The Erection Set

I nodded. “My maternal grandfather. I guess he figured he owed me something, my being a sort of blood relation. If I can establish myself as having a good, clean ... or, let’s say, totally pure ... moral record since leaving his household, I can claim the munificent reward of ten thousand dollars.”

“Cash?”

“Uh-huh.”

Lee finished opening the can and let a grin twitch at the corners of his mouth. “How much chance have you got?”

“Not a smidgen,” I told him.

“Then why come back?”

“Hell, maybe I can lie a little,” I said.

For a good ten seconds, he looked at me, then took a long pull of the beer and shook his head. “Damn, it’s the same old Dog. Still as naive as they come. You never did learn, did you? Ten grand and you come all the way back for something that can be eaten up in a matter of months. Buddy, the world has changed. The war’s over. This isn’t Europe. The old days are gone. If we were kids all we might ask for is a bike, sleeping bag and an occasional remittance from home to buy some pot or a little snatch and maybe a side trip into a little bistro on the Left Bank for some gourmet spaghetti, but we’re big kids now and we can’t go that route.”

I shrugged and drank my beer.

“Brother,” Lee said. “Am I glad you checked in with me. I guess I got a father image. I got to take care of you, Doggie boy.”

My teeth showed in a grin when I looked at him.

Lee grinned back and nodded. “Sure, I remember you pulling those ME109s off my tail. I got a good picture of you squiring me through the skies like a Dutch uncle and keeping my ass intact. You got one lousy year on me, nursed me through the whole damn war and made sure I came out with all my skin and now it’s my turn. I play big daddy. From here on in until you’re on your own two pedals again I’m going to be big daddy and take care of you.” He finished the beer off in a single long pull. “You are now my responsibility and the first thing I’m going to do is dump your past into the incinerator, dress you like a living New Yorker and put you back into the world again.”

He flipped the empty can against the wall, yanked a dressing robe from a hook behind the door and wrapped it around him. With a faked gesture of distaste he picked up the battered suitcase with all the pasted-on stickers that were loose around the edges and said, “Anything in here of sentimental value?”

I took another taste of the beer. It was cold, refreshing and lighter than all that other stuff. “A few things,” I said. “You can tell which ones.”

Lee tossed the old bag on the bed, undid the straps, fingered the clasps open and threw the lid back. His expression was very funny. He took his two forefingers and poked around in there and didn’t quite know what to say.

It wasn’t often that a guy saw a couple of million bucks in ten-thousand-dollar bills.

He looked up. “No underwear?”

“No underwear,” I said.

II

The law offices of Leyland Ross Hunter occupied an entire floor of the Empire State Building, a private world hundreds of feet above the concrete and asphalt surface of the city, existing in the almost-stunned hush of a library where even the whisper of feet shrouded in thick pile carpets was a minor commotion. Supposedly silent typewriters were touched with timid apprehension as though the operators were waiting to be castigated for every tiny click. It should have smelled of old leather and old people, but modern air conditioning and artificial atmosphere gave it the lewd tang of incense inhaled.

Behind the antique desk the maiden secretary peered at me over her gold-rimmed, flat-plate glasses, thought she bought me with an invisible peripheral glance and said, “Yes, Mr. Kelly, do you have an appointment?”

I said, “No, ma’am.”

“You’ll really have to call for an appointment.”

“Why?”

Her smile was very condescending. “Mr. Kelly, please, Mr. Hunter is ...”

“A very busy man,” I interrupted.

“Quite.”

“What do you bet he sees me?” I lit a cigarette and grinned a little bit.

The vox populi had to be kept in its place. She took off the glasses with a ladylike gesture and smiled back indulgently. “Mr. Kelly ...”

“When I was ten I took a picture of him skinny-dipping with Miss Erticia Dubro, who, at that time, was common nanny to our clan.” I took another drag on the butt and blew the smoke over her head. “Miss Dubro was forty-some and fat and was the first broad I had ever seen with hair on her chest. I think old Hunter had a thing for hairy-chested ladies because he let me drive his car that weekend around the estate in exchange for the film.”

“Mr. Kelly!”

“Just tell him Dog is here and mention Miss Dubro. Please?”

She was funny. The indignation was real, but so was the curiosity, and with me standing there speaking too quietly to be anything but real too, she flushed, turned a pair of toggle switches off on her intercom and sniffed up out of her chair into the office behind her.