“It helps.”
“Right now I'll let it go. Just keep in mind that I don't give a shit who anybody is when they get out of line or interfere with my business. All you have coming is ten minutes' worth of talking.”
“You kept a surveillance on those two guys who got clobbered in the garage toilet.”
“A normal precaution.”
“They ducked out.”
“And you want to know where.” He made it a flat statement.
“Right.”
“Why?”
“I could go to the trouble of running them down myself if you want.”
He ran it through his mind, knew it could be done and nodded. “The Greek's in a rooming house on the West Side.” He scratched an address on the same paper I had given him and shoved it back. “Markham checked into the Ormih Hotel. They left at different times and each one took two different cabs getting to his pad. It didn't work.”
“They weren't charged with anything, were they?”
“You don't book a guy for getting beaten up. They even paid the hospital bill.”
I pushed the chair back and stood up. “If you managed to snag prints from those two while they were unconscious, tell the boys in Washington to process them through some of the European departments.”
“I'll do that.”
“You still covering that pair?”
“The message went to the right ears.”
“Don't bet on it.”
Tobano's face was thoughtful. “Why did they skip out of the hospital?”
“Maybe they were afraid of me,” I said.
Â
Fifty years ago one of the steamship tycoons had willed his midtown East Side mansion to a young legal fraternity. What had at one time been a handy dormitory for impoverished legal beagles now was one of New York's most exclusive private clubs occupied only by the mighty of the profession who constructed or destroyed empires.
I sat across a black walnut table from Leyland Hunter nursing my drink, picking out the faces I knew, aware of the acoustical quality of the room that totally muffled all but the loudest voices into a soft hum. “You live well,” I said.
Hunter gave me a little smile and shrugged. “Protective coloration. Besides, it intimidates the more reluctant clients. Care to order?”
I nodded and he touched the button that brought the waiter, ordered for both of us and picked up his drink. I said, “I hope the cops didn't ruffle you any, Counselor.”
“They didn't. Although I must say it's been some time since I've had communication with them.”
“Want to know what happened?”
“Not particularly. You haven't asked for advice yet. Do you intend to?”
“Nope.”
“Very well then. What else is on your mind?”
“The Mondo Beach property set?”
He sipped his drink gently, savoring the taste. “Completely. I expedited the deal and as you supposed, your cousins assumed the money came from the long lost relative. I suspect they intend renewing the friendship before long.”
I grinned at him and flipped a cigarette out of my pack. “They're really hurting for cash then. I figured they would.” I lit the butt and blew the match out. “I don't think that old boy would buy in anyway.”
His nod was a solemn one. “I rather doubt it. He died ten years ago. Out of curiosity I made some inquiries and only by sheer luck managed to find out about it. He was gold rich, all right, but blew it all on uranium exploration during the boom and went totally broke. He died in a mine cave-in trying for another lucky strike.”
“I guess he had his fun.”
“Probably, but what joyful pleasures are you contemplating?”
I took the check out of my pocket with the note of details stapled to the corner and handed it to him. “Buy me a house, Counselor. Then get a crew in to repair everything as it was in its original condition.”
He studied the note and the check, then looked over the rim of his glasses at me. “This isn't to be in your name?”
“You see what I want.”
“Aren't you a little too old to be playing games like this?”
“It isn't a game, friend.”
“Can I ask why?”
“Sure. I never had a house. I like somebody else to enjoy the pleasure. Any complications?”
“No. I suppose I am to expedite this too?”
“From the size of that check,” I told him, “it's pretty obvious.”
“Dogeron Kelly,” he laughed, “you are a pisser.”
“Terrible language from one of your stature.”
“Balls,” he said. “Now, is that all?”
“No.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“Just a question now. Why haven't Dennie and Al married?”
Hunter looked at me several seconds then finished his drink. “I was wondering when you were going to ask that.” The waiter came, put down our plates, and when he had left Hunter tasted his food, approved and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Several matches were arranged for both of them shortly after the war. I assume you remember how the family handled such things.”
“How could I forget?”
“Unfortunately, your female cousins made a botch of things with their errant behavior. Although the Barrins are mere upstarts, those doing the arranging were quite chagrined about the whole episode and let the matter drop right there.”
“That all?”
“Not quite. I have to go on hearsay now, but both Dennison and Alfred never seemed to pursue marriage as a career. Both preferred their position of heading the Barrin estate. At one time Dennie showed an interest in the Have-lock widow, but she married into an old chain-store family with all her wealth. Cousin Alfred squired several unattached, and, I might add, unlovely daughters of riches here and there, but nothing seemed to take. Those people with all their war profits didn't buy Alfred's type at all. I think they knew what he was after.”
“But nothing now?”
“Neither is of choice marriageable age at the moment, Dog. Financially, they aren't the best risks, either.” His eyes had a strange glint to them. “I went over the books last week when we were in Linton. Your cousins have accepted several large and important contracts. On paper, everything looks quite sound, but the reports from the plant managers are pretty disturbing.” He paused a second and let it sink in. “Barrin isn't going to be able to handle them unless they retool and they haven't got the money for that.”
“Come on, Counselor, they can't be that stupid.”
“Then the answer is obvious, isn't it?”
I nodded. “They're figuring on some sort of financing. But how?”
“That, my friend, is up their sleeve.”
“Any estimates on the retooling job?”
“Roughly several million.”
“How rough?”
“About fifteen million.”
“That's pretty damn rough,” I said. “They're not look ing to start the job and then plead for an extension, are they?”
“Not with these contracts. No, they're hoping for something.”
“Grand Sita up for sale?”
“Oh, they'd sell, but there are no buyers. Maybe in two years the picture will change, but they couldn't wait that long. Those contracts will go into effect next month. They've already invested the Mondo Beach money in factory renovations, so they are definitely going ahead.”
“This ought to be good,” I told him.
“It's going to be better. I've heard a rumor.”
“Oh?”
“Cross McMillan is ready to move in at the next board meeting. It's scheduled a week before the contracts are formerly activated. Barrin Industries will come crashing down.”
The thought pulled my mouth apart and I said, “How about that?”
But Hunter didn't grin back. He just sat there looking at me, then finally said, “That bastard streak in you sure shows. Eat your lunch.”
I had the cabbie drop Hunter off at his office, then head back down to the Flatiron Building. Al DeVecchio was still eating salami and slopping coffee from an oversize mug with one ear glued to a telephone. When he hung up he invited me to a snack, but I refused and sat in the empty rocker.
“You made the papers, kid,” he told me. “Both Madcap Merriman and Lagen have squibs about you. See it?”
“Nope.”
“Merriman's description makes you out better than a movie star. A real sex symbol.”
“Good for her.”
“That Lagen's a corker. He's posing hypothetical questions ... have you come back to take over the ailing Barrin Industries and all that.”
“Should be good for a rise in the stock price.”
“Not in today's market.” He put his cup down and leaned back in his rocker. “What's bugging you, Dog?”
I stared out the window toward uptown Manhattan. The haze was thick and the outline of the Empire State Building was barely discernible. “You have any mob contacts, Al?”
He stopped rocking, his eyes squinting at me. “What?”
“Rackets. Mob. Organized crime.”
“Look, because I'm Italian ...”
“Don't give me any ethnic crap, Al. You handled the bookkeeping on the Cudder Hotel chain. You set up Davewell Products and engineered all the business details for the Warton merger.”
He came halfway out of his chair. “How the hell did you know about that?”
“I do some homework too.”
He sat down slowly, the amazement on his face. “Some damn homework. Those were all clean deals or I never would have touched them.”
“How did you feel when you found out who was behind them?”
Al took another sip of his coffee and put it down with a grimace. “Shitty,” he said. “Old buddy, I'm giving you grudging respect, which is something coming from me. As for your first question, my mob contacts are nil and they stay nil. They offered me two more fat deals I told them to shove all the way and that ends it there.”
“Why did you get involved in the first place?”
“Easy, friend, real easy. They maneuvered through top-notch people I thought were clean and it wasn't until a long time afterward that I found out I was putting dirty money into legitimate businesses. I even turned the information over to the feds, and right there it stopped. Graft can go into some pretty high places. Some of our elected or appointed officials have hot, sweaty palms.” He gave me another stare and shook his head. “Man ...”
“How about the contacts?” I repeated.
“Forget it.” I waited for a good minute, then: “Why?”
“A consignment of heroin for delivery here was sidetracked in Marseilles. I want to know who the receiver was.”
“Dog, you are out of your fucking mind!”
“I'm not in the business if that's what's bothering you.”
Al got up, paced the room once, then stood there glaring down on me. “What the hell business are you in?”
“Trying to stay alive, for one.”
“Man, you're nuts. You think I'm going to ask anybody questions like that? You think I'm going to stick my neck out that far? You think I'm going to get involved with narcotics?”
“Sure I do, Al. Why fight it?”
“Go frig yourself.”
I grinned at him, a big fat grin. “You can't help yourself anymore. Now you got to know what it's all about.”
He let his hands drop helplessly by his sides, then turned them palms up in despair. “Where the hell did I go wrong? I put money in the poorbox, I support my family, I belong to the right clubs ...”
“Quit clowning,” I said. “Wait until you hear the facts.”
“Sure.”
“You'd better sit down.”
I didn't tell him too much. There are times when it's better to let them figure things out for themselves. Conscience and guilt complexes are factors that can throw a monkey wrench into anything and Al DeVeccho had more than enough of both. All I wanted from him was a probable lead on who was handling the big buys of heroin. There were other ways of finding out, but Al had an in and if he listened right even a hint could point in the right direction.
It took a while, but eventually he decided to go along because my ass was in a sling and for no other reason. I said, “How long do you think it will take?”
Al shrugged his shoulders. “The Davewell bunch wants me to do another audit. I was going to turn it down. Maybe I'll start there.”
“When?”
“Tuesday. You care if I get somebody else in on this?”
“Use your own discretion.”
“If I did, I'd tell you to go piss up a stick. I never had any urge to go back into the gun business.”
“Just watch your step and you won't.”
“I don't want any bathtub treatments, either.”
My knuckles whitened when I squeezed my hands together, remembering what almost had happened. “That was before I smelled what was going on. Now I have Lee's place locked off, a private security guard is on the floor and Lee knows enough to stay on his toes.”
“What about your other friends?”
“I'm the target. They know damn well I've never been connected with anyone on this side of the Atlantic. I'll either be walking alone or ready to cover anything that happens.”
“You'd better have eyes in the back of your head then.”
“Don't sweat it,” I said. “They may even get the picture that I'm out of the action all the way.”
“You know better than that.”
“It's still a possibility.”
“Okay, have it your way. I still think I'm a nut for getting talked into this. At least you can keep the hell away from me for a while. If I learn anything, I'll call that number or get you at the apartment.”