father until we get a figure. Dad says you're a
born diplomat. Let's see."

"You are rather good at this gauntlet
business, aren't you?" he asked, amused. "Thanks awfully for
ringing me up, Amanda. I don't know when I've been more flattered.
But smugglers, guns, payoffs—" He got up from the small bed on
which he'd been sitting during her proposition. "That's not really
my cup of tea."

"What
is
your cup of tea, then,
besides tea?" she demanded, grabbing his arm. "God, what are you, a
machine? What does it take to move you? We need you, Geoff. My
brother needs you. I'll go with you if you're—"

"Afraid? I think I could handle it—"

"Could, would, should—will you or won't you?
Please,
Geoff."

She was frightened, really frightened, that
he'd say no. The "please" was not so much a request as it was a
command, but he chose to ignore the spirit of her request and
respond to the letter of it. One way or another, the word "please"
had lighted, like a pretty butterfly, on Amanda Fain's lips. "All
right. I'll do it."

Central Park was at its most lively. It was
midday, and the paths were filled with boys and dogs and hoops.
Pretty stenographers walked arm in arm with other pretty
stenographers, or if they were lucky, with male clerks from down
the hall. Young salesgirls, on half-hour liberty from the lingerie
counters of department stores, flirted efficiently with marauding
bucks let loose from stockrooms. Toddlers three and four and five
years old hurled scraps of bread at ducks and pigeons and
squirrels, while their bored governesses chafed at their lack of
freedom and resolved to learn to type.

Geoffrey Seton took up his position on a
bench near the Central Park Gardens and waited. He would have
preferred to be stood up, but at the appointed hour, there they
were: two men in dark suits and bowler hats, looking uncomfortable
at Geoff's choice of a reception room. One of them sat down next to
him; the other stayed on his toes, so to speak.

"You Seton?" asked the hefty mass beside
him.

"Me Seton," replied Geoff without a trace of
a smile.

"I'm Vinnie. I don't like doing business in
the park, Mr. Seton. Too many little kids around."

"You don't like children?"

"Don't get wise. What's your stake in this?
You related to that crook?"

"I work for the crook's father," said
Geoff.

"—who'd better know more about ships than
his asshole son," growled the mobster. "I don't swim so good, see?
Without Dominic over there ... I don't swim, know what I mean? I
never got the knack. Some guys float like water lilies. I think
maybe I'm built too solid for that."

Geoff nodded sagely. "That would be my
opinion as well."

"Yeah. So I wasn't so happy when the boat
sank out from under me. My boss ain't too thrilled about losing a
load of, shall we say, precious cargo, either."

"That's where insurance is nice," remarked
Geoff with the kind of bland look that made Amanda crazy. "You've
heard of Lloyd's, of course. I can only recommend, dear chap, that
next time—"

"Hey!"
Vinnie's fist came down like a
ten-pound ham on Geoff's knee. "I'm not foolin' here. We want a
refund.
Now,
Mr. Seton. You're a businessman. You can
understand that." He gave Geoff's leg a viciously playful
shake.

Geoff considered the possibility that he now
had a fractured thigh, then dismissed it. The pain wasn't quite
that bad. All in all, the meeting was going rather well,
considering he was negotiating with a rhinoceros. "Business is
business," he agreed with a thin, controlled smile. "How much?"

Vinnie rubbed his chin thoughtfully; even
his stubble sounded strong. "Let's see: the lost cargo; the charter
fee; coupla new suits; some pain and agony—we figure fifty g's. But
hey, get it to us tomorrow, the next day? Forty-five."

"Thousand dollars? Good God. That's a bloody
ransom."

"Aay, what's this talk about a ransom? We
let the squirt get away, didn't we? But I'll tell you what—we can
round him up again easy," he added in a menacing tone.

"Happy hunting, in that case. David doesn't
have that kind of money." Geoff stood up. "Give my best to the
family."

Vinnie looked blank for a moment, then
grinned and said, "Sure, sure. The family. I get it. Hey, and while
we're at it, here's a little message for the Fains. Dommy, tell
'im."

Dominic reached into his pocket—Geoff's
heart rate shot up—and pulled out a beautifully made slingshot.
From his other pocket he extracted a small round stone.

"Dommy's from the old country, a farm boy,"
explained Vinnie. "He was in charge of pest control."

Dominic drew his sling on a flock of pigeons
feeding nearby and announced, "The little one, way back." He let go
and there was an explosion of wings in flight. When the air cleared
Geoff saw what was left—a small lump of feathers and blood.

Geoff was glad he'd left Amanda behind; he
might not have been able to restrain her. He sat back down on the
bench. "Twenty-five. That's twice as much as the booze is
worth."

"Did you say something?" Vinnie stuck his
finger in his ear and wriggled it. "Must be the water in my
ears."

"Jim Fain doesn't have your sense of humor.
His son has worn his patience thin. I think he may be ready to cut
his losses," Geoff said with a shrug.

"Yeah? That's not the only thing that's
gonna get cut," Vinnie answered, patting Geoff's thigh again with
his ham-fist.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," said Geoff as
he laid his own hand over the mobster's wrist and squeezed. "People
might begin to talk." It was an old Army maneuver: Vinnie's fingers
went limp; he sucked in his breath in pain. Geoff lifted Vinnie's
hand from his thigh and dropped it in the big man's lap. "Thirty
thousand. That's all I'm empowered to offer."

"Thirty-five, you dumb shit. And your
head."

Geoff laughed pleasantly. "I'll see what I
can do." He stood up, looked around, tugged at his vest, and said,
"Bury the carcass, Dominic. You don't want a thousand pigeons
bringing vengeance down on your head."

****

"Thirty-five thousand dollars?
Thirty-five thousand fricking dollars?"
Geoff may have saved
Jim Fain fifteen thousand dollars over that, but Fain wasn't
exactly falling on his knees in gratitude. There was some question,
in fact, whether he might not throw Amanda and Geoff bodily out of
his office. "Where is that moron?" Fain roared. "I want him here. I
want him keelhauled!"

"I know it sounds like a lot, Dad, but it
could have been even worse," said Amand, trying to soothe. "They
could've killed David. They might still—"

"Don't get my hopes up, goddammit! What is
it with you two? Why should I be cursed with a matching set of
prodigals? Where do you get it? We've given you every opportunity
that money can buy—good schools, a good home, a swimming pool for
crissake, never mind two studios and enough equipment to start a
foundry—and you throw it all back in our faces. Hold on, there,
Geoff, you can stay for this."

Fain turned back to his daughter. "What is
this fascination you have for the underside of rocks? My only son,
hobnobbing with the slugs and dregs of New York. My only daughter,
aiding and abetting every Bolshie on the East Coast. It's shocking.
I don't know what else to call it. Shocking." He shook his head,
breathing heavily, and stared at the floor.

Amanda's face had turned a deep red. In a
low voice she murmured, "We've got to pay them the money now, Dad.
They'll kill him if we don't."

Fain let her have an incredulous grimace.
"Nobody's going to kill anybody." He picked up the telephone.
"That's why we have police."

Amanda pounced on the phone cradle with both
hands. "No! Why won't you take me seriously, for once in your
life?"

Fain turned to Geoff. "Does she know what
she's talking about?"

"They're not just schoolyard bullies, sir. I
think the possibility exists that they'll follow through on their
threats."

"Only a possibility?"

"Well—more than that, sir," answered Geoff
quietly.

"Oh, never mind!" Amanda interrupted. "Come
on, Geoff. I'll get the money myself!"

Her father gave her a withering look and
took his seat again behind his desk. "And just where do you plan to
lay your hands on that kind of money?" he demanded.

"I have some cash. I'll borrow against the
Village studio. If I have to, I'll sell my car—"

"Oh, for crissake. I knew it was a mistake
to liquidate those trust funds. Nothing should be in your name.
Nothing! You have no more business sense than Marie Antoinette!
Damn it to hell! I can see it now. Thirty percent interest
compounded weekly." He took out a sheet of the shipyard's
stationery and scribbled a note on it in his large, ungainly
scrawl. He held it out to Amanda. "Take this to the payroll office.
They'll get you what you need."

"Thank you, Dad," said Amanda softly. "I
know this is hard for you to accept."

"You're wrong, girl. I'm not accepting it.
Please don't go yet—or you, Geoff. I have a little more business to
wrap up." From a lower drawer he took out a legal form. "This is a
promissory note," he explained, penning in the blanks as he spoke.
"The total includes the yard bill—six men, two months—and of course
the initial investment in the freighter. Give it to my—to Dave.
Tell him he can come back to his job and his family when he's ready
to start paying it. Until then I don't want to know he exists."

He handed the note to Geoff. "One call, and
we're nearly done." He dialed the operator and was put through
immediately. "Mark? It's time to change the will. No, no, I've put
it off long enough. When is good for you? Fine. I'll be there."

Halfway through the call Geoff had stood up.
He'd had enough of being a bit player in the Fain Theatre of
Melodrama. Fain called him back as he was closing the office door
behind him.

With cool deliberation Fain took a cigar
from its humidor. "I hate like hell to do this, Geoff, but I'm
going to have to let you go. I can't have my help fraternizing with
Bolshies and bootleggers. You can pick up your money at the payroll
office with Amanda."