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"Thats right. But Im afraid I have a greater need for money than for sex. "
She nodded slowly. "With Spinner," she said, "I was trying to arrange something. I dont have much cash available now. I sold some jewelry, things of that sort, but just to buy time. I could probably raise some money if I had a little time. I mean some substantial money. "
"How substantial?"
She ignored the question. "Heres the problem. Look, I was on the game, you know that. It was temporary, it was what my psychiatrist calls a radical means of acting out inner anxieties and hostilities. I dont know what the fuck hes talking about, and Im not sure he does either. Im clean now, Im a respectable woman, Im a fucking jet-setter in a teensy way, but I know how the game works. Once you start paying, you wind up paying for the rest of your life. "
"Thats the usual pattern, all right. "
"I dont want that pattern. I want to make one big buy and come up with everything. But its hard to work out the mechanics of it. "
"Because I could always have copies of the pictures. "
"You could have copies. You could also just hold the information in your head, because the information is enough to wreck me. "
"So youd need a guarantee that one payment was all youd ever have to make. "
"Thats right. Id need to have a hook stuck in you so that you wouldnt even think about keeping any pictures. Or about coming back for another shot at me. "
"Its a problem," I agreed. "You were trying to work it that way with Spinner?"
"Thats right. Neither of us could come up with an idea that the other liked, and in the meantime I stalled him with sex and small change. " She licked her lip. "It was rather interesting sex. His perceptions of me and all. I dont suppose a little man like that got much experience with young attractive women. And of course the social thing, the Park Avenue goddess, and at the same time he had those pictures and he knew things about me, so I became a special person for him. I didnt find him attractive. And I didnt like him, I didnt like his manner and I hated the hold he had over me. All the same, we did interesting things together. He was surprisingly inventive. I didnt like having to do things with him, but I liked doing them, if you know what I mean. "
I didnt say anything.
"I could tell you some of the things we did. "
"Dont bother. "
"It might turn you on, listening. "
"I dont think so. "
"You dont like me much, do you?"
"Not too much, no. I cant really afford to like you, can I?"
She drank some of her drink, then licked her lips again. "You wouldnt be the first cop I ever took to bed," she said. "When youre in the game, thats a part of it. I dont think I ever met a cop who wasnt worried about his cock. That it was too small, that he wasnt good at using it. I suppose thats part of carrying a gun and a nightstick and all the rest of it, dont you think?"
"Could be. "
"Personally, I always found cops to be built the same as anyone else. "
"I think were getting off the subject, Mrs. Ethridge. "
"Bev. "
"I think we ought to talk about money. One large sum of money, say, and then you can get off the hook and I can let go of the fishing rod. "
"How much money are we talking about?"
"Fifty thousand dollars. "
I dont know what sort of figure she was expecting. I dont know if she and Spinner had talked price while they rolled around on expensive sheets. She pursed her lips and gave a silent whistle, indicating that the sum Id mentioned was a very large sum indeed.
She said, "You have expensive ideas. "
"You pay it once and its over. "
"Back on Square A. How do I know that?"
"Because when you pay over the money, I give you a handle on me. I did something a few years ago. I could go to jail for it for a long time. I can write out a confession giving all the details. Ill give it to you when you pay the fifty thou, along with the stuff Spinner has on you. That locks me in, keeps me from doing a thing. "
"It wasnt just something like police corruption. "
"No, it wasnt. "
"You made somebody dead. "
I didnt say anything.
She took her time thinking it over. She took out a cigarette, tapped its end on a well-manicured nail. I guess she was waiting for me to light it for her. I remained in character and let her light it for herself.
Finally she said, "It might work. "
"Id be putting my neck in a noose. You wouldnt have to worry about me running out and yanking on the rope. "
She nodded. "Theres only one problem. "
"The money?"
"Thats the problem. Couldnt we lower the price a little?"
"I dont think so. "
"I just dont have that kind of money. "
"Your husband does. "
"That doesnt put it in my handbag, Matt. "
"I could always eliminate the middleman," I said. "Sell the goods directly to him. Hed pay. "
"You bastard. "
"Well? Wouldnt he?"
"Ill get the money somewhere. You bastard. He probably wouldnt pay, as a matter of fact, and then your holds gone, isnt it? Your hold and my life, and we both wind up with nothing, and are you sure you want to risk that?"
"Not if I dont have to. "
"Meaning if I come up with the money. Youve got to give me some time. "
"Two weeks. "
She shook her head. "At least a month. "
"Thats longer than I planned on staying in town. "
"If I can have it faster, I will. Believe me, the faster youre off my back the better I like it. But it might take me a month. "
I told her a month would be all right but I hoped it wouldnt take that long. She told me I was a bastard and a son of a bitch, and then she turned abruptly seductive again and asked me if I wouldnt like to take her to bed anyway for the hell of it. I liked it better when she called me names.
She said, "I dont want you calling me. How can I get in touch with you?"
I gave her the name of my hotel. She tried not to show it, but it was obvious that my openness surprised her. Evidently the Spinner hadnt wanted her to know where she could find him.
I didnt blame him.
Chapter 7
On his twenty-fifth birthday, Theodore Huysendahl had come into an inheritance of two and a half million dollars. A year later hed added another million and change by marrying Helen Godwynn, and in the next five years or so hed increased their total wealth to somewhere in the neighborhood of fifteen million dollars. At age thirty-two he sold his business interests, moved from a waterfront estate in Sands Point to a co-op apartment on Fifth Avenue in the Seventies, and devoted his life to public service. The President appointed him to a commission. The Mayor installed him as head of the Parks and Recreation Department. He gave good interviews and made good copy and the press loved him, and as a result he got his name in the papers a lot. For the past few years hed been making speeches all over the state, turning up at every Democratic fund-raising dinner, calling press conferences all over the place, guesting occasionally on television talk shows. He always said that he was not running for governor, and I dont think even his own dog was dumb enough to buy that one. He was running, and running very hard, and he had a lot of money to spend and a lot of political favors to call, and he was tall and good-looking and radiantly charming, and if he had a political position, which was doubtful, it was not far enough to either the left or the right to alienate voters in the great middle.
The smart money gave him one shot in three at the nomination, and if he got that far he had a very strong chance for election. And he was only forty-one. He was probably already looking beyond Albany in the direction of Washington.
A handful of nasty little photographs could end all that in a minute.
He had an office in City Hall. I took the subway down to Chambers Street and headed over there, but first I detoured and walked up Centre Str
eet and stood in front of Police Headquarters for a few minutes. There was a bar across the street where we used to go before or after appearing in the Criminal Courts Building. It was a little early for a drink, though, and I didnt much want to run into anyone, so I went over to City Hall and managed to find Huysendahls office.
His secretary was an older woman with wiry gray hair and sharp blue eyes. I told her I wanted to see him, and she asked my name.
I took out my silver dollar. "Watch closely," I said, and set it spinning on the corner of her desk. "Now just tell Mr. Huysendahl exactly what Ive done, and that Id like to see him in private. Now. "
She scrutinized my face for a moment, probably in an attempt to assess my sanity. Then she reached for the telephone, but I put my hand gently atop hers.
"Tell him in person," I said.
Another long sharp look, with her head cocked slightly to one side. Then, without quite shrugging, she got up and went into his office, closing the door after her.
She wasnt in there long. She came out looking puzzled and told me Mr. Huysendahl would see me. Id already hung my coat on a metal rack. I opened Huysendahls door, went in, closed it after me.
He started talking before he raised his eyes from the paper he was reading. He said, "I thought it was agreed that you were not to come here. I thought we established-"
Then he looked up and saw me, and something happened to his face.
He said, "Youre not-"
I flipped the dollar into the air and caught it. "Im not George Raft, either," I said. "Who were you expecting?"
He looked at me, and I tried to get something out of his face. He looked even better than his newspaper photos, and a lot better than the candid shots I had of him. He was sitting behind a gray steel desk in an office furnished with standard City-issue goods. He could have afforded to redecorate it himself-a lot of people in his position did that. I dont know what it said about him that he hadnt, or what it was supposed to say.
I said, "Is that todays Times? If you were expecting a different man with a silver dollar, you couldnt have read the paper very carefully. Third page of the second section, toward the bottom of the page. "
"I dont understand what this is all about. "
I pointed at the paper. "Go ahead. Third page, second section. "
I stayed on my feet while he found the story and read it. Id seen it myself over breakfast, and I might have missed it if I hadnt been looking for it. I hadnt known whether it would make the paper or not, but there were three paragraphs identifying the corpse from the East River as Jacob "Spinner" Jablon and giving a few of the highlights of his career.
I watched carefully while Huysendahl read the squib. There was no way his reaction could have been anything other than legitimate. The color drained instantly from his face, and a pulse hammered in his temple. His hands clenched so violently that the paper tore. It certainly seemed to mean that he hadnt known Spinner was dead, but it could also mean he hadnt expected the body to come up and was suddenly realizing what a pot he was in.
"God," he said. "Thats what I was afraid of. Thats why I wanted-oh, Christ!"
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