The Erection Set

I didn’t bother to smile. I simply looked at Dennison, then at Alfred and let a few seconds go by. “You’re damned well told I do,” I said.

We drove into Linton and had supper in the log and fieldstone restaurant that used to be a gristmill. The decorations were from another era, flintlock pistols, spinning wheels, strange household utensils and relics from the time when America was vibrant with potential energy and every man an individual who knew how to determine his own destiny. The food was simple and magnificent, the wine a tasty local product, and we finally sat back, filled and ready to talk.

With our glasses filled from a fresh bottle, Hunter toasted us all. “To a successful day,” he said. “It was a pleasure to see the Barrins outraged at the mere suggestion that they might have a moral flaw.”

“You’re a crafty bastard, Counselor. The old man was a shrewdie too.”

“Indeed he was. I hope you think more of him now.”

“Not more, just better.” I sipped my drink and put the glass down. “One thing went over my head, friend. You could have laid me out on that morals clause right then. Why didn’t you?”

Hunter finished half his glass before he answered me. “Had they not demanded the investigation of you, I would have. You see, that was another proviso of Cameron’s. I imagine he figured you wouldn’t have stood a chance otherwise, so he gave you one at their expense. If they wanted to be nasty about it, they had to put up with some discomfort at least. If they weren’t so simon-pure, they’d pay for their attempt to discredit you.”

I nodded and made wet circles with my finger on the tabletop. “Think much of my chances, buddy?”

“Frankly, I think it’s a lost cause. I told you, I have already made inquiries and your cousins are quite re-spectacle.”

“You’re too orderly, Hunter,” I said. “You didn’t get your nails dirty. If you want dirt, you dig where the dirt is. Something always turns up.”

“You think you have more experience at that sort of thing than I have?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, mighty Hunter.”

“No,” he said. He finished the rest of his drink. “Nor would I.” He snapped his fingers for the check, put it on his credit card and stood up. “Now,” he said, “I hate to be party to a possible immoral act, but tomorrow I have a session with the accountants at the factory. I have arranged to stay at the Gramercy Inn for the night, with separate accommodations already made for you two. In the meantime, you may have the use of the limousine, with or without the driver. I rather suspect Willis would be happy to be relieved. He has a room reserved for him too. If you wish, you can drive back to the city if you can pick me up again tomorrow. It’s your choice.”

Sharon started to laugh and gave him a look of faked anguish. “Mr. Hunter, you really are something. How can you even suggest a thing like that? Don’t you know anything about women at all? I have no change of clothes, no nightgown ...”

“Hell, sleep in your drawers,” I said.

“Why, you...” She punched me in the arm and hurt her hand.

Hunter was watching us impishly. “I’ve provided for such a contingency,” he said. “The necessary apparel was purchased earlier by phone and has already been delivered to your room. I trust you’ll find my selections satisfactory. My legal mind also encompasses a fairly accurate estimate of female sizes and delicate necessities.”

“You know, Counselor,” I said, “I’m beginning to wonder if there aren’t a few things you could teach me.”

“In some areas only, Dog,” he replied.

For an hour after we dropped Hunter and Willis off at the hotel, we cruised around Linton. By full moonlight the town was a prettier place, the grime hidden, the gradual decay of the buildings unseen. No longer was there a night shift at the factory, so the streets were quiet, most of the windows in the residential area dark. A patrol car was parked outside an all-night diner and another drifted by idly with barely a glance at us.

The memories came back again, but with little impact ... the old sandlot where I played softball with the Polacks was still there, littered with garbage now, but the wire backstop was still in place, rusted and sagging, a collection area for windblown papers.

We drove down Third Street and I said, “See that old building on the corner?”

Sharon nodded. “Looks like a haunted house.”

“Belonged to Lucy Longstreet. She was Madam Lucy then. Only whorehouse in town. That used to be a swinging joint on Saturday nights.”

“How would you know?”

I let out a laugh, remembering. “Hell, girl, kids know everything. There was a tree in the back we used to climb so we could watch the action. I’ll never forget that black-haired girl from Pittsburgh. One day she and Mel Puttichi were inside on that big brass bed sexing up a storm and got little Stash so damn excited he let go of his limb and fell down on top of me and knocked us both out of the tree. I felt like whamming him. Things were just getting good.”

“Dog!”