He had worried, too, about whether he should go to Juanita again; wondered if-she would want to see hunt But then he decided that at least one more visit was necessary, and when he came she was matter-of-fact and businesslike, as if what had happened on the last occasion had been put behind her.
She listened to his report, then he told her of his doubts. 'I'm just not finding out anything important. Okay, so I deal with Jules LaRocca and the guy who sold me those counterfeit twenties, but both are small fry. Also, when I ask LaRocca questions such as where the fake driver's license came from he clams up tight and gets suspicious. I've no more idea now than when I started of any bigger people in the rackets, or what goes on beyond the DoubleSeven.'
'You cannot find out everything in a month,' Juanita said.
'Perhaps there isn't anything to be found at least, not what Wainwright wants.'
'Perhaps not. But if so, it is not your fault. Besides, it is possible you have discovered more than you know. There is the forged money you have given me, the license number of the car you drove…' 'Which was probably stolen.'
'Let Mr. Sherlock Holmes Wainwright find that out.' A thought struck Juanita. 'What about your airline ticket? The one they gave you to come back?' 'I used it.' 'There is always a copy that you keep.'
'Maybe I…' Miles felt in his jacket pocket; he had worn the same suit when he went to Louisville. The airline envelope was there, the ticket counterfoil inside.
Juanita took both. 'Perhaps it will tell somebody something And I will get your forty dollars back that you paid for the bad money.' 'You're taking good care of me.' ''por qui ? It appears someone must.'
Estela, who had been visiting a friend in a nearby apartment, came in. 'Hullo,' she said, 'are you going to stay again?' 'Not today,' he told her. 'I'll be leaving soon.' Juanita asked sharply, 'Why do you need to?'
'No reason. I just thought…' 'Then you will have dinner here. Estela will like it.'
'Oh, good,' Estela said. She asked Miles, 'Will you read me a story?'
When he said he would, she brought a book and perched herself happily on his knee.
After dinner, before Estela said good night and went to bed, he read to her again. ~
'You are a kind person, Miles,' Juanita said as she emerged from the bedroom, closing the door behind her. While she had been helping Estela into bed, he had risen to go, but she motioned to him, 'No, stay. There is something I wish to say.'
As before, they sat beside each other on the living-room sofa. Juanita spoke slowly, choosing her words.
'Last time, after you had gone, I regretted the harsh things I thought and said while you were here. One should not judge too much, yet that is what I did. I know that in prison you suffered. I have not been there, but perhaps can guess how bad it was, and how can anyone know unless they themselves were there what they might do? As to the man you spoke of, Karl, if he was kind when so much else was cruel, that is what should matter most.'
Juanita stopped, considered, then went on, 'For a woman, it is hard to understand how men could love each other in the way you said, and do to each other what you did. Yet I know there are women who love each other in that way, as well as men, and perhaps when all is said, love like that is better than none, better than to hate. So wipe out, please, the hurtful words I spoke, and go on remembering your Karl, admitting to yourself you loved him.' She raised her eyes and looked at Miles directly. 'You did love him, didn't you?' 'Yes,' he said; his voice was low. 'I loved him.'
Juanita nodded. 'Then it is better said. Perhaps now you will love other men. I do not know. I do not understand these things only that love is better, wherever it is found.'
'Thank you, Juanita.' Miles saw that she was crying and found his own face wet with tears.
They stayed silent a long time listening to the Saturday evening hum of traffic and voices from the street outside. Then both began to talk as friends, closer than they had ever been before. They talked on, forgetting time, and where they were; talked far into the night, about themselves, their experiences, lessons learned, their once- held dreams, their present hopes, objectives they might yet attain. They talked until drowsiness eclipsed their voices. Then, still beside each other, holding hands, they drifted into sleep.
Miles awoke first. His body was uncomfortable and cramped… but there was something else which filled him with excitement.
Gently he awakened Juanita, guiding her from the sofa to the rug in front of it where he placed cushions for their pillows. Tenderly and lovingly he undressed her, then himself, and after that he kissed, embraced and confidently mounted her, thrusting himself strongly forward, gloriously inward, while Juanita seized and clasped hired and cried aloud with joy. ~ 'I love you, Miles Carino mio, I love your'
Then he knew that, through her, he had found his manhood once again.
9
'I'll ask you two questions,' Alex Vandervoort said. He spoke less crisply than usual; his mind was preoccupied and somewhat dazed by what he had just read. 'First, ..
how in God's name did you get all this information? Second, how reliable is it?'
'If you don't mind,' Vernon Jax acknowledged, 'I'll answer those in reverse order.'
They were in Alex's office suite in FMA Headquarters Tower, in the late afternoon. It was quiet outside. Most of the staff from the 36th door had already gone home.
The private investigator whom, a month ago, Alex had retained to make an independent study of Supranational Corporation an 'outside snooping job,' as they agreed had stayed quietly seated, reading an afternoon newspaper, while Alex studied the seventy-page report, induding an appendix of photocopied documents, which Jax had brought in personally.
Today, Vernon Jax was, if anything, more unimpressive in appearance than the last time. The shiny blue suit he was wearing might have been donated to the Salvation Army and rejected. His socks drooped around his ankles, above shoes even less cared for than before. What hair remained on his balding head stuck out untidily like well- used Brillo pads. Just the same, it was equally clear that what Jax lacked in sartorial style he made up in espionage skill.
'About reliability,' he said. 'If you're asking me whether the facts I've listed could be used, in their present form, as evidence in court, the answer's no. But I'm satisfied the information's all authentic, and I haven't included anything which wasn't checked with at least two good sources, in some cases three. Another thing, my reputation for getting at the truth is my most important business asset. It's a good reputation. I intend to keep it that way.
'Now then, how do I do it? Well, people I work for usually ask me that, and I suppose you're entitled to an explanation, even though I'll be holding some things back which come under the heading of 'trade secrets' and 'protecting sources.'
'I worked for the U. S. Treasury Department for twenty years, most of it as an IRS investigator, and I've kept my contacts green, not only there but in a lot of other places. Not many know it, Mr. Vandervoort, but a way investigators work is by trading confidential information, and in my business you never know when you'll need someone else or they'll need you. You help another man this week, sooner or later he'll come through for you. That way, too, you build up debts and credits, and the payoffs in tip-offs and intelligence go both ways. So what I'm selling when you hire me is not just my financial savvy, which I like to think is pretty fair, but a web of contacts. Some of them might surprise you.'
'I've had all the surprises I need today,' Alex said. He touched the report in front of him.
'Anyway,' fax said, 'that's how I got a lot of what's in there. The rest was drudgery, patience, and knowing which rocks to look under.' 'I see.'
'There's one other thing I'd like to clear up, Mr. Vandervoort, and I guess you'd call it personal pride. I've watched you look me over both times we've met, and you haven't much cared for what you've seen. Well, that's the way I prefer people to see me because a man who's nondescript and down-at-the-heel isn't as likely to be noticed or taken seriously by those he's trying to investigate. It works another way, too, because people I talk to don't think I'm important and they aren't on guard. If I looked anything like you, they would be. So that's the reason, but I'll also tell you this: The day you invite me to your daughter's wedding I'll be as well turned out as any other guest.'
'If I should ever have a daughter,' Alex said, 'I’ll bear that in mind.'
When fax had gone, he studied the shocking report again. It was, he thought, fraught with the gravest implications for First Mercantile American Bank. The mighty edifice of Supranational Corporation SuNatCo was
