The Devil's Only Friend

by Mitchell Bartoy

  By this time Walker was looking us over very carefully.

  “Roll down your window and wave him over,” I said.

  Walker had put on his better shoes, a shirt so white it looked blue, and a pair of wool pants with a strong pattern woven into them. He also wore a light jacket. Though he was stocky in build and roughened by circumstance, he made a nice figure. Certainly he fared better coming down the steps than Federle or I would have done.

  “Hah,” said Federle, “think of that. He’s coming.”

  I could see Walker assessing the situation as he approached the car. I put my face against the glass so he could see me. The Chrysler coupe was too low for him to get a good look at the driver without stooping, so he opened the suicide door and flopped down onto the seat. He reached over and pulled the door shut.

  Federle craned his head to get a better look at Walker, and Walker turned to look around inside the car. He pulled off his hat and rubbed his palm over his near-bald head.

  “What’s the story, Walker?” I said.

  “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

  “Hey, Walker, don’t you know me?” Federle sat with a goofy grin across the seat from Walker. He bobbed his head to try to find a place with good enough light to show his face.

  Walker turned and eyed him with some reserve. Then recognition flickered in his eyes, and he let his mouth move into a sour smile.

  “Well,” he said. “Ray Federle. I didn’t think I’d run into you again.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Federle’s open grin was too much for me. I felt like I needed to get out of the backseat to stretch my legs, to clear my head of all that he had spilled to me. It seemed to ease his worry, and his happiness at seeing Walker upset me somehow.

  “Now, hell,” I said, “why would you two know each other?”

  “Before I got my executive position swabbing floors I did some jobs around town,” Federle said.

  “He drove a forklift on the dock for a time—”

  “About a week!”

  “—until he got fired from Palmer’s,” said Walker.

  “You got fired from Palmer’s?” I asked. “How in hell does a guy get fired from a job like that when they’re scraping up cadavers to work these days?”

  “That’s a funny story,” said Federle.

  “Never mind,” I said. “I don’t want to hear it. Drive over to the Lloyd plant before all the shooters head out to lunch.”

  “What about Walker?”

  “What about him?”

  “Well, he don’t have a badge like we do, eh? They’ll put up a front, you know that.”

  “We’ll see what swings when we get there.”

  Federle pulled away from Walker’s place, and I chewed my lips and kept quiet. Here Federle had just now offered his wife to me, confessed that his dick had been burned off, and made a point to let me know that he was changing the diapers of some other man’s baby. He was humming to himself now because the radio didn’t work on the car either. Whatever foul mood anyone else might have been in, Federle seemed happy just to move along. Walker, I guess, was used to sitting still and waiting. He stared out ahead, and I could see the nicks and little scars at the back of his neck and head.

  I wondered about my own mood and my own intentions. Only a day or two earlier I had been so miserable that I would have eaten a bullet. Looking forward, I knew that mood would fall on me again—and again and again until my light finally went out. What a miserable life it was! Such a botch of everything, such a span of years wasted. For myself I would not have gone on. But slumped as I was in the back seat, driving off to Lloyd’s noisy, fiery, reeking pit without a clue what I wanted to do there, I could at least see the truth about myself. For my own sake I wouldn’t do anything, because I hated what I had become—scarred, mean, and unhappy as a pit dog. It seemed I was ready, though, to latch on to anyone else’s need. Walker had asked for my help, as had Jasper Lloyd. Eileen had a young son out roaming somewhere in the world, and Federle—Federle was as much of a wreck as I was. I had let myself get soft toward him because I had the pathetic idea that I could do something for him.

  The more I found out about him, the more I realized that it was beyond me to help him. Either he would get me killed in the whole mess or I would see him drop away entirely, as it had been with Alex. But curiously, the grisly expectations didn’t weigh on me like the months of doing nothing had. My wounds and bruises were healing up nicely, and though my back still dogged me, I thought I might crack a head or two if the need arose. We were heading to the Lloyd plant, one of the largest industrial complexes in the world, and I knew well that I’d be ineffective, even lost, inside it. But the lack of any plan or strategy could not deter me. As much as anyone, I didn’t have anything better to do.

  There were three of us now. We couldn’t match up in any way but bluster to the four musclemen who had worked me over. But I was always looking out, hoping to meet up with them again in the daylight. I wanted to know where they had come from, why they had almost killed me, why they had let me live. Any idiot could have seen I knew nothing of value. I wanted to put my face close to the Hardiman boys, to see if they’d flinch, if they knew all of what happened to their father, if they knew what kind of man he really was. More and more, I was driven by thoughts of my father, and I wanted to see how Whit Lloyd could possibly walk straight with the Old Man towering over him. I wanted to know, just for the sake of knowing, who had taken Walker’s sister and Miss Avis Davis apart.

  It was after eleven when we rolled up to the Lloyd plant. I had Federle circle around the place, trying to get a sense of where everything was located. You couldn’t even get close to the parts along the river, and the rail yard was a vast tangle of tracks and sidings where an auto couldn’t go. Even with the extra security, I could see it would be easy for someone who knew the place to skip in or out. There were fences and gates and walls, but it was such a sprawling monstrosity that you could only hope to control it or tamp down on it enough to keep everything from bursting into flames. Tens of thousands of men—and now women—slipped in and out every day, over three main shift changes. And I knew that with so many men and women thrown together in such a trying time, some would find a way to pair off in a nook or a cranny or between stacks of lumber or pig iron. Though the Old Man had made it his personal mission to stamp out the dope, I knew that there would be a supply of marijuana and heroin and opium working through the plant. Plenty of the men took whiskey before they clocked in, and they stole sips from flasks during their bone-tiring shifts when they could manage it, if the Lloyd plant was anything like the thousand other shops in Detroit. Workingmen were hard by nature. I knew that Walker could handle himself, and I had to believe that Federle had training and experience; but it seemed ridiculous to think that we could ferret anything out in that jungle or prevent any crime from happening.

  “Pull around to the security department,” I said. “We’ll see if we can get Walker some credentials.”

  Federle worked the car around the long, circular drive. There was no marking or sign to tell the location of the security offices; we knew where to go only because we had been taken there the previous day. The security men, it appeared, wouldn’t stand for any extra army guards to cover them as the administration people had. There was nothing blocking the drive, and the only person we saw outside the building was a bandy-legged old man who came out to take the car to the inside lot.

  We all got out, and Federle handed the key to the old man. Walker strolled toward the building, and Federle went after him. The old man squinted at me for a moment until I fished a dollar from my pocket and held it out for him.

  “I can’t take it,” he said. “Mr. Lloyd pays my wage.” He hobbled and swiveled himself over to the fender of the Chrysler and propped himself with a ragged hand. “See how the paint don’t match?”

  “So what?” I said.

  “That’s one of Frank Carter’s old cars. They patched up the bullet holes here, yo
u see? They had to replace the whole door, so it was easier to get the paint to match.” He peered at me. The sagging flesh of his aged palate caused him to snort as took in a big breath through his nose. He said, “How’d you come to own this vehicle?”

  “We stole it off the lot in the back,” I said. “You security guys got your thumbs up your ass.”

  He turned his head and looked sourly over the brick-heavy facade of the building. “They don’t let me on the inside anymore now that Frank Carter’s gone. I’m just parking cars now, I guess. Greasy bastards can go suck.” He turned back to me, and it was a moment before his lazy eye came even with the other one. Both eyes searched over my damaged face, considered my build and height. “Fred Caudill’s boy, are you?”

  “Sure.”

  He chewed it over and decided not to say anything more about it. Bracing himself along the fender and the roof, he got into the car. He had to help his last leg along with both hands. I came over to help him with the door, but he stopped me from closing it.

  “These doors are bulletproof, see? The side panels, too. But not the windows. You got to duck down.” He hunched himself a bit to show the technique but didn’t really move much. “There’s a steel plate covering the gas tank.”

  “You think we’ll need all that?” I asked him.

  He smiled up at me, showing both racks of worn-down choppers. “It ain’t like the old days,” he said, “but it don’t ever hurt to have a little extra in the hole.” The old-timer jerked his stubby thumb toward Federle, who was standing with his hands on his hips in his bright suit, and said, “Is he a friend of Dorothy?”

  “I don’t really think so,” I said.

  “Better watch him anyway.”

  “All right, I will.”

  “The Negro?”

  “He’s fair to middling, maybe better,” I said. “I don’t worry about him.” Then I bent over to speak closely, in part because I knew it would appeal to him to be a part of any action. “Listen,” I said. “I got a piece squirreled away in one of the holes back there, and I’d appreciate it if it didn’t get found out.”

  “Don’t worry,” he muttered, turning shifty and squinty, “I got my eye on it.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “My name’s Pickett.”

  “Okay, Pickett,” I said.

  He grunted, and I pulled the door shut for him. Then he turned the engine over and let his hand work the shifter all around till he remembered how to drive the setup. Time had shortened him so that he had to crane up to see over the dash and hood. Federle and Walker hot-stepped out of the way as the old man careened toward a gated lot off the end of the building.

  “An old man is a nasty thing,” Federle said. “He ought to think about staying home.”

  “You’re not from here, Federle,” I said. “You don’t know what things are worth.” Whenever I spoke to Federle, I tried to use the kind of tone that wouldn’t bite. He had a bad habit of shooting off his mouth, but I didn’t want to discourage him entirely because it let me know what he was thinking.

  “I know an old man when I see one,” he said. “Maybe I’m just thinking that I’ll be getting old, too.”

  “You have children, Mr. Federle?” asked Walker.

  “Call me Ray. I got two at home.”

  “Well, it’s been my experience that worry about your children will make you old before your time.”

  “Why’s Pete look so bad then? He don’t have no kids that he knows of.”

  “I guess the detective has had his share of worry in his time.”

  “We’re like private dicks now,” Federle said. “Me and Pete anyhow. We got badges. Walker needs a badge.”

  “Listen, Walker. We’ll go in and see about getting you a badge. But if it doesn’t pan out, see if you can find somebody to talk to out here.”

  “Some jobs you got a man on the inside,” said Federle; “some jobs you got a man on the outside.”

  “You follow me, Walker?”

  “I got you.”

  The three of us went inside. Federle and I had pinned the badges on the pockets of our jackets, as the Lloyd security men liked to do. You could feel right away that it wasn’t a place to bring a Negro. There wasn’t a woman on the inside, either. The security house was run entirely by white men, and they were all either dressed in gray suits or in medium-blue uniforms that looked something like police outfits and something like work clothes. All wore badges; there was an elaborate system of shapes and colors of metal to show who had pull and who was a flunky, but I didn’t care to put much time into figuring it out. Federle and I had the good kind of badge and Walker was plain out of luck. I could see by the mug of the counterman, another old-timer, that Walker wasn’t likely to have an easy time getting a leg up.

  “We’d like to see about getting Walker here a badge,” I said.

  The counterman puckered his face and looked us over shrewdly. I could see just a bare glint of his eyes through the droops and wrinkled bags that surrounded them.

  “We don’t just give out badges without authorization,” he said.

  “We got badges,” said Federle.

  “I don’t have any say about that.”

  “Gold badges.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Who’s got the big say around here?” I asked. “Can’t we talk to somebody worthwhile?”

  The counterman was already burning. “It’s a whole procedure. First you got to get hired in. Then—”

  “Hand me up your telephone,” I said.

  He choked down his irritation and opened his filmy eyes a little wider. Very slowly, he lifted the phone up onto the higher counter of the desk and set it down with a ding.

  “How do you get hold of Whitcomb Lloyd on this thing?”

  “I can’t say if Mr. Lloyd is anywhere on the premises.”

  “I mean how do you work it?”

  He thought for a moment before he answered. I knew that he was angry and a little afraid that Federle and I—outsiders—had possibly been brought in just to look into the security system itself.

  “Pick it up and dial zero for the switchboard,” he said. “But you’ll need something more than luck to reach Mr. Lloyd directly.”

  “What’s your badge number?” I asked him.

  “Zero-one-one,” he said, drawing his flaccid cheeks back in a lizard smile. “I been here a while. What’s yours?”

  I knew that my own had a five-digit number but I didn’t bother to look it up for him.

  “Only got silver after all these years?” Federle said. He had pushed his hands down into his pockets and muscled up his neck to show how little he cared for the desk monkey.

  I picked up the handset and dialed the phone with my littlest finger. Though I knew it wouldn’t put me out of earshot, I turned away and let the angry counterman stare at the back of my neck.

  “This is Pete Caudill at the security house. Can you get me Mr. Lloyd’s secretary on the line?”

  “Mrs. Bates is not in today. I’ll connect you to Mr. Merriweather. It may take a moment.”

  While the line was quiet I gave Federle the eye. He broke away from the desk and made like he was scanning the place for problems. If I had been worth my salt, I would have secured a couple of clipboards or a little notepad like Hank Chew used so we could pretend to write things down. In a shop of any kind, it’s the one thing that provokes the most anxiety in the men. It fouls them up; they have to put on a show of disdain with the other men, but only if they have a spotless conscience can they really afford not to worry. Walker stood close by with his hands at his sides and his face angled politely away. He was smoother by far than any of us. His social graces were the better part of him. It had always taken effort for me to work my way around people, to slip in and do my business without attracting too much bad attention, but it came naturally to Walker. I was glad that he agreed to come along with us.

  The crackle of the telephone line brought me to attention.

 
“Yes? This is Mr. Merriweather.”

  “This is Pete Caudill. You remember me from yesterday?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “I got a fella down here at the security house with me who needs a badge like the one I got yesterday.”

  “I’m afraid I have no authority to order such a thing myself. There are channels—”

  “Can you get word to Whit Lloyd that we’re down here?”

  “Mr. Lloyd is—possibly en route between facilities. If I am in contact with him at all today, I can broach the subject. I’m afraid that’s the best I can promise, sir. If you had given me some sort of advance—”

  “That’s all right. We’re coming in. We’ll leave Walker here for now. If Lloyd shows up, have him come down and take care of it.”

  I did my best to imagine the look on Merriweather’s face.

  He said, “I’ll be certain to give him the directive, sir.”

  I put the handset down in the cradle.

  “No dice on the badge for now, Walker. You’ll have to hang fire here while Federle and I take care of our business.”

  “I can do that,” said Walker. “I’m a patient man.”

  “He can’t wait in here,” the counterman said. He seemed to be immensely pleased with himself.

  I leaned my elbows on the counter. “You saying you don’t want my man in here?”

  “Oh,” he said, feeling in charge of his domain again, “that’s just counter to SOP. We can’t have an unknown man lurking about the building, the center of security for the whole complex. You want to see the manual?”