The Erection Set (7 page)

“Only when we're affluent.”

“You must be gorged by now,” Al said.

“Glad you did your research, Captain.”

“Oh, you were always a pet project of mine.” He held a cup under the coffee spigot, filled and sweetened it, then got back in his rocking chair. “You know, little Italiano from the poor end of Hell's Kitchen wondering what made the rich kid from the bi
^g
estate tick. We all looked alike in uniform, but the difference was still there.”

“Keep talking,” I said. “How does a prejudiced slob from an uptown penthouse feel going back to the old turf?”

“Great,” he told me. “I keep rubbing it in to any of the old gang who are still around. I like the envious look. They all think I belong to the Mafia.”

“Tell 'em any different?”

“Nope. It gets respect, especially from the young punks I use occasionally.”

“Let the mob get wise and you'll be holding your head.”

“They already tried. Just once. I get respect from them too.”

“How?”

“Easy,” he said. “I used your name.”

“That must have gone over big.”

Al grinned slowly, mulling over the memory. “You'd be surprised, Dog. They sent their three best hatchet men out to chop you down and none were ever heard from again. They simply disappeared. No bodies. No rumors. Just sudden and total disappearance like they never even existed, and within three days after each one vanished somebody's grand villa burned down or their seagoing yacht mysteriously blew up. Oh, and I almost forgot the one in Naples those old French Resistance boys nailed with new and damning evidence of being a Nazi collaborator and hung from the bell tower in the church he had financed.”

“You're talking over my head, buddy,” I said.

“Sure I am.” His tone held mock sarcasm. “Let's just say I'm a good guesser. Aren't you taking a chance exposing yourself away from your own field of operations?”

“Al, you got one hell of an imagination.”

He nodded, looking at me squarely. “I hope you have too. Somebody with all your earmarks left one hell of a mark on things over there. Here too. You echo, Dog, big and loud. Why didn't you come home with the rest of us?”

“Social football isn't my cup of tea, kid.”

“Man,” he said, “you could have taken over all of Barrin Industries with your smarts. The old man could have used you.”

“All I want is my ten grand,” I told him.

Al sliced another chunk off the salami, skinned it and pulled two cold beers out of his freezer. He popped them open and handed one to me. “Sure you don't want some Genoa?”

I shook my head and took the beer. It was tangy and tasted good going down. “Just your report, old buddy.”

“You know, I think I liked you better in the old days. You're a mean bastard now,” he said. Al didn't have to look at any files. They were all carefully stored away in his mind, detail by detail, and when he finished his salami he stared out the window a moment, then looked back at me. “You want it all broken down?”

“Just your summation.”

“Uh-huh. Okay, Barrin Industries is still very much blue chip unless some shrewdie from SEC really digs into it. They're turning out products with the help of government contracts and old-line investors who thought your grandfather was the greatest guy alive. Their operation is marginal as hell. Equipment is out of date, standing up only because the old man insisted on the best original installations. Two of the original employees got Barrin off the hook by developing a by-product when pollution control went in and the by-product was worth more than the product itself. Your cousins conned them out of their rights just when both those men came up with something really tremendous and they got so damned pissed off they retired, died within the year and took their big secret with them.”

“What was it?”

“If I told you, you'd never believe me.”

“Try me.”

“Okay, an antigravity device.”

“Come on, Al, knock off the crap.”

“I told you.” He leaned back in his chair, smiling. “I saw it, Dog. A little steel-looking marble that would stay anywhere you put it. On the ground, ten feet up ... anywhere. Throw it, it would keep on going. Rest it, the ball stayed there.”

“Really?”

“Damn, you're an emotionless slob. You know what that could mean?”

“Sure I do.”

“Then say something.”

“I'm glad they didn't let anybody take it away from them.”

“It was a billion-dollar invention, Dog.”

“Shit. The government would have confiscated it. Or somebody would have squeezed them for it. They were smarter doing what they did.”

“You don't really believe me about the gimmick, do you?”

“Why not?”

“Because you're not excited.”

“Al, I got enough trouble
with
gravity without worrying about the anti garbage.” I felt a tug at the corners of-my mouth. “Damn interesting idea, though. You could take a broad and ...”

“There you go again!”

“So get back to Barrin Industries,” I said.

Al looked at me, shook his head in disgust and smiled crookedly. “Barrin is busted. They've borrowed all they can on the sheer weight of the physical properties they own, but they're at the end. All they can do is deal in odd bits and pieces, but the big contracts will go right past them. The more sophisticated products are beyond their reach and they couldn't possibly stay inside the time elements on the new contracts being let out. Your cousins committed Barrin to a contract that is absolutely going to slay them, then the vultures are going to move in and take over, as they say, lock, stock and barrel.”

“What vultures, Al?”

“You ever hear of Cross McMillan?”

I let out a low laugh and picked a cigarette out of the open pack on the table and lit it. “Sure. His old man and my grandfather were mortal enemies. He was born when his father was sixty-some and grew up to be the meanest kid in the area. That son of a bitch knocked me for a loop one day when I helped some doll carry packages into her car. He was eight years older than me and was after her hide and didn't want anybody cutting in. What a cocksman he thought he was.”

“So you put a firecracker under his car?”

“Nope. I hit him in the head with a rock one day and ran like hell. He never did catch me.”

“Well, friend, he caught your cousins. He's the big vulture. Right now he's got millions going to waste and all he wants is to get hold of Barrin Industries.”

“So let him.”

“He'll get your ten grand too.”

“Like hell,” I said.

“Don't believe me, then.” Al reached over and cut himself another slice of Genoa salami and nipped an end off it with evident pleasure. “Just watch,” he told me.

“Where did it go, Al?”

“The money?”

I nodded.

“You don't know your cousins.”

“Tell me. That's what I'm here for.”

“And a paid-up customer at that.” He swallowed the chunk of meat, burped and took a sip of beer. It's what you call letting skeletons out of the closet.”

“Like you said, I'm the customer.”

“Okay, Dog.” Al told me. “Your funeral.”

“No flowers, please.”

“Sure. Well, if you remember, all that Barrin stock was left to the family ... at least the controlling majority.”

“Fifty-seven percent,” I reminded him.

“Exactly. And according to the terms of the will, neither your cousin Alfred nor Dennison could sell.”

“True.”

“They owned fifteen percent apiece, with the rest going to Veda, Pam and Lucella. The old man figured the girls needed something to attract a husband.”

“Yeah,” I said sourly, “I know. They got them too. All except Veda.”

“Remember them?”

“Only too well, buddy.”

“So you could have forgotten. They were all older than you. Anyway, remember Veda's vice?”

“The cubes?”

“Oh, Dog, she's got more class than that. Your cousin Veda discovered Las Vegas. She got with the wild bunch from New York and some of the sharpies who used to be based in Havana. Man, did she go down, and I don't mean sexually. That crazy broad went through everything she had and hocked everything she didn't have. Right now she's living off the income from a small block of securities she won when she was having an early streak of luck. If it weren't for that, Cousin Veda would be humping for a living.”

“Stupid dame,” I muttered. “She wouldn't make a nickel being a whore.”

“You haven't seen her for a while. I kind of think she did take some of it out in trade. Morrie Shapiro wiped out her chits and so did Hamilton from that theater chain. She's a real swinger, that one. Built like a brick outhouse now. No mind, but built. Talented, too, I hear. A real sex machine ... something like having a new antique car. Style, performance, color, but a little aged.”

“That leaves Pam and Lucella,” I said.

“Same old story. Pam's husband Marvin Gates got himself caught in one hell of a gigantic swindle when he tried to finance a cute little operation and Pam had to bail him out. It was either pay up or visit him in jail. Pam paid up and now Marv's her own personal little ass kisser who had better not ever open his mouth again except when she says when, where or how. And I think you know what I mean.”

“Remembering Pam's sexual preferences, I sure do,” I said. “And Lucella?”

“Too many luxuries. She woke up one day and it had all dribbled away. The Riviera, Paris and Rome were memories. That guy she married ... what was his name?”

“Simon.”

“Yes, Simon ... she sold his polo ponies, his race cars. Simon got a divorce in Mexico, married some old dame and Lucella keeps looking at her pictures of the Riviera, Paris and Rome.”

“Sad.”

“Isn't it?” Al said. “But typical. Who was it said three generations from shirt sleeves to shirt sleeves?”

“Some wise-ass,” I told him.

“The rough part is this,” Al said. “Alfred and Dennison don't know about all this machinery. They're trying to operate on the assumption that the gal cousins have all their stocks and are bugging them to turn over control to them. None of them will buy the attitude ... not that they wouldn't if they could ... it's just that they can't. It just ain't there to sell anymore. Al and Dennie own thirty percent of nothing with old Cross McMillan ready to reach in and snatch it all away. He already owns one hell of a block he picked up when the original investors died and if it ever comes to a proxy fight, he can pick up all the marbles.”

“Maybe not.”

“Come on, Dog. The dame cousins of yours dumped everything. Whoever picked it up bought a sucker deal and it's got to be spread out all over the place. It's only junk, and who would bother with it anyhow?'

“Oh, you never could tell.”

For a long time, Al looked at me, his eyes tight little beads trying to see inside my mind, and finally they did. “You got it,” Al stated.

“Why not?” I asked him. “Like you said, it was only junk.”

He let me have that long look again. “McMillan is going to kill you.”

I grinned at him.

“He wants everything ... Barrin Industries, the Mondo Beach property ... the works. He's going to get even with your grandfather.”

“Fuck McMillan.”

“Not him, Dog. I told you, he's a vulture. He's got the money and the power. To him Barrin Industries is only a toy to be played with. That guy plays in international finance. He can buy anything he wants to.”

I took a long drag on the cigarette and snuffed it out in the empty beer can. “Almost everything, Al. Or do you know about that too?”

“You even look at his wife sidewise and you'll be dead, buddy. Like D-E-A-D.”

“I wasn't intending to. I just said there were some things you just can't buy.”

“Dog, you're nuts. Those two are crazy in love. They always have been.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Maybe there's an age differential. Not much, but they're sure as hell in love.”

“I wasn't talking about that,” I said.

“What them?”

“Nothing that makes any difference right now.”

We sat there rocking a few minutes, looking up Broadway. North of Thirty-fourth Street a gray cloud was beginning to encompass the Empire State Building.

“It's going to rain.” I said.

For the first time, old Al DeVecchio's face was a study in consternation. I never had seen him like that before. It was like he had stumbled into somebody else's foxhole and found it full of shit.

“I never should have answered your letter,” he said.