The Digger's Game (24 page)

“Just before supper,” Paul said, “he called me back. It seems there’d been a mistake, and he said it’d all been straightened out. I asked him, of course, what the mistake was, and he wouldn’t tell me.”

“But you’re gonna get the passport,” the Digger said.

“I expect it in the mail this week,” Paul said.

“So there you are,” the Digger said. “You’re all set.”

“Not exactly,” Paul said. “I’ve been puzzled about that mistake all day. Then I remembered that the old passport was issued to me at the house, because I was still moving around when I got that and I wasn’t sure I’d be at Holy Sepulchre permanently. And that started me thinking. I wondered if perhaps that accounted for
the mistake. Maybe there was somebody else named Doherty who used to live at 58 Pershing Street who interested the government.”

“Not Maureen,” the Digger said, “she been hanging around with them Berrigans?”

“I doubt it,” Paul said, “and probably not Kathy, either. Ma and Pa’re both dead. That leaves you and me.”

“Seems to,” the Digger said.

“This evening I called some people I know,” Paul said. “I didn’t make an awful lot of progress. But I did find out that when the FBI or someone has an important investigation going on, they alert the State Department. Apparently they have some sort of a liaison office or something. Did you know that?”

“No,” the Digger said, “it, I never really thought about it.”

“No,” Paul said, “well, tell me this: is there an investigation going on?”

“I suppose so,” the Digger said, “them guys’re generally out scouting around for something to do.”

“Yes,” Paul said. “Well, that was what I came over here to talk to you about. And when I got here, Aggie told me about your trip.”

“Well,” the Digger said, “yeah, but you don’t need, we’re going San Juan and all, I got the tickets today. El San Juan. But I didn’t apply for no passport. You don’t need any passport to go to San Juan, Puerto Rico.”

“There’s something you do need, though,” Paul said. “You need money.”

“Right,” the Digger said.

“Now it wasn’t so long ago,” Paul said, “you came out to see me, and you were in very much the same kind of
bewilderment then that I’m in tonight. You needed money, quite a lot of money, and you didn’t know where you were going to get that money if I didn’t give it to you.”

“I remember that,” the Digger said.

“I believed you,” Paul said, “I believed you and I gave you some money.”

“Three K,” the Digger said. “Don’t think I didn’t appreciate it.”

“And you gave something to me in exchange,” Paul said, “you gave me your word that you wouldn’t commit any crimes. Didn’t you?”

“Yup,” the Digger said.

“Now the way I look at things,” Paul said, “you either lied to me or you’ve broken your word. Either you didn’t need money, and you said you did just to cheat me, or else you did need money and you got money by committing a crime, which means you’ve broken your word.”

“I could’ve mortgaged the house and stuff, like you said,” the Digger said.

“You could have,” Paul said. “Keeping in mind that I can call Gerry Fitz at the Registry of Deeds and find out, did you?”

“No,” the Digger said.

“No,” Paul said. “Now, I’m not going to ask you what you did since you talked to me, that you swore to me you wouldn’t do, that’s got the FBI or somebody in a mood to keep all Dohertys in the country for a while. Mostly because I’m afraid you’d tell me. You didn’t kill anybody, did you?”

“No,” the Digger said.

“Of course we now have a new problem,” Paul said.
“I don’t think you lied to me when you came for the money, but I’m pretty sure you broke your word after you gave it to me, and that means you’re probably willing to lie to me now, to cover what you did. So perhaps you did kill a man.”

“No,” the Digger said, “I didn’t kill anybody.”

Paul stood up. “I hope that, at least, is the truth,” he said. He put on his coat. He extended his hand as the Digger got up. They shook hands. “Sit back down and finish your drink,” Paul said, “I know where the door is and I can find my own way out. I just want you to know, this is the last time I’ll have to do it. And you stay away from me, is that clear? You’ve got a good wife and a good family, and you don’t know what to make of it, but there’s nothing more I can do for you and there hasn’t been for some time, but now I know it. And I do know it, too, is that clear?”

“Clear,” the Digger said. “Good night, Paul.”

Paul released his hand. “Yeah,” he said, “and good night to the Digger, too.”

In the bedroom Agatha Doherty was reading, her back against the headboard of the bed, her legs bent to form a rest for the magazine. When the Digger came up she put down the magazine and got up and went into the bathroom. He could hear her brushing her teeth. When she emerged he looked at her and said, “You took your nightgown off.”

“I did?” she said.

“I can see the nipples better now,” he said, “and the hair, too. You be sure and bring that kimono to Puerto Rico.”

“I’m looking forward to that,” she said. She was removing the gown.

“So’m I,” he said. “I got the tickets today. A-number-one, first cabin all the way. It’s all set with the Magros, incidentally. He said what they’d do, they’d come over here and stay with the kids, ’stead of them going over there.”

“I thought you were going to ask Harrington,” she said.

“I was,” the Digger said, “but Harringtons’ve got kids of their own, and that’d mean we’d have to take theirs. Besides, I’m never too sure what Harrington’s doing.” He got into bed.

“What’d Paul want?” she said, moving toward him.

“Well,” the Digger said, “it’s kind of a long story. Basically, I borrowed some dough off him a long time ago, and now he finds out we’re finally getting a vacation and he’s pissed off.”

“Can’t you pay him?” she said. “Or doesn’t he want that?”

“Look,” the Digger said, “let’s kind of forget what Paul wants for a while, all right? There’s something I want.”

“If it’s all right with you,” she said, “it’s all right with me.”