The Erection Set

“Neither is of choice marriageable age at the moment, Dog. Financially, they aren’t the best risks, either.” His eyes had a strange glint to them. “I went over the books last week when we were in Linton. Your cousins have accepted several large and important contracts. On paper, everything looks quite sound, but the reports from the plant managers are pretty disturbing.” He paused a second and let it sink in. “Barrin isn’t going to be able to handle them unless they retool and they haven’t got the money for that.”

“Come on, Counselor, they can’t be that stupid.”

“Then the answer is obvious, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “They’re figuring on some sort of financing. But how?”

“That, my friend, is up their sleeve.”

“Any estimates on the retooling job?”

“Roughly several million.”

“How rough?”

“About fifteen million.”

“That’s pretty damn rough,” I said. “They’re not look ing to start the job and then plead for an extension, are they?”

“Not with these contracts. No, they’re hoping for something.”

“Grand Sita up for sale?”

“Oh, they’d sell, but there are no buyers. Maybe in two years the picture will change, but they couldn’t wait that long. Those contracts will go into effect next month. They’ve already invested the Mondo Beach money in factory renovations, so they are definitely going ahead.”

“This ought to be good,” I told him.

“It’s going to be better. I’ve heard a rumor.”

“Oh?”

“Cross McMillan is ready to move in at the next board meeting. It’s scheduled a week before the contracts are formerly activated. Barrin Industries will come crashing down.”

The thought pulled my mouth apart and I said, “How about that?”

But Hunter didn’t grin back. He just sat there looking at me, then finally said, “That bastard streak in you sure shows. Eat your lunch.”

I had the cabbie drop Hunter off at his office, then head back down to the Flatiron Building. Al DeVecchio was still eating salami and slopping coffee from an oversize mug with one ear glued to a telephone. When he hung up he invited me to a snack, but I refused and sat in the empty rocker.

“You made the papers, kid,” he told me. “Both Madcap Merriman and Lagen have squibs about you. See it?”

“Nope.”

“Merriman’s description makes you out better than a movie star. A real sex symbol.”

“Good for her.”

“That Lagen’s a corker. He’s posing hypothetical questions ... have you come back to take over the ailing Barrin Industries and all that.”

“Should be good for a rise in the stock price.”

“Not in today’s market.” He put his cup down and leaned back in his rocker. “What’s bugging you, Dog?”

I stared out the window toward uptown Manhattan. The haze was thick and the outline of the Empire State Building was barely discernible. “You have any mob contacts, Al?”

He stopped rocking, his eyes squinting at me. “What?”

“Rackets. Mob. Organized crime.”

“Look, because I’m Italian ...”

“Don’t give me any ethnic crap, Al. You handled the bookkeeping on the Cudder Hotel chain. You set up Davewell Products and engineered all the business details for the Warton merger.”

He came halfway out of his chair. “How the hell did you know about that?”

“I do some homework too.”

He sat down slowly, the amazement on his face. “Some damn homework. Those were all clean deals or I never would have touched them.”

“How did you feel when you found out who was behind them?”

Al took another sip of his coffee and put it down with a grimace. “Shitty,” he said. “Old buddy, I’m giving you grudging respect, which is something coming from me. As for your first question, my mob contacts are nil and they stay nil. They offered me two more fat deals I told them to shove all the way and that ends it there.”

“Why did you get involved in the first place?”

“Easy, friend, real easy. They maneuvered through top-notch people I thought were clean and it wasn’t until a long time afterward that I found out I was putting dirty money into legitimate businesses. I even turned the information over to the feds, and right there it stopped. Graft can go into some pretty high places. Some of our elected or appointed officials have hot, sweaty palms.” He gave me another stare and shook his head. “Man ...”

“How about the contacts?” I repeated.

“Forget it.” I waited for a good minute, then: “Why?”

“A consignment of heroin for delivery here was sidetracked in Marseilles. I want to know who the receiver was.”

“Dog, you are out of your fucking mind!”

“I’m not in the business if that’s what’s bothering you.”

Al got up, paced the room once, then stood there glaring down on me. “What the hell business are you in?”

“Trying to stay alive, for one.”

“Man, you’re nuts. You think I’m going to ask anybody questions like that? You think I’m going to stick my neck out that far? You think I’m going to get involved with narcotics?”

“Sure I do, Al. Why fight it?”

“Go frig yourself.”

I grinned at him, a big fat grin. “You can’t help yourself anymore. Now you got to know what it’s all about.”