Deadlock

it was enough of a distraction that I missed Bledsoe’s facial reaction.

“Well, the damage was minor, after all,” he said. “I was furious at the time, but at least the ship is intact: it’d be a pain in the ass to have to spend the main part of the season patching the Lucella’s hull.”

“True enough,” Grafalk agreed. “You do have two smaller ships, though, don’t you?” He smiled at me blandly. “We have sixty-three other vessels to pick up any slack the Ericsson’s incapacitation has caused.”

I wondered what the hell was going on here. Phillips was sitting stiffly, not making any pretense of eating, while Sheridan seemed to be casting about for something to say. Grafalk ate some minced vegetables and Bledsoe attacked his broiled swordfish with gusto.

“And even though my engineer really screwed up down there, I’m convinced that the guy just got overexcited and made a mistake. It’s not like having deliberate vandalism among the crew.”

“You’re right,” Bledsoe said. “I did wonder if this was part of your program to junk your 360-footers.”

Grafalk dropped his fork. A waiter moved forward and wafted a new one to the table. “We’re satisfied with what we’ve got out there,” Grafalk said. “I do hope you’ve isolated your trouble, though, Martin.”

“I hope so too,” Bledsoe said politely, picking up his wineglass.

“It’s so distressing when someone in your organization turns out to be unreliable,” Grafalk persisted.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Bledsoe responded, “but then I’ve never shared the Hobbesian view of the social contract with you.”

Grafalk smiled. “You’ll have to explain that one to me, Martin.” He turned to me again. “At Martin’s school they went in for a lot of memorizing. I had an easier time, being a gentleman: we weren’t expected to know anything.”

I was starting to laugh when I heard glass shatter. I turned with the rest to stare at Bledsoe. He had crushed his wineglass in his hand and the clear shards sticking out of his palm were rapidly engulfed in red. As I leaped to my feet to send for a doctor I wondered what all that had been about. Of all the remarks exchanged, Grafalk’s last one had been the least offensive. Why had it produced such an extraordinary reaction?

I sent a very concerned maitre d’hotel to call an ambulance. He confided in a moment of unprofessional panic that he knew he should never have allowed Mr. Bledsoe to join Mr. Grafalk. But then-Mr. Bledsoe was not a gentleman, he had no sensitivity, one could not keep him from barging in where he did not belong.

Quiet panic prevailed at our table. The men stared helplessly at the pool of red growing on the tablecloth, on Bledsoe’s cuff, on his lap. I told them an ambulance was coming and meanwhile we should probably try to get as much glass as possible out of his hand. I sent the waiters for another ice bucket and began packing Bledsoe’s hand with ice and some extra napkins.

Bledsoe was in pain but not in danger of fainting. Instead he was cursing himself steadily for his stupidity.

“You’re right,” I said. “It was damned stupid. In fact I don’t know when I’ve ever seen anything to compare with it. But fretting over it won’t alter the past, so why don’t you concentrate on the present instead?” He smiled a bit at that and thanked me for my help.

I glanced briefly at Grafalk. He was watching us with a strange expression. It wasn’t pity and it wasn’t satisfaction. Speculative. But what about?

6 A Capital Ship

After the ambulance carted Bledsoe away, everyone returned to lunch a little furtively, as though eating were in bad taste. The headwaiter cleared Bledsoe’s place with palpable relief and brought Grafalk a fresh bottle of Niersteiner gutes Domthal-“with our compliments, sir.”

“They don’t like your boss here,” I said to Sheridan.

The chief engineer shrugged. “The maitre d’ is a snob. Martin’s a self-made man and that offends him. Niels here brings class to his joint. Martin slashes his hand open and Niels gets a free bottle of wine so he won’t be offended and drop his membership.”

Grafalk laughed. “You’re right. The most insufferable snobs are the hangers-on to the rich. If we lose our glamour, they lose the basis for their existence.”

While we talked Phillips kept darting glances at his watch and muttering, “Uh, Niels,” in his tight voice. He reminded me of a child tugging at its mother’s skirts while she’s absorbed in conversation-Grafalk gave him about the same amount of attention. Finally Phillips stood up. “Uh, Niels, I’d better leave now. I have a meeting with, uh, Rodriguez.”

Grafalk looked at his watch. “We’d all better be going, I guess. Miss Warshawski, let me take you over to Percy MacKelvy and get the Bertha Krupnik’s location for you.” He got a bill from the waiter and signed it without looking at the amount, politely waiting for me to finish. I dug the heart out of my artichoke and cut it into four pieces, savoring each one, before putting my napkin to one side and getting up.

Phillips lingered with us in the doorway, despite his meeting. He seemed to be waiting for some sign from Grafalk, a recognition of who he was, perhaps, that would enable him to leave in peace. The power of the rich to bestow meaning on people seemed as though it might work with Phillips.

“Don’t you have a meeting, Clayton?” Grafalk asked.

“Uh, yes. Yes.” Phillips turned at that and walked back across the tarmac to his Alfa.

Sheridan accompanied me over to Grafalk’s office. “I want you to come back to the Lucella and talk to Captain Bemis when you’re finished here,” he said. “We need to know if you can tell us anything about what your cousin wanted to say.”

I couldn’t, of course, but I wanted to know what they could tell me about Boom Boom, so I agreed.

Our visit to Grafalk’s office was interrupted by reporters, a television crew, and an anxious phone call from the chairman of Ajax Insurance, which covered Grafalk Steamship.

Grafalk handled all of these with genial urbanity. Treating me like a treasured guest, he asked the NBC television crew to wait while he answered a question for me. He took the call from Ajax chairman Gordon Firth in MacKelvy’s office.

“Just a minute, Gordon. I have an attractive young lady here who needs some information.” He put Firth on hold and asked MacKelvy to dig up the Bertha’s location. She was making a tour of the Great Lakes, picking up coal in Cleveland to drop in Detroit, then steaming up to Thunder Bay. She’d be back in Chicago in two weeks. MacKelvy was to instruct the captain to place himself and the crew at my disposal. Grafalk brushed my thanks aside: Boom Boom had been an impressive young man, just the kind of person the shipping industry needed to attract. Whatever they could do to help, just let him know. He returned to Firth and I found my way out alone.

Sheridan had waited for me outside, away from the reporters and television crews. As I came out a cameraman thrust a microphone under my nose. Had I seen the disaster, what did I think of it-all the inane questions television reporters ask in the wake of a disaster. “Unparalleled tragedy,” I said. “Mr. Grafalk will give you the details.”

Sheridan grinned as I ducked away from the mike. “You’re quicker on your feet than I am-I couldn’t think of a snappy remark on the spur of the moment.”

We walked down the pier to the parking lot where his Capri sat. As he backed it out of the lot he asked if Grafalk had told me what I wanted to know.

“Yeah. He was pretty gracious about it.” Overwhelmingly gracious. I wondered if he were bent on erasing any unfavorable ideas I might have picked up as a result of his interchange with Bledsoe. “Why did Grafalk’s remark about where Bledsoe went to school upset him so much?” I asked abruptly.

“Was that what set him off? I couldn’t remember.”

“Grafalk said: ‘At Martin’s school they went in for a lot of memorizing.’ Then something about his being a gentleman and not needing to know anything. Even if Bledsoe went to some tacky place like West Schaumburg Tech, that’s scarcely a reason to shatter a wineglass in your fist.”

Sheridan braked at a light at 103rd and Torrence. A Howard Johnson’s on our left struggled ineffectually with