A sickening thought slid into my mind, but for the time being I kept quiet about it. end user
7
I went back to the kitchen and dialed a number in the Pine Hills section of Albany.
A groggy male voice. 'Yeah?'
'Don Strachey. I need a little assistance.'
'Don't we all.'
'Were you on duty last night?'
'Till three hours ago. I didn't go to bed when I got home though. I sat up in case you called.'
'Don't give me a hard time, Lyle. I told you I probably wouldn't call. That I had a lover.'
'Lucky you. Maybe I'll get one too. There's a hunk in the department I've got my eye on. He's gay, I know, and he knows I know. But he's shy. And has a wife and six kids.'
'Better shop around some more.'
'Uh-huh. Shop around.'
'When are you going to make the move, Lyle? You're in the wrong town for your situation.'
'Are there any right ones?'
'Probably not yet. Stockholm maybe. Or Copenhagen.'
'Yeah. Too bad I don't speak Hindu. What do you want, if it's not what I wished it was?'
'Information. I was wondering if maybe the night squad goons were up to a bit of queer-bashing last night. Midnight or after, on Central, around the Green Room.'
'I didn't hear about anything. But I probably wouldn't that soon. Unless it made the blotter, and even then I couldn't be sure. Some of the arrests that get made are the genuine article. You know, there are some real lawbreakers out there, Strachey. In case you haven't heard.'
'I suppose those guys do stumble over an actual criminal once in a while. A matter of mathematical probability. But this one would be the other-the hate stuff. A phony rap on prostitution, solicitation, resisting arrest. Whatever they're dropping on people these days. A guy by the name of Peter Greco disappeared outside the Green Room at about a quarter to twelve.
Slight, dark, curly-haired, cute. A bit boyish for your more mature tastes, Lyle, but ripe for picking by the bash-a-fag crew.'
'I'll check around. But disappearances aren't those guys' specialty. You know about it, Strachey.
They just grab people, drive 'em around, call 'em some names, maybe rough 'em up a little, then dump 'em. Some make it to the lockup, a few to the ER at Albany Med. A total disappearance would be something new.'
'I know. It would.'
A silence. 'Uh-huh. Oh, yeah. Jesus. Well, it was only a matter of time, I guess. They're nuts completely out of control. Maybe this time they've really done it.'
'That's what I'm afraid of.'
'Shit.'
'Leave a message with my service if you pick up anything.' I gave him the number. 'I'll check now and again and get back to you. And one other thing. See if you can sniff out any recent coziness between guys in the department and Crane Trefusis. There might be a connection.'
'The shopping mall wizard? That Trefusis?'
'The same.'
'That one might be trickier. But as soon as I grab a cup of coffee I'll be out asking around. Sure as hell nobody here is gonna miss me. You know what I mean?'
'So long, Lyle. And thanks.'
''Thanks,' he says. Oh, sure.'
Timmy agreed to stay at the farm and keep an eye on Dot and Edith. I put him to work phoning more Friday night revelers who might have been outside the Green Room around midnight and seen something unusual, or, if it involved the Albany PD, not entirely unusual.
Down at Dot's pond, Edith was seated on a flat stone with her feet in the moss green water, her skirt held demurely four inches above the water line.
'Good morning, Mr. Lovecraft. Going for a dip?'
'Hi, Mrs. Stout. I just want to cool off the old brainpan for a minute. Maybe I'll get a chance to dunk the rest of me in later.'
I leaned down and stuck my head in the water for twenty seconds, then stood up and shook off like a dog.
'Does your head swell in the heat?' Edith asked.
'Right. And then I can't get my hat on.'
'That's what happens to my feet.' She glanced back toward the house. 'I guess I'd better watch my language. Dorothy can't stand the word 'feet.' Dorothy's rather eccentric, in case you haven't noticed. I'm terribly afraid she's going senile. But she's a grand girl and I don't know what I'd do without her. It's not easy for our kind, you know.'
'I know about that. I'm one too.'
She gazed at me for a long moment, thoughtful and a little puzzled. 'Well,' she said finally, 'I suppose you know what you like, Mr. Lovecraft. But-two big hairy men? Hmmm. I hope you don't mind my saying so, but I can't imagine anything duller.'
Chasms everywhere. Though this one we could laugh about. I said, 'I can.'
The old woman peered at me confusedly through her spectacles for a moment while the connections in her brain slowly got made. Then she said, 'That's all you know, sonny.'
Driving back toward Central, I slowed as I passed the Deem house but saw no sign of life.
Neither car was in the driveway. I figured I'd catch up with Joey Deem later in the day.
Meanwhile, Dot and Edith were being well looked after.
At the Wilsons', Kay was airing herself in the chaise alongside the new porch. A mammoth '71
Olds with rusted fenders and a gash along the side was parked under a maple tree. The car had a Howe Caverns sticker on the rear bumper and a sign in the back window that said MAFIA STAFF
CAR. It was the kind of sad heap you see in front of K Mart, blithely or defiantly parked in the fire lanes.
I pulled in and shouted, 'Crane sends his best, Kay.
He wished also for me to convey his warm greetings to your husband. Is Mr. Wilson in?'
'Oh. Hi there. It's you.' She sat up looking wary. 'Yeah, Bill's here.' She heaved up her great chest and screeched, 'Willl-sonnn!'
I got out and walked toward the house. The screen door flew open.
'What you hollerin' about now?' He spotted me. 'Who's he?'
'Dunno. Says he's lookin' for you.'
He was a good four inches taller than I was, broader, thicker, a jaw like an old boot, a flat cockeyed nose, and eyes full of simmering resentment. He wore dark green work clothes, and in a fist like a small hippo he was gripping a length of cast-iron drainpipe with a jagged end.
'Good morning, Mr. Wilson. I'm Donald Strachey, representing Crane Trefusis of Millpond Plaza Associates. May I have a moment of your time?'
His eyes narrowed. 'Maybe. Maybe not. What's in it for me?'
'Crane Trefusis asked me to drop by and convey his fondest best wishes. And to ask for your assistance in looking into a problem that's cropped up.'
He sneered. 'Crane Trefusis is a lying, shit-eating, pig-fucking phony. I'll lend Crane Trefusis a hand the day he comes across with his big fat hunnert and eighty grand. Meantime, you tell Trefusis he can take his wishes and blow 'em out his ass. Now get outta here! I got a busted drain to fix.'
'But, Bill! This man-'
'And you shut your trap!' Still watching me, he said, 'You got them big bucks with you, mister?'
