The Erection Set (18 page)

“Maybe you just haven't looked.”

“Baloney. Name me one thing that's better.”

I shrugged and took another drag of the butt. “Not better, but the kicks are there. At least for some.”

“So name it.”

Both of them were looking at me interestedly now.

“Remember your first kill, Lee? It was a Heinkel bomber over the Channel. You watched two guys tumble out of it and never get their chutes open. How did you feel?”

One of his shoulders twitched and he made a wry face. “Sick,” he said.

I had to grin again. “Like the first time you got laid, remember? You told me about it. They initiated you into the gang by making you screw a two-buck whore on a torn-up sofa in the back of a garage. You, a nice moral-conscious kid from a good family. You got sick then, too.”

“All right, I was fourteen years old.”

“You could still get it up, buddy,” I reminded him. “Now, how about that second kill? I was right off your wing when you got that ME 109 and followed him all the way down watching him burn. You threw a party that night and got bombed.”

“After all, Dog ...”

“The point isn't made yet, pal. After that you started hunting. You went looking for the kill. You fought the competition off to cut out your target, engaged in the fight and climaxed with the kill. After that it was barroom smugness and a little braggadocio until your juices settled down and then back to the hunt again. After enough of it the whole thing became a routine game.”

“Knock it off, Dog, killing and sex aren't the same!”

“They call an orgasm ‘the little death,' don't they?”

Rose had her chin propped in her hands and was watching us oddly. “You know, he may be right, Lee.” Her eyes dug into mine then. “Tell me, Dog, did you get your kicks from killing?”

“After the first one I understood the similarity.”

“I didn't ask you that.”

I snuffed the cigarette out. “Probably, but I didn't give it much thought until it was all over. War really isn't a natural state of affairs.”

“Dog ...”

His face was tight and his tone searching.

“What?”

“And now that the subject has been researched, how do you feel about it?”

“Most people never know what killing is like.”

“I didn't ask about most people. I'm relating to you and killing and sex.”

“They both become subjects at which you pass or fail, enjoy or despise. If you're a winner, it's good. If you flunk, it's misery time.”

“How do
you
feel, Dog?”

“I'm still alive and happy, buddy.”

“You scare me,” he said.

I frowned at the seriousness in his face. “Keep thinking about it the next time you straddle a broad. You really might be an incipient homicidal maniac.”

“Quit lousing up his screwing,” Rose said. “These deep-thinking types take this kind of conversation to heart and I don't want any Jack the Rippers in my bedroom.”

Lee's face came unstuck from the frozen grimace and he broke out into a fooling smile. “Damn, you sure can put a guy on. You and your way with words ...”

“... And words are what make the world go 'round,” a voice said. We all looked around and saw Dick Lagen watching us, a half-empty highball glass in his hand. “Mind if I join you? After all, I was invited.”

I pushed out a chair and waved toward it. “Sit down.”

“You people eat yet?”

“Just about to,” Lee told him.

“Fine, then I'll join you and let you pick up the check. A typical columnist's attitude I'm sure you all deplore.”

“Forget it,” Lee told him. “You have just made this meal tax deductible.”

We went through the soups and steaks, had coffee and while Lee and Rose were going over their invitation list again, Lagen fired up a thin cigar and leaned back in his' chair. “My staff have been digging up a few facts on you, Mr. Kelly.”

“They have any luck?'

“Enough to intrigue me.”

“Oh?” I popped a cigarette out of my pack and let him light it.

“You accepted your Army discharge in Europe in 1945.”

“Public information.”

“And being a resident you were subject to the tax laws of the resident country,” he continued.

“Isn't everybody?”

“Quite. The exception is that your taxes reached a considerable proportion, so that in computing your income we arrive at a very substantial sum.”

“Proving that I am an honest man who pays his taxes,” I said.

“In that regard, yes. It's the accumulation of that money that interested me.”

“You're a nosy bastard.”

“So I have been told. At any rate, my researchers went at it a little harder and came up with some interesting information.”

“Like what?”

“Like lack of information,” he said. “Your income was declared, but, except for ‘investments,' not the source of it. Furthermore, there was nothing in your background to indicate you had any particular ability or desire to achieve success with, eh ...
investments.
In fact, all indications are quite the contrary.”

“So?”

“Would you care to clarify the matter?”

“Not especially.”

“Then perhaps I might speculate on the matter.”

“Be my guest,” I said.

“Fine. Income is derived from one or both of two sources, legal or illegal. Since there was no proof positive of legal source, we investigated the possibility of illegality.”

I said, “You know, for a guy who only met me a couple of days ago, you've gone to a hell of a lot of trouble.”

“The affairs of the Barrin family makes interesting subject matter.”

“I hope you have competent personnel.”

“Oh, I have. The very best. Former FBI men, retired police officers, top newspapermen who know all the tricks and angles. What information they can't dig out they can buy. Funds for that purpose are unlimited. Therefore, whatever we want to know, we find out, as my numerous exposes have no doubt proven to you ... and the fact that my information is so accurate that even congressional committees have used my records to restrict certain business operations or convict well-known persons of working criminally against the public interests.”

“Good work, sport. And what did you find out about me?”

Dick Lagen smiled gently and puffed on his cigar. “Absolutely nothing. That's what makes it so intriguing. In certain areas, my people were rebuffed at every attempt at inquiry. One was even roughed up a little. Attempts to buy information got a blank stare or implied threats. The name of Dog, or in some places
El Lobo,
got such a reaction as to scare off my own people. It was the first time that ever happened.”

“What's in a name, pal? You know what the poet said about the rose.”

“Except that you don't smell so sweet, Mr. Dogeron Kelly. When you mention the name of Dog, you aren't mentioning a popular figure. In certain quarters, that is.”

“You have any enemies, Dick?”

“Certainly, and justifiably so. I deliberately try to cultivate them. It's part of my business.”

“Know anybody without enemies?” I asked him.

He thought a moment and shook his head. “No.”

“I do.”

Lagen looked at me with a small, superior smile. “Really? Who?” ,

“They're all dead,” I said quietly.

For a good ten seconds he sat there staring at me, then he took a long pull on the cigar and watched the smoke drift toward the ceiling. “Who are dead, Mr. Kelly, the persons ... or the enemies?”

“Take your choice, Mr. Lagen,” I said.

Across the table Lee and Rose had stopped talking and were looking at us both. Lee's face had that tight expression again and his eyes were worried things, like those of a guy crossing the street and seeing a truck bearing down on him, not knowing whether to jump back or make a dash out of the way.

 

We dropped Rose off at a beauty parlor uptown, then cut back toward Lee's office. Outside, the walkers huddled close to the sides of the buildings, away from the blast of the rain, or fought umbrella duels going down the middle of the sidewalks. In the front of the cab the wipers kept up their clocklike ticktock above the humming of the tires.

Finally Lee said, “Lagen's got an unhealthy interest in you, Dog.”

“Ah, he's always had a thing for the Barrins.”

“It's you, not the Barrin family.”

“Balls.”

Lee turned his head, his expression questioning. “Why, buddy?”

“Why what?”

“Come on, Dog. I know how he operates. He never comes up without any answers. He won't let it go until he gets one, either.”

“I still believe in personal privacy. I wish him luck.”

Lee nodded and looked straight ahead again. “The way you say that makes it look like he isn't going to have any.”

“Could be.”

“Most people aren't that sharp at hiding things.”

“Most people,” I agreed.

“I've been wondering too.”

“All you have to do is ask, Lee.”

“Yeah, that's what you told me before.”

“Then ask.”

“I'm afraid of what you might tell me.”

“So don't ask.”

“I don't think I will,” he said.

When Lee went to make arrangements for his bash, I told him I'd pick him up about five, then had the cabbie take me down to the elite establishment of Weller-Fabray, Tailors. Two gentlemen who ran an oil company and a newspaper syndicate were being serviced by a pair of immaculate young men in formal morning wear, showing shirts and cravats whose label and style were their own price tags.

In the back, the manager saw me enter, gave me a businesslike smile of recognition and left his account book to say hello. This time he spoke Spanish without realizing it and took my hand. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Kelly. I trust the suits were satisfactory.”

“Perfect. Sorry I didn't let you know I was coming the last time.”

“I understand.”

“My buddy was a little upset.”

“He
didn't
understand.”

“Your merchandising attitude is a little rough, my friend.”

“It's an attitude that affords me the pleasure of doing what I do. Now, let's back to you.”

He took my arm and we drifted back toward the fitting rooms. I said, “Something's getting scratchy on the Continent.”

His shrug was eloquent. “One leaves, another one comes in.”

“Somebody wants me tapped out. They tried through The Turk.”

“Tried,” he repeated. “A word that says everything. I'm surprised that it would be The Turk. One would think he'd be glad to leave well enough alone.”

“That's what I figured. He could be fronting for somebody.”

“Likely, but he is crass enough to try something on his own. The last episode was quite detrimental to his stature ... and his little empire. Don't forget, it was The Turk who personally wiped out Louis Albo and took over his operation.”

“He was a younger gun then. He didn't have anything to lose.”

“Does he have now?”

“I'm retired, my friend. The event sent shock waves throughout the troops.”

“But you're alive,” he said. “Speculation persists that you have something that can guarantee your living.”

“Maybe.” ..

“Then you'd better decide which way you'll go.”

“Sure. Meanwhile, send out a probe and see who's doing the pushing. If there's going to be an advantage, I want it on my end.”

“Very well, I'll try.” He held out his hand and I took it. “I hope I don't open up old sores.”

“Don't sweat it.”

I went to leave and he stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Mr. Kelly ...”

“Yes?” ,

“Just why did you . , discontinue your activities? You knew what would happen.”

“Yeah, but I hoped it wouldn't. Just let's say I got tired of the whole fucking shooting match.”

 

Lee had made a pair of drinks and brought one into the bedroom for me. I had my coat off and was hanging it up when he said, “What's that for?” He was looking at the gun on my belt.

The weight of the .45 was so natural I had forgotten about it. “You counted the money,” I said. “Millions make for targets.”

His voice was shaky. “It's all in the bank.”

“Only you know that.”

“Dog ...” Before he could finish the buzzer went off, a long, insistent growl from the other room. Lee put his glass down and went to answer the door. I took the gun off my belt, stuck it on the closet shelf along with the box of shells and went out to join him.

This time he was pasty white, his eyes wide, darting back and forth between the two standing there before reaching out to me. One was in his middle forties, built like a heavyweight fighter, the other a few years younger, slim and angular, but with all the earmarks of a terrier. They didn't have to flash their ID's; the cop sign was all over them. No matter where you are, that look never changes.

“Evening, gentlemen,” I said.

The older one stared, frowned a second, then asked, “Mr. Kelly?”

Lee stepped between us, the old wingman moving up to cover his partner. “Listen, they haven't got a search warrant ...”

“At ease, kid. They were invited in.” I looked at the cop. “Weren't you?”