The Erection Set (42 page)

 

Elliot Embler handed me the envelope with the series of photos, took his money and thanked me for the cash bonus that topped it off. He had dismantled the equipment, put everything back in order and asked me about the negatives. I told him to hold on to them for ten days and, if I hadn't picked them up by then, burn them.

Fifteen minutes later I was at the Lodge and caught Leyland Hunter just before he was ready to leave for the city and gave him the extra set. When he finished looking them over carefully I said, “Your play now, Counselor. I believe the old man's will has been satisfied.” He looked up at me with calculating eyes, but before he could speak I waved him off. “There were no stipulations concerning entrapment, buddy. Cousin Dennie walked square into this one on his own and if he wants, I can prod him a little to clear up a few other little unsolved mysteries people around here prefer to bury in the garbage pail of time.”

“I doubt if that will be necessary, but I think it was all a sheer waste of energy. What have you gained?”

“My ten grand, for one thing.”

“In stock certificates. I needn't tell you what their future values will be.”

“How many times do I have to remind you that I'm an optimist?”

“So were the ones who died trying to fly before the Wright Brothers found the secret.”

“Just get the papers ready.”

“When do you plan to, er, confront them? It isn't really necessary, you know.”

“Ah, but it is. And I want to go all the way with it. There's still Cousin Alfred.”

“I see.”

“Saturday night, Counselor?”

“Very well.”

“You make the arrangements.”

Hunter nodded, looked at me several seconds, then said, “Do you think you'll have time to enjoy your triumph. Dog?”

“I've lived this long,” I told him. “Survival's a matter of being the fittest.”

 

I took the old road out of town, deliberately circumnavigating the Barrin factory where the battery of Klieg lights set up for the night scenes glowed like a yellow umbrella over a normally darkened area. A generation ago it would have been a normal sight, the floods ringing the buildings making Barrin the bright heart of the city. Now it was almost like the last gasp of a dying fish.

Twice, I cut my lights before making turns, taking no chances on being followed. I had trailed too many cars myself under blackout conditions, guiding myself by the taillights ahead, completely out of sight of the lead car, and I didn't want it done to me. To double check I stopped twice too, waiting to see if anything went by me. Nothing did so I picked up the road leading out to Lucy Longstreet's retreat, picking out the landmarks through the metronome clicks of the windshield wipers.

When I reached it I eased into the driveway, cut the engine and went up and banged on the door. Nobody answered, so I waited a few seconds, knocked again and heard Lucy's raucous voice holler for me to come on in.

She was sitting by herself at a card table with a Scrabble game half finished, an empty coffee cup beside her, looking annoyed as hell. “Lose your partner?” I asked her.

“Temporarily. It ain't much fun playing alone, so sit down, Johnny.” She reached her leg out under the table and kicked the chair out for me, squinted at me impatiently and said, “Let me get this word down and you can play too.”

There was something about her that wasn't hanging right and when she picked four tiles out of the holder and laid them down it made a lousy job of Scrabble but a good piece of explanation. The word didn't fit, but it was clear enough. It spelled out
trap.

And Lucy Longstreet had been around long enough to anticipate all the moves and when I was hurtling off the chair she was sliding for the floor as feet pounded through the doorway behind me. I had the .45 out and blasted the overhead light out with the first shot before a foot took the rod out of hand and sent it skittering across the room. But the odds weren't all that bad anymore. Anyone I touched was the enemy and they had to identify me personally. And the first one tripped over me into a ball of knuckles that put his teeth down his throat and left my fist slimy with blood. When he crashed into the wall I was rolling to the left, my arm sweeping out to yank the legs of another one out from under him. The gun in his hand blasted a swath of light into my face, hot, stinging powder etching a burn across my cheek. My hand grabbed the gun in his fingers, my other hand getting leverage on his elbow and I broke his wrist with a single twist and smashed the scream out of his throat when I backhanded the iron across his skull.

There just wasn't enough time. I saw the shadow looming above me and spotted the movement, so long-conditioned reflexes jerked my head aside and let padded metal ricochet off my temple in a blinding wave of pain and lights. I tried to move, but nothing worked at all and I knew that it was all over because the flickering glow of a cigarette lighter snapped on and there was enough peripheral vision left to see the outline of an automatic in it.

I knew I let out a weak curse when the crash came and all I could think of was that it was the silliest noise I ever heard a gun make and dying wasn't so bad after all if it could distort sounds like that and not even let you feel the agony of a bullet at all. No pain. Just a heavy, crushing weight that pressed down and down and down.

When the light went on I blinked the tears out of my eyes and through the ringing in my ears I heard Lucy Longstreet say, “You okay, kid?”

“Shit.”

“Do that later. Right now get out from under that clown. He's dripping blood all over you.”

I heaved up on my knees and felt the body roll off my back, got to my feet and looked at the mess on the floor. They were all alive and breathing, but pretty damn sick, especially the one Lucy had damn near brained with the old-fashioned lamp that used to be the centerpiece of her whorehouse parlor table.

I took a minute to catch my breath, then took a good look at the three of them. Two I had never seen before, but one was an old-time buddy. Now he had a broken wrist and one hell of a dent in his skull. Blackie Saunders, the wipeout boy from Trenton was going to have a hard time explaining all this to Chet Linden.

Chet was going to have an even harder time explaining this to me.

The cigar Lucy was trying to light had broken halfway down its length and didn't want to take hold. She spat it out angrily and felt in her pocket for another one. When she got it fired she gave me a twisted grin. “Like the old days, kid. You know them?”

“I know where they came from. What happened?”

She gave a shrug as if it had been an everyday occurrence. “Came in about two hours ago. Scared the living crap out of Beth and the boys.”

“What boys?”

“Old Stanley Cramer and Stoney. Beth had 'em out hustlin' for some dirt on your cousin. They come up with some goodies, too. He got to one of the girls who was scragged and she gave him a detailed letter.”

“They all right?”

“Sure. Tied up out in the kitchen.”

“Look, Lucy ... don't give it to me in episodes I havent got ...”

“Relay, sonny. First tell me what we're gonna do with these buckos. If you want I still got contacts who'll. . . ”

“Forget it.” I pushed past her and in five minutes I had all three of them wrapped up and gagged so tight they wouldn't be going anywhere unless I let them. I found my own rod, tucked it away, then pushed Lucy down into a chair. “Okay, Lucy, now all of it.”

She nodded toward Blackie and puffed on the cigar. “That one liked to talk. He had a mad on for you, Doggie boy. Seems like they been in town checking out every one of your acquaintances and didn't have any luck until he heard old Juke telling Tod about seeing you and what a nice guy you was and how they had something to give you. Juke, he just rambled on and said they was coming here and then call you. Later, Stanley and Stoney came in, sent Juke somewhere on an errand and they followed the boys back.”

“I didn't get any call.”

“Not like they didn't try to get one through.”

“I haven't been in any one place very long.”

“That's what they figured too. So they decided to wait. Hell, after they put the others in the kitchen that one I busted over there even played some Scrabble with me. The dirty bastard used words that wasn't in the rules and made me play 'em. I should've really laid it on. You know what that lamp cost me?”

“Ten bucks.”

“Yeah, but a dollar was a dollar then.”

I threw her a disgusted smile and shook my head. “Let's get them out of the kitchen.”

Beth's fright had turned to total indignation and she was all for throwing a pail of scalding water over the three of them. I talked her out of it and let her settle for kicking each one in the head and enjoying the muffled groans that seeped through the gags. Cramer and Stoney didn't want any part of them and had to have a few belts of Lucy's best Scotch before they could get the shake out of their hands. I had to prod Stoney into remembering where he put the letter he had and he finally dug it out of an old jacket that had been slung across the back of a chair.

It was nicely detailed, giving places, dates and two other names who might go along with the big squeeze if no recriminations were guaranteed. As for herself, she'd even appear in court if she had to. And I now had Cousin Alfred's ass in one hell of a sling.

When I finished reading I put the letter in my pocket. Both the men were watching me closely and I said, “Thanks. You all have something coming for this.”

“We don't want anything, Mr. Kelly,” Cramer told me. “Unless it's to see Barrin working full time.”

“I wish I could promise you that, friend.”

“You said you was going to try.”

“All the way out. Trying doesn't mean it can be done though.”

“But you're still gonna try?”

I nodded.

“Even with Cross McMillan on your back?”

“I wish that was all I had on my back. Those three inside are only the front-runners.”

“But when Cross hears what ...”

“Cross didn't send them,” I said.

Their eyes met, then touched Lucy's. The old madam said, “It goes deeper?”

“You'd never believe, sugar. The funny part is”—I inclined my head toward the other room where the bloody three lay messing up Lucy's rug—“this end of the action doesn't bother me at all. It's that fucking McMillan who's got the power to hurt everybody and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. He's got the money, the control and enough hate for the Barrins to enjoy pulling everything down into a pile of rubbish.”

“Piss on him,” Lucy said.

“Try telling that to a city full of people with brand-new stars in their eyes.”

“What'll we do with your pals inside?”

I felt a grin tug at my mouth and ease the tension from my body. “Call Bennie Sachs to come collect them. All you know is that they broke in on you and did what they did. You have four reliable witnesses to go along with the story.”

“What story?”

“Why, it's simple. Stanley here wiggled loose, untied Stoney and Beth and you overpowered the bums.”

Cramer's voice was weak with surprise. “
Us
?”

“Sure,” I said. “Those guys aren't going to deny it. Just do what I'm telling you.”

Lucy had lived a long time. Her eyes had narrowed into the tired folds of fat and the pupils were little dark pinpoints reading my mind. I let her gauge me until she was satisfied, then she said, “Okay, Dog. That's the way it'll be.”

I left Lucy making the call and Stanley Cramer walked me to the door. When I opened it he touched my arm. He was standing in the shadows and I couldn't see his face, but there was something odd in his voice. “Don't worry too much about that there Cross guy, Mr. Kelly.”

“Why's that, Stan?”

“Because worrying don't leave time for nothing else to get done. You'll see.”

“Glad to know there's another optimist left,” I said.

 

The night lights around the factory made dull little halos in the rain. On the west side of the main buildings the trucks and trailers had been buttoned up, the only sound of life coming from inside the portable watchman's shack where a TV was blaring away and a couple of voices were loud in beery laughter.

My collar was turned up against the downpour that slashed at my back and I edged through the shadows to the rows of bushes that shielded the front of the building, got behind them and felt my way to the old service door that led inside. It squeaked open on seldom-used hinges, the noise echoing in the empty corrider. It had been a long time since I had come in this way and the place had been renovated since, so I stood there a minute until I was oriented, then picked my way through the darkened offices until I reached the foyer.

On the other side, in the area reserved for the S. C. Cable Productions office, I saw the deliciously familiar back of a beautiful little blonde poring over a ledger, one hand fingering a stack of printed cards. I crossed to the door, stood there enjoying the light glinting through the carelessly swept-back hair and said, “Hello, pretty girl.”

Sharon jumped, knocked half the cards off the desk and wung around to look at me with her breath caught in her throat. “Dog! Damn, don't ever do that again.” Then she saw my face and her eyes opened wide before she was able to speak again. “What happened to you?”

“Trouble. Nothing new. Nothing unexpected.”

She got up and came into my arms, her fingers digging hard into my biceps. “Oh, Dog. Damn you, Dog!”