show him the way. Go to hell clinging to a big, flawless, blue-white diamond. It would be worth it. It would make life worth living to have a death worth dying.
Harry felt that surge of strength and meaning that he always got when he was moving into a new job. Usually he knew exactly where he was going, how many nails were in the front door. But it was exhilarating to be able to put faith in Phillip. To be able to say, 'I'll go where you're going, Phillip.' To feel like a protected boy.
That was what Phillip gave to Carol. Harry didn't really know what was between Phillip and Carol. More than the fucking, though. He'd watched them fuck on the floor. Phillip mounting Carol, and Carol sinking against the hard wood as if the missing piece had just been put back. They were the same, somehow, Phillip and Carol. Two parts of the same puzzle.
And Harry wanted her, but he wanted the diamonds just as much.
They were picking up tickets at La Guardia airport, Phillip and Harry. Carol, ever the female, was late. Phillip had told Harry in the taxi that they were going to Detroit. Plenty of loot in Detroit. Lots of money from putting America on wheels. And he'd roll away with all of it. They stood before the section marked, 'Central West.'
'Detroit, huh,' said Harry as they turned away from the counter.
'What's happening there?'
'Anything can happen in Detroit,' Phillip smiled. 'Do you know the city?'
Harry distractedly stared at a woman, large and shapely and covered with gems. The brooch and earrings of a quality that could interest even him. 'Not … intimately,' he finally answered.
Phillip glanced at him guardedly. What did not intimately mean?
What did anything about Harry mean? Where was the conscience of the undefined man? What did Harry care about? Did he have a huge bleeding ruby where his heart should be?
Phillip had felt the directness of Harry's taking Carol. Just get in there and pump. Don't complicate things, just unload. That's what it's for. It was more remote, in a way, for Harry to just get in there and fuck than for Phillip to inflict the delicate and gross perversions with which he controlled Carol. It was more controlling to fuck the way Harry did. In the ass, in the cunt, in Phillip's ass, in the mouth, in the ear, in any dark, tight, wet hole. Just let go and have a ball. A kind of insane determination Harry had. Couldn't stop until he was finished.
Phillip certainly discovered that in Boston. Now Harry had started something with Carol, but Phillip had started that a long time ago. He had his hooks in. Carol might fall in love with Harry, probably was in love now, going through some romantic idiocy. But Phillip had his hooks in. And the fish could play.
The jewel-bedecked woman half-turned her back to Harry. She was coquettishly, titillatingly aware of the man's stare, and couldn't find the strength to turn completely away. She bent over her luggage, and her breasts pressed together in the long V neck of her dress. Harry stared at her, detached and intense. Phillip's eyes followed Harry's. He looked long at the glittering woman and then smiled.
'Think she's going to Detroit?' Harry asked plaintively. Then they heard her ask for a California flight. 'Maybe we should go to California?' The woman turned around and flirted playfully, like a delicate young elephant.
'Maybe we should,' Phillip laughed. Nothing to fear. She wasn't Harry's type. They just had the same tastes in decoration. 'But remember Harry, Detroit is the backbone of America.'
'Oh?' Harry's eyes left the woman. 'Then we must go. Mustn't neglect the country's backbone. Especially when it's held together with platinum.'
Phillip didn't answer. He hadn't said one word about the job.
Instead, he looked at his watch, then scanned the waiting room. 'Oh, here she is,' he said, brightening, as Carol approached, girlish and breathless.
'Last minute things at the office,' she said in a rush. 'Sorry Phillip darling. Hello Harry.' She looked at him briefly. A breathless, girlish, adorable, cool witch. 'Good, here come my bags.' She wore a back suit and held a big red purse. Harry touched the bag playfully and said,
'Going shopping?'
She looked quickly away, and he realized that it wasn't control that produced her smoothness. It was fear.
Her luggage was the last to be weighed. As it was wheeled toward the scale, the three of them walked out to the field. Harry was upbeat, a new dimension of his usually somber way. He felt good. Proud of Carol for looking so chic and untouched — and probably hot between her thighs right now. Proud of Phillip, too, distinguished in his perfectly fitted suit and homburg. Proud of himself, as a matter of fact
— free and clean and a fit companion for the elegant couple.
'My mother should see me now,' he said to them. Phillip cut him short. 'Was that the woman you were staring at?' He couldn't tell if Carol had heard or felt the words. They boarded the plane.
Harry walked down the aisle ahead of them and took a seat next to a plump, jeweled dowager. My God, thought Phillip, he's got the magic touch. Carol and Phillip sat behind him. They watched as Harry offered the delighted woman a cigarette and then turned and winked at them. Phillip smiled broadly. Carol hesitated, then said, 'Just like Tom Sawyer. How adorable.' As the plane took off, she studied Manhattan below them.
In Detroit it was raining heavily. A uniformed chauffeur just outside the gate ran toward them carrying a huge black umbrella.
'Mr. Johns, Mr. Johns,' he shouted. Phillip was transformed. He looked like the master come back from the wars. 'Good to see you, Sam,' he greeted.
Then Sam, protecting them all with the umbrella, himself hatless and soaked, said, 'You'd better get to the car, Miss Carol. You'll get all wet.'
That would be a tragedy, Harry thought in a rankling of anger and confusion. Imagine Miss Carol all wet. Is Miss Carol ever dry?
Miss Carol said, 'Hi Sam,' warmly like the gentle princess she was.
It was enough for Sam. They followed him swiftly to the black limousine. In the instant before getting into the car, Phillip paused and said, 'Sam, this is Mr. Gregory. Steven Gregory. He'll be our guest for a while.'
'Pleased to know you, sir,' Sam acknowledged, touching his cap.
Harry nodded. His expression was the same as when he had met Carol in the prison, guarded and half asleep. He was furious, furious.
It was like being denied by Phillip. But he'd have to wait. Phillip might be after a big load. Maybe they were going to be honored guests of Detroit's finest, and then leave with all the gold plumbing. Had to be patient. But Harry felt strange, separate. As if Phillip and Carol had come home and he'd turned down the wrong road.
Phillip sat up front with Sam and Carol, and Harry slipped quickly into the back seat. Phillip and Sam began talking, and Harry tried to piece their conversation into a coherent story. He heard Phillip's voice through the glass cage. 'Yes, these past two years in Europe were a gold mine of information. My plans for the gardens are superb. We'll talk about it soon. Ah, to be home at last.'
How sweet, how absolutely touching. Carol reached backwards and tapped Harry's arm. 'Don't sulk,' she mocked. 'Everything will be explained to the little boy who hates the dark.'
The car arrived at the gate of a huge estate in Grosse Pointe, just outside Detroit. Sam turned into the driveway that formed a huge arc in front of the main house. Another servant hurried down the steps to meet them with an umbrella. When Carol saw him, she exuded, 'Dear Wilbur!' Wilbur, undoubtedly the most important of the staff, rushed Miss Carol up the steps, terrified that the honey would melt if she got wet.
'Wilbur, Mr. Gregory. Steven Gregory. He'll be staying with us a while.'
After the hurried introduction, they all stood in the front hall of the house. 'That's very good, sir,' Wilbur approved with an eccentric nod of his head. He gathered up their coats.
The house was like a small chateau. It looked like a house Phillip would live in, retreat to. The front room had a great vaulting ceiling and a curving oak staircase. Phillip looked eagerly about him, rubbing his hands like a chilled squire after the hunt.
'Yes,' he said a bit pompously, exaggerating his comfort and relaxation, 'home at last. Show Mr. Gregory to the large guest room please, Wilbur. And take care that he has everything he needs.'
'Very good sir. This way please, Mr. Gregory.' The name sounded phony on the servant's lips. The whole set-up could be a phony.
'You'll excuse me,' said Phillip to both Carol and Harry, 'while I see to a few things around the place.'
Carol smiled at him indulgently and Harry gave him an odd look.
Phillip followed Wilbur up the wide staircase. On the wall of the first landing, he stopped and studied a very
