The Erection Set

Shit. The Turk was laying on a twenty-five-grand job split two ways and all I could think about was why my price went down. Last year Kurt Schmidt had me on open season for a half million. The two Frenchmen tried me and after that he had no takers at all. Marco could have had me in the pub outside of London, if he had really gone for it, but what good is a half million if you’re dead? I had the .45 in my hand under the table and the sound of that hammer going back was like the crack of thunder, even if the girls didn’t hear it. But he heard it. He smiled a little bit, kissed Lisa’s hand without taking his eyes off mine and told all the others that I couldn’t be made unless it was in the back.

But The Turk was no Kurt Schmidt. He couldn’t get over his kid days of haggling for fake rugs with the tourists and would try for a fistful of cheapies before he went the big route. Or he got scared out of the marketplace.

Leyland Hunter rattled his papers back into their folders and stuffed them into his briefcase. He popped open the bar, poured himself a short brandy and downed it. “That one was for you, Dog.”

“Thanks.”

“Help yourself if you want to.”

Sharon and I shook our heads. I said, “What’s next on the agenda, pal?”

The old lawyer gave me a wry look and folded his hands in his lap. “I am empowered to conduct an investigation into your moral character. Needless to say, after our, er, recent episode that is hardly necessary.”

I had to laugh. “Old buddy, a lawyer you may be, but a psych pro you’re not. The little laughing ladies you are referring to wouldn’t cop out for all the cash in the world. You’d have to admit your own pariticpation in the group therapy and I can see the boys at the club giving you the heave-ho already.”

“You do have a point there, Doggie boy.”

“What are you two talking about?” Sharon demanded. She was giving each one of us funny looks, waiting for an answer. I spelled it out for her in a couple of succinct sentences and she glanced at me wide-eyed and started to giggle.

“Maybe I can help, Mr. Hunter. We slept together last night, all naked and warm playing tickle finger -all over until we fell asleep.”

“I would hardly enjoy involving you, my dear,” Hunter told her.

“It probably wouldn’t do any good anyway,” she said. “The big lunk refused to violate me. I could even have a doctor verify it.”

“And ruin his reputation?” Hunter smiled.

“Well, it could prove how high his moral standards are.”

“My cousins wouldn’t like that,” I said. “Why don’t I just give you an affidavit to the effect that I have been a little promiscuous at times?”

“Don’t make it easy for them. Besides, I’d rather enjoy the investigation. My reading matter has been rather dull lately.”

I grinned back and glanced at the mirror. The white car was still there, tucked behind two others. It squeezed through a yellow signal light, closed up some so we wouldn’t separate at the next traffic light and followed us up the avenue to the spire of Hunter’s office building.

Hunter said, “Can I drop you two somewhere?”

I glanced at Sharon. “Home for me,” she said. “I’m on East Fifty-fifth.”

“That puts me two blocks away, Counselor. We’ll go back in style.”

“Good. The garage is right in the same area. I won’t be needing the car again today.” He picked up his briefcase and checked the clasp. “Do you, er, have any specific plans, Dog?”

I squeezed Sharon’s hand. “I’m contemplating a few.”

He caught the action and smiled. “I mean in reference to your family.”

I nodded and shook a butt out of my pack. “Don’t sweat it, friend. I have three months to think about it.”

“And it’s a frightening thought. Are you sure it’s worth the now-paltry sum involved?”

I watched him, my lips tight across my teeth. “You bet your sweet ass it is,” I said.

We let him off in front of his building, went crosstown to First Avenue and turned north. For a minute I thought we had lost the white car in the tangle of traffic at the intersection, then I caught a flash of it crowding the opposite side of the one-way street and settled back against the cushions.

Things were going just right. I slid open the glass partition and told Willis we’d drop Sharon off first, but she bounced up with a hard negative and. said I was going to walk her back from the garage and things weren’t going so right after all. The time and the place to intercept the two goons in the white car had to be mine or I’d be hurting. I was betting they were being paid for a smash job, but if it was necessary a direct hit would be acceptable. For the first time I missed the comfortable feel of the iron that used . to hang on my belt and the way the spring-loaded holster would throw it into my palm at the right touch. There were other ways to do things, but it was nice knowing the advantage of a standard Army .45 automatic with alternating rounds of armor piercing and lead nestling in the clip.