The Erection Set

“Well, he didn’t say much except to ask about you and he sounded like Big Benny when he did.”

“Did they say what they wanted me for?”

“No, but one was going to search the place until the other one told him you wouldn’t be that stupid. They were going to wait until you got here, make you talk and then kill you. They had a briefcase with them that had all kinds of stuff in it. Tools, bottles of stuff... scared the shit out of me. I guess they knew I wasn’t lying or they would have tried something on me.”

“They knew, all right. I just wonder why they didn’t wait for me.”

“One of them kept looking at his watch the last two hours. He was getting pretty fidgety.”

“They could have figured I smelled the trap and would come back with reinforcements.”

“But why those cops?”

“Another way to nail me down, except their timing was bad. They kept a watch on the door until I did show, then called the cops thinking I’d be grabbed in an apartment with a dead man ... or trying to move a body.”

“Trying to... geez, Dog ...”

“Forget it. Nothing happened. I’m going to clear out of here and ...”

“The hell you are,” he interrupted. “I saw those guys and I can identify them. You’re not letting me be a straggler on this raid. Man, I’m chicken. I don’t go for this routine at all.”

“Okay, okay, you may be right.”

I got up and got another cigarette. When I turned around he was staring at me like I was a stranger. “You know who they were, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Then you know why they were here.”

“I got an idea.”

“But you can’t tell me.”

“No,” I said.

“You’re wild,” Lee told me, then he grunted “I guess you know I really did shit my pants.”

“I found that out the hard way.”

“You ever do that?”

“Twice,” I told him.

“Dog ...”

“Yeah?”

“They were wearing brown shoes.”

I snuffed the butt out and waited.

“In New York you don’t wear brown shoes with a black suit or dark slacks. Like it’s one of the gauche things out-of-towners do.”

“Or foreigners?”

“Uh-huh. All the time.”

“What else?”

“Everything they had on was brand-new. I saw the folds in their shirts from the packages.”

“You notice the guns?”

“How could I miss them. One was a big bore, maybe a

.38. Either a Colt or an S. and W. The other one was a .22 on a heavy frame.”

“Nickel-plated?” I asked him quietly.

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

Below the penthouse level of the fabulous Chateau 300, New York City lay sprawled out like a gigantic Christmas tree, the lower branches sweeping into Queens, Brooklyn and the Bronx, then stairstepped up to the giant towers of Manhattan.

Cable Howard Productions had taken over the entire restaurant to celebrate its merger with Walt Gentry, announcing the forthcoming filming of Fruits of Labor, a current best seller of nineteenth-century sex. Lee had whipped up a guest list that included everybody who was anybody at all; football greats, movie stars, Wall Street financiers and a scattering of war heroes in uniform of all the services.

The press was all over the place, popping flashbulbs, rolling TV cameras and taking notes, living up to their reputations at the punch bowl and the three huge bars. A pair of name orchestras spelled each other at playing soft dance music for a change, with a concert pianist fresh in from an appearance at Carnegie Hall filling in the blanks between sets.

Walt Gentry presided over it all in his usual manner, pleasant and smiling, taking a few notes himself to break the monotony of his bachelorhood in the future. Sharon was at S. C. Cable’s side prompting him with names and making the introductions. She had wanted to skip the whole affair, but her boss insisted he needed her and she was back in the big run again.

She saw me watching her and waved just as a glass tinkled next to mine. A voice said, “Enjoying yourself, Mr. Kelly?”

I threw a quick look at Dick Lagen and shrugged. “Not especially.”

“Must be a bit dull after those lavish European affairs you’re used to.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

He swirled the ice in his glass, then polished half the drink off. “Several sources. You keep excellent company. Walking among the rich must be rather pleasant.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Really? Doesn’t being the guest of one of the richest men in Europe impress you? I understand Roland Holland owns nine separate major industries outright and heads one of the world’s largest conglomerates.”

“Rollie and I were in the same outfit during the war, Dick.-Every once in a while I pick up on my old buddies. Lee Shay was there too.”

“Your wartime buddy wasn’t wealthy before the war, however.”

“Nobody was, remember? Rollie was one of those types with a mind. A financial whiz kid. He parlayed a small bundle into a fat fortune and it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. Plenty of others have done the same thing.”

“Quite so, but they weren’t friends of yours.”

“That remark had a curve on it,” I said.

“Your friends all seem to be very interesting people. Your seeming lack of friends is just as interesting. I still don’t get very far researching your past ... except for your immediate family.”