The Erection Set

“Inherited factors, Lawyer,” I said.

“You have something on your mind.”

I finished my drink. “Nothing I’ll tell you.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t believe it anyway.”

“Why not?” he repeated.

“Once before you told me. I think I have the situation conned now.”

“So con me.”

“Shit,” I said, “you’re an old legal hound. How could I?”

“I think you can,” he said. “What do you know?”

“As my erstwhile buddy put it, I have extrapolated.”

“I see.”

“The pig’s ass you do,” I said.

“So, as your lawyer, is there anything else you need of me?”

“To be sure, Counselor,” I said. Damn, I was getting drunk and I couldn’t afford to get slopped up. I reached in my pocket and dragged out an old envelope. I filled half of it with my own miserable penmanship, made Hunter sign it, then tossed him my two big bank books. “Is that adequate?” I asked him.

“You should have been a lawyer,” he said. “If this were a dying man’s statement it would stand up in any court. Holographs ...”

“Consider me a dying man, mighty Hunter. What difference does a few days make?”

“Your choice, Dog.”

“Of course. By the way,” I added, “you screw that broad again?”

His smile was ·simple and sweet. “I took them both as mistresses until they can find somebody better. In fact I have even endowed them with a dowery.”

“You’re a dirty old man.”

“I’m a sexy senior citizen, remember?”

“Will they?”

“A man of my age is thankful for all he can get and they Seem to be grateful for all I can give them that they could not get otherwise. Funny enough, my clientele seems to think more of me now than before. Do you remember my receptionist ...”

“Don’t tell me you banged her!”

“No, but she caught me screwing the Polack and dropped her glasses and stepped on them.” He got up grinning. “As a matter of fact, when I leer at her, certain physical, ah ...er...”

“She comes.”

“Precisely,” he said.

“Sexy senior citizen hell,” I told him. “You’re a dirty old man.”

“Isn’t it nice?” Leyland said.

“I hope you miss me,” I said.

“That I will, Dog, that I will. Just do me a favor”

“Anything, Counselor.”

“You’re not dead yet.”

I repeated his words. “Isn’t that nice. Barely a consolation, but a pretty thought nevertheless.” I lit up a butt and sucked the smoke out of it. “When does Cross deplete Barrin?”

“The raid?”

“Yes, sir.”

For the first time I saw him take out a silver cigar holder, select a long, thin cigar and snip the end off it. It was very studied and very new, like something a Polack broad might teach him. “Quickly,” he said. “Maybe when all the publicity dies down. It’s bound to come, you know.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“What do you think you can do?”

The teeth in my grin were big and fat and I don’t have any unfilled cavities. “Suppose I give him a little more publicity,” I said.

“I don’t like your tone of voice.”

“Nobody does, Counselor. It’s one of those things I keep in reserve.”

“Trouble?”

“Absolutely. Or maybe not. Depends on circumstances.”

“Which ones?”

“Everybody fucks, mighty Hunter.”

“You’re scaring me again.”

“I intend to,” I said. “Incidentally, the house is beautiful. Thanks.”

My lawyer shrugged. “Your money.”

“My Polacks too,” I said. “Have fun.”

They had rewritten the script to take advantage of the rain. The prognosis called for three solid days of downpour before the front moved out into the Atlantic, and a small army of slicker-clad figures were hustling between canvascanopied areas protecting the cameras and sound booth to get ready for the next setup. The principals were all snug in a forty-foot trailer laughing over the clink of glasses while bit players, extras and those in the crowd scene were milling around under a carnival-sized tent.

A snow fence had been set up around the area and even in the rain with nothing special to watch, the curious from town were standing around, some with cameras ready to get shots of the cast when they came out of the trailer. A pair of prowl cars were drawn up to the curb and a half-dozen local cops were in idle conversation with friends outside the barricade.

It took me a half hour before I spotted Hobis and The Chopper. Somehow they had gotten hold of S. C. Cable Production slickers and were policing the area with nail-pointed sticks. The old army game. Nobody bothered you as long as you were busy working. I told them to meet me beside the honey wagon in five minutes, circled the trailers and wardrobe truck and joined them there.

Hobis wasn’t a bit happy. He cupped a cigarette, lit it and let the match sizzle out in a puddle at his feet. “Too damn quiet, Dog.

“That’s good,” I said.

“It ain’t good at all. It’s got a bad smell to it.”

“Like how?”

He looked past me at the people around the fence and nodded. “Somebody’s here. I can feel it.”

“Do better than that.”

“Faces. I never saw them before, but they’re a type. They move different and they look different. Know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean.”

“So somebody’s here.” He took another drag on the butt, pinched out the light and stuck the stub in his shirt pocket.

“Maybe you know.”