The Erection Set

“I didn’t ask about most people. I’m relating to you and killing and sex.”

“They both become subjects at which you pass or fail, enjoy or despise. If you’re a winner, it’s good. If you flunk, it’s misery time.”

“How do you feel, Dog?”

“I’m still alive and happy, buddy.”

“You scare me,” he said.

I frowned at the seriousness in his face. “Keep thinking about it the next time you straddle a broad. You really might be an incipient homicidal maniac.”

“Quit lousing up his screwing,” Rose said. “These deep-thinking types take this kind of conversation to heart and I don’t want any Jack the Rippers in my bedroom.”

Lee’s face came unstuck from the frozen grimace and he broke out into a fooling smile. “Damn, you sure can put a guy on. You and your way with words ...”

“... And words are what make the world go ’round,” a voice said. We all looked around and saw Dick Lagen watching us, a half-empty highball glass in his hand. “Mind if I join you? After all, I was invited.”

I pushed out a chair and waved toward it. “Sit down.”

“You people eat yet?”

“Just about to,” Lee told him.

“Fine, then I’ll join you and let you pick up the check. A typical columnist’s attitude I’m sure you all deplore.”

“Forget it,” Lee told him. “You have just made this meal tax deductible.”

We went through the soups and steaks, had coffee and while Lee and Rose were going over their invitation list again, Lagen fired up a thin cigar and leaned back in his’ chair. “My staff have been digging up a few facts on you, Mr. Kelly.”

“They have any luck?’

“Enough to intrigue me.”

“Oh?” I popped a cigarette out of my pack and let him light it.

“You accepted your Army discharge in Europe in 1945.”

“Public information.”

“And being a resident you were subject to the tax laws of the resident country,” he continued.

“Isn’t everybody?”

“Quite. The exception is that your taxes reached a considerable proportion, so that in computing your income we arrive at a very substantial sum.”

“Proving that I am an honest man who pays his taxes,” I said.

“In that regard, yes. It’s the accumulation of that money that interested me.”

“You’re a nosy bastard.”

“So I have been told. At any rate, my researchers went at it a little harder and came up with some interesting information.”

“Like what?”

“Like lack of information,” he said. “Your income was declared, but, except for ‘investments,’ not the source of it. Furthermore, there was nothing in your background to indicate you had any particular ability or desire to achieve success with, eh ... investments. In fact, all indications are quite the contrary.”

“So?”

“Would you care to clarify the matter?”

“Not especially.”

“Then perhaps I might speculate on the matter.”

“Be my guest,” I said.

“Fine. Income is derived from one or both of two sources, legal or illegal. Since there was no proof positive of legal source, we investigated the possibility of illegality.”

I said, “You know, for a guy who only met me a couple of days ago, you’ve gone to a hell of a lot of trouble.”

“The affairs of the Barrin family makes interesting subject matter.”

“I hope you have competent personnel.”

“Oh, I have. The very best. Former FBI men, retired police officers, top newspapermen who know all the tricks and angles. What information they can’t dig out they can buy. Funds for that purpose are unlimited. Therefore, whatever we want to know, we find out, as my numerous exposes have no doubt proven to you ... and the fact that my information is so accurate that even congressional committees have used my records to restrict certain business operations or convict well-known persons of working criminally against the public interests.”

“Good work, sport. And what did you find out about me?”

Dick Lagen smiled gently and puffed on his cigar. “Absolutely nothing. That’s what makes it so intriguing. In certain areas, my people were rebuffed at every attempt at inquiry. One was even roughed up a little. Attempts to buy information got a blank stare or implied threats. The name of Dog, or in some places El Lobo, got such a reaction as to scare off my own people. It was the first time that ever happened.”

“What’s in a name, pal? You know what the poet said about the rose.”

“Except that you don’t smell so sweet, Mr. Dogeron Kelly. When you mention the name of Dog, you aren’t mentioning a popular figure. In certain quarters, that is.”

“You have any enemies, Dick?”

“Certainly, and justifiably so. I deliberately try to cultivate them. It’s part of my business.”

“Know anybody without enemies?” I asked him.

He thought a moment and shook his head. “No.”

“I do.”

Lagen looked at me with a small, superior smile. “Really? Who?” ,

“They’re all dead,” I said quietly.

For a good ten seconds he sat there staring at me, then he took a long pull on the cigar and watched the smoke drift toward the ceiling. “Who are dead, Mr. Kelly, the persons ... or the enemies?”

“Take your choice, Mr. Lagen,” I said.

Across the table Lee and Rose had stopped talking and were looking at us both. Lee’s face had that tight expression again and his eyes were worried things, like those of a guy crossing the street and seeing a truck bearing down on him, not knowing whether to jump back or make a dash out of the way.

We dropped Rose off at a beauty parlor uptown, then cut back toward Lee’s office. Outside, the walkers huddled close to the sides of the buildings, away from the blast of the rain, or fought umbrella duels going down the middle of the sidewalks. In the front of the cab the wipers kept up their clocklike ticktock above the humming of the tires.

Finally Lee said, “Lagen’s got an unhealthy interest in you, Dog.”

“Ah, he’s always had a thing for the Barrins.”

“It’s you, not the Barrin family.”

“Balls.”

Lee turned his head, his expression questioning. “Why, buddy?”

“Why what?”

“Come on, Dog. I know how he operates. He never comes up without any answers. He won’t let it go until he gets one, either.”

“I still believe in personal privacy. I wish him luck.”

Lee nodded and looked straight ahead again. “The way you say that makes it look like he isn’t going to have any.”

“Could be.”

“Most people aren’t that sharp at hiding things.”

“Most people,” I agreed.