“Pat-”
“Don’t yell, Benny. I can hear you.” She sat down on the couch and put her hand on his knee. “What is it, Benny?”
That creepy smile with the eyes looking tired had come over her. It had come too fast; she was going off. And he hadn’t explained.
“Don’t feel bad about it, Benny. You’re trying your best.” She smiled at him.
“What are you talking about?”
“The whisky, Benny. That sharp, bitter whisky. I remember now, the way it was in jail. You did the same there, didn’t you, Benny? You spiked it.”
What made the shock worse was the bland smile she kept on her face.
“I understand, Benny. You tried to help, didn’t you, darling?” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, darling.”
She was making things worse. She was saying what he’d been telling himself, and the whole rotten lie of it twisted through him like pain.
“Isn’t that true, darling?”
If only it hadn’t been Pat. If only it wouldn’t be Pat, the hub of his plans, both plans, the clean and the rotten.
Her voice, calm and reasonable, gave him another jolt. The longer they stay users, the clearer they stay in the head. For a while. She sounded clear and sane: “-and solve both our problems, Benny. I’ll stay, I won’t cause any trouble. You finish up with Daddy.” She grinned. “And I want you to have all the luck in the world.” She stopped, as if she were thinking about it; then her face became serious again. “And in return, darling, you help with mine. Keep me happy, Benny. O.K.?” She watched his face but didn’t see what went through him when he caught her meaning. “You get the H, just a little bit now and then, and I won’t cause any trouble. O.K.?”
When he found his voice, the struggle left him with nothing but nonsense. “Stop grinning!” he shouted. “Stop that goddamn grinning!”
“Or I’ll make trouble.” She wasn’t grinning or smiling or any of those things. Her face was flat and her voice was like metal. “There are telephones all over the house, and dumb little men with their tongues hanging out to do what I ask them to. There are a thousand little ways-”
He was tired of fighting on a dozen fronts. He’d always got things done by doing one at a time, one after the other. “It’s a deal. And when this is over-”
“Sure, Benny, sure.” She got up and walked to the window. “Sure, sure, sure.” She started to twirl, watching her skirt billow up.
“Pat!” But he was talking to nobody. She was off at the other end of the room banging on the piano. Just the way Tober had done it. The last thing Tober had said, Benny remembered, was “Wish me luck!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alverato was first, then Benny, and last came Birdie. Nobody tried to make a procession out of it, but that’s the way it turned out when Big Al went someplace. They walked through the door and stood in the black-and-gold anteroom. Turk showed them to the library, where Pendleton was waiting. He watched Alverato come and they watched Pendleton. He wasn’t alone, either.
“Pendy, sit down,” Alverato said. He said it as if the place were his. He looked at the two torpedoes behind Pendleton’s chair and the other one who stood by the door. “Something new, huh, Pendy? Kind of like old times, it looks like to me. I’m surprised at you, Pendy.” Alverato leaned across the desk, looking confidential. “Kind of outdated methods you’re using, ain’t cha?” and he roared.
They sat down around the desk with the torpedoes making like statues. Benny tried to catch Pendleton’s eye, but no luck. That was another good sign. First the torpedoes, now this. For once he had Pendleton acting human. A little longer, he thought, a little longer like this and then he’d get Pendleton where he would crack.
“O.K., Pendleton, send away your doggies and we talk business.” Alverato lit his cigar.
They moved away, out of earshot.
“Now, I never liked a double-cross, Pendy, and you’re no exception. You’re more like a good example, you bastard, so don’t try any more games.”
“There was no double-cross, Alverato. A precaution, I would call it. A precaution that-”
“Save it. Now let’s set it straight about the cable code. What’s the change you made?”
“Only the signature.”
Alverato looked at Benny, whose mouth gave a short smirk.
“Instead of ‘Alfred B. Kent,’ you sign just Alfred.’”
“I’ll be damned,” Alverato said. Benny kept still. “Any other changes you’d like to tell me about?”
There was the merest pause before Pendleton spoke, and he glanced at Benny for the first time.
“No,” Pendleton said.
Benny kept still.
“If you’re lying, Pendleton,” Big Al waved his cigar, “just remember I got your daughter.”
“You insult my intelligence,” Pendleton said, but nobody paid any attention to the way he said it.
“So let’s have the receiving operation. Lay it out clear, no double talk, and nothing left out. My boy Benny here is going to follow you every step. He’s taking over where you leave off, Pendy.”
Pendleton had nothing to say to that He opened a nautical map on top of the desk. Then he spoke with an effort. “The answering cable from Signor Lippi, as you remember, tells you the time and place of the pickup in Italy. An agent of your choosing-I will give Mr. Tapkow the name of the man we have been using-makes contact with Lippi’s messenger, who carries the heroin. Your agent pays and holds the package until a ship that you designate makes port in the pickup city.
“There are three pursers on three ships of the Greenfell Line who have performed the next step in the transaction. Mr. Tapkow will be introduced to these men as they become available. Only one of them is in port at the moment. We have chosen these three men because together their shipping schedules are the most active. In the present case the purser of the David Letz, a freighter, has been instructed. Upon reaching Naples, your agent will contact him and deliver the package, and then he will return here with a receipt. In the meantime, the purser stows the contents of the package in various places on the freighter. He has one more duty. One day before his ship reaches this point on the return trip-” Pendleton pointed to an area on the map-”he seals the heroin in a tubular container. This is one of them.” Pendleton reached to the floor and set a thing like a thermos bottle on the desk. It had a screw-on cap with a snap lock and the whole thing was made of aluminum. There was a ring on top of the cover and inside the cylinder was a rubber container. “At precisely this location,” and Pendleton’s finger stabbed a spot near the coast of Virginia, “this container is dropped overboard. It is dropped with a simple cork float attached to the ring, which keeps the container at an average depth of twelve feet. The float itself, attached by line, stays suspended below water at about two feet. There’s one further attachment. Wired to the cork-”
“Wait a minute. This looks like a lousy spot to me, Pendleton. That drop point is too far out.”
“It’s the best point. It’s usually invisible from land and it’s just this side of the continental shelf. If the container sinks, there is still some chance of recovery. Another advantage is the absence of any strong currents. The Gulf Stream drift, because of these promontories and the swing of the coastline, is veering much farther out, here. To continue.” Pendleton gave an offended cough. “Attached to the float is a four-inch capsule of yellow dye, which is released and diluted in a carefully controlled manner.”
“Where do you get it?”
“Mr. Tapkow will meet the young man who prepares it. The capsule melts in contact with salt water after one hour’s time, a necessary lapse to allow the ship sufficient progress from this spot. The dye, granting certain weather conditions, spreads on the surface of the water to form a bright yellow spot about fifty feet in diameter. In other words, unless you are looking for the spot, you will hardly discover it. The dye can be seen for the next four hours. After that it disappears. This time span is the most practical compromise in view of the closeness to shore and the necessity of dropping the container right in this shipping lane.”
“What about planes?”
