The Tough Guys

Travers thought it over he told the sergeant to plug in the phone. I got Wilkenson's name out of the book, told him who I was and where I was and asked him to get over fast. He was too excited to talk, but said he'd be there as quickly as possible.

For a ninety-three year old man he did a good job. He made it in five minutes. I hadn't seen him in twenty- five years and it looked as if he hadn't aged a bit. He was tall, topped with a bushy white head of hair, a manner that was positive and honest and it was easy to see why George P. Wilkenson was the most respected counselor in the state.

We shook hands and his grip was firm. I was ready for a lot of gab, then got fooled there too. He asked Travers if he could speak to me alone for a few minutes and Travers was glad to grant him the courtesy. From his expression I knew what he was thinking . . . it would take a lot of talking to get me off the hook and it wasn't about to happen.

The tiny room we sat in stunk of stale sweat and cigar smoke and the edge of the table was notched with cigarette burns. I had seen too many of these rooms to enjoy being in one again. Wilkenson threw his briefcase on the table, pulled out a sheaf of papers and thrust them toward me, fanning them out so I could see the signature lines he had marked off.

"Cat," he said, "your father trusted me, so did your grandfather. Do you?"

"Why not?"

"Very well then." He held out a pen. "Sign where indicated."

I wrote my name in about twenty places, handed the pen back and stacked the papers together. "What was that all about?"

"Did you ever know the details of your grandfather's will?"

I made a noncommittal gesture with my hands. "He split it with my old man and Miles, didn't he?"

"Up to a point, yes. There were certain other provisions. After their death the unspent capital would go to their children. If the children die, the remainder would go to the other brother or his children."

"So?"

"The final provision was this. Your grandfather knew your father's habits. It was his idea that his children might inherit his casual attitude of neglect and fail to claim the money. In that event, if the capital belonging to the deceased brother was not claimed by his children within thirty years, the others took possession. That time period is up . . . this Saturday. Tomorrow."

I still didn't get it. "Okay, so I inherit a hundred percent of nothing. Why all the business. The old man blew his load in a hurry. I hope he had fun."

"Ah, that's the point, son. He didn't. He was footloose enough, but his material possessions were very few. The fun he had didn't cost much at all. When he died he left quite a few million dollars intact. After taxes you stand to inherit at least two of them."

I felt my fingers bite the edge of the table and without realizing it I was on my feet. "What? "

Wilkenson nodded slowly. "That's why the urgency of having you sign the claim."

Now the picture was laid out from all angles. I asked the next question. "Where do Miles and his kids come in."

"Nowhere, I'm afraid. They have gone through every cent they ever had. You are the only wealthy Bannerman left."

"Damn!"

"But there's one clause that may disrupt everything, son. It has me worried. You stand to face a very serious charge."

"What about it?"

"Your grandfather was a peculiarly virtuous old man. He was honest and law abiding to the extreme. He specified in the will that if any of the inheritors should ever be held and booked by the police on a criminal charge, and found guilty, they were to be cut off immediately and the money transferred to the others."

No wonder the Bannermans were so fussy about keeping out of trouble. Buy anything or anybody, as long as the cost was less than the eventual one.

"Lieutenant Travers intends to book you. Carrying concealed weapons is a criminal charge."

"You let me take care of that," I said.

He shook his massive head. "I'm afraid he can't be bought."

"You let me take care of that," I repeated.

Wilkenson studied me a moment regretfully. He had done his duty, fulfilled his commitment, and now there was nothing more to do except make out more papers. I grinned at him, tight and nasty. "Don't count me out. Not yet. First do me a favor."

"If I can."

"Get hold of Petey Salvo." I gave him a list of places where he could be located. "Tell him to get Carl Matteau and keep him with Gage until . . ." I looked at my watch, ". . . eleven o'clock tonight, then bring them to the Bannerman place. We'll be waiting."

He frowned at me. "But . . ."

"Just do it, okay?"

"Very well."

"Good. Now beat it. Don't let any of the others see you."

The sergeant took me back to the other room and there the clan was gathered; Miles, Rudy, Teddy and Vance. Anita had pulled away from him and looked at me anxiously when I came in and I didn't let my expression change at all. Except for Anita, they didn't seem a bit unhappy at all.

Vance said to Travers, "Now, sir, if it's all right with you, I would like to take Miss Bannerman home. It's been very trying for her."

The cop nodded agreement. "I know where to find her."

"Will there be any charges?"

"Oh, I don't think so," he said pleasantly. "She'll be a witness, naturally but as an innocent bystander. The one I want is right here." He pointed a long finger at me. I sat down and didn't look at them, but I managed a wink of confidence at Anita. She forced a smile, but her eyes were wet.

"Go on home, honey," I said. "It's not all that bad." When they had gone Travers sat back, satisfied with himself, and said, "Now let's get to your statement."

I reached in my pocket and pulled out the license number I had gotten from the Jenner guy. "In the interests of harmonious relationships . . . and justice, how about finding out who owns the car that goes with this plate number."

He picked the slip from my fingers. "What kind of a game is this?"

"Do it, then I'll tell you. You might get a promotion out of it."

Travers was a guy who enjoyed games. Besides, he couldn't understand my attitude. It had something to do with the way he smiled at me the last time.

He called the sergeant in, told him to run it through, then sat there saying nothing, idly tapping a pencil on the desk. I played the game with him for fifteen minutes until the sergeant came back with a card, handed it to Travers who looked at it, not getting what it meant, then handed it to me.

I said, "Touche. You get your promotion."

Then we had a little talk.

When it was over I picked up my gun, put it on and told Travers to follow me back to the Bannerman place with his sergeant and went out to the Ford.

Ten forty-five. The lights were on downstairs in the library and when I went in I could hear their voices. No longer were they tense . . . there was an air of relief and jocularity there now. Only Anita didn't have a drink in her hand and Vance Colby was standing in front of the desk like the old master himself, overshadowing Miles who held down his usual position. Rudy and Teddy were toasting each other and both were half stiff already.

They sobered up pretty fast when I came in. Their faces got a flat, sour look and Miles suddenly looked pale. Only Vance regained his composure. "We hardly expected to see you here."

"I guess you didn't." I walked over to Anita and sat on the arm of her chair. Her hand reached for mine, squeezed it and she bit her lip to keep from crying.