The Erection Set

“Don’t mention it.”

Lee and Rose were tired lumps under a tangled heap of bedclothes, both of them blubbering soft snores of applause. I went into the other room, packed my clothes in my old bag, showered and shaved, then made a sandwich. I was all set to leave when I turned around and saw Lee standing in the doorway with scratch marks all over his chest and wearing that same silly pair of shorts with the LOVE button pinned to them.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Around. Go back to bed,” I said.

“Sure. Just like that.” He eyed my bags and frowned. “Where you going?”

“Clearing out, buddy.”

“You wait until the shit hits the fan, then you blow. Nice.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Read the papers.”

I knotted my tie and pulled my jacket over the gun in my belt. “Let’s hear it, Lee.”

“I was with Dick Lagen last night.”

“So?”

“Money and the power of the press can move mountains.”

“Bulldozers are quicker.”

“You’re tagged, Dog. He came across something in Europe and now the walls are going to tumble down. He wouldn’t say what it was and now he’s just lying back waiting for something else to come in and the boom gets lowered.”

“Buddy ...” I looked at him with a wry expression. “You’ve been civilized too long.”

“Cold, Dog. You’re cold. I remember you when you were a nice guy.”

“So do I.”

“What happens with Sharon?”

“Nothing happens.”

“That can be the worst part. She’s all fired up over this movie shit. All she talks about is how Linton is going to start over. You’re going to bust that girl wide open.”

“She’s a tough little cookie, Lee.”

“Not that tough.” He paused, leaning against the door frame. “The cops were back again.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“There was another one with the big guy this time. A federal agent. Treasury.”

I didn’t answer him.

“They didn’t get anymore this time in case you’re wondering.”

“I’m not wondering.”

“Dog ... there’s somebody tailing me.”

“That’s right.”

“Your side?” He sounded surprised.

“An old friend.”

He nodded, thought a second, his mouth twisted, gnawing on a idea. “Sharon too?”

“A precaution.”

“I see. You get that note the guy left?”

“Yeah.”

“He left another one. Same thing. Ferris and some numbers. It’s on the table outside.”

Back in my mind the seed started to germinate. It popped open with the heat of repetition, but it wasn’t in fertile soil yet, trying to blossom in the crack of a concrete slab. I could see it and I could feel it, but I knew damn well I wasn’t going to be able to identify it until the bloom showed on the stalk.

I picked up the bags and Lee stood aside to let me through the door. “Mind telling me where you’re going?”

“Tonight I’m going to a hotel, get a damn good sleep, make a lot of phone calls, then pick up a car and go back to a crazy old building on the waterfront at Mondo Beach, do some thinking and begin to enjoy myself.”

His face seemed to change and suddenly we weren’t here any longer but looking across a few feet of high sky through the bubble canopies of P-51s, props synced and in tight formation, waiting to pounce the krauts moving in on the bombers below.

“You’re looking for some running room,” Lee said.

He didn’t know how right he was.

XVII

Dick Lagen hadn’t closed in yet, but his last paragraph hinted at a pending story that was going to be shattering in certain circles. Mona Merriman was doing the big thing in her gossip column, telling all about the workings of S.C. Cable and Walter Gentry in locating their new picture at an old picturesque factory site northeast of New York. Several prominent motion picture stars had already been suggested for leads in Fruits of Labor with the female slot being pretty well tied up by a current English beauty. My name was right up there with the rest of the Barrin clan as having been instrumental in bringing the picture to an eastern location rather than going onto California sets which were beginning to lose their appeal to total realism.

On the inside pages there was a one-column item about the two “mystery murders” as yet unsolved, but identification had been made and the usual solution was in the immediate future. I said, “Balls!” to myself and tossed the paper down just as the phone rang to tell me Al DeVecchio was on his way up.

Without his rocker, coffee and salami he was uncomfortable. He sat in a straight-back chair fiddling with the papers on his lap, shaking his head at the stupidity of it all and when he found what he was looking for, held it up as though he really needed it and said, “You won’t make it, Dog.”

“Why not?”

“McMillan figures to edge you out by at least five percentage points. That’s enough for control.”

“All proxies?”

“Who needs anything more? He’s got Farnsworth Aviation interested and with those contracts he gets the stockholders interested. There’s no more nostalgia, buddy. Anybody holding Barrin stock wants dividends, not fond memories. Most of what’s out has been inherited. It’s in new hands that couldn’t give a damn about anything except money.”

“He’s going to raid Barrin, Al.”

“Sure, I know it. He can take the contracts to his own factories and do the job better, but he isn’t holding that out in front of the people holding odd pieces of Barrin paper. He’ll make a shambles out of Barrin and couldn’t care less.”

“How come Farnsworth is interested at all?”

“Barrin reputation for excellence. They still use some of the old extrusion processes and that’s what Farnsworth wants. They don’t know it, but McMillan will probably screw them too. Prices aren’t about to go down no matter how you do it. He’s sold them a bill of goods somehow. Now he’s making it all look good to the little people.”

“What do I need?”

“Nothing you can get. McMillan has his shares and the proxies. You can get a seat on the board but it’ll be stacked against you. It’s his ball game.”

“How about the SEC?”

“Old Cross has got that licked too. He can always produce for a little while. Come on, Dog, you know what he’s really after.”

“I think I’m the only one who does,” I said.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just mumbling.”

“You wasted a lot of dough, pal.”