Thirst

by Pyotyr Kurtinski

  The body was stuck on the fence, and the guards were running around with guns in their hands. Lights came on in the pink house, but nobody came out of it. Van Diemen thought it would be interesting to see the neighbors’ reactions and what the police would do when they got there. But it would be full light soon and he had to get home.

  Before he settled down to a well-earned rest, Van Diemen went out into the gardens to see if Sandor had done his job. The truck was back where it always was, and the back of it was clean, without a trace of blood. The shed was just as clean; nothing at all showed that a body had lain there.

  Back in the library, Van Diemen thought he’d call Maggie Connors, but he’d have to give her time to get home. He wanted to ask how the photo opportunity had looked to her. He wondered if she had a darkroom in her apartment. If she didn’t, he would have to wait. For now, he needed rest. The sun was up now, and though it was a dull day, he longed for his coffin. An hour later, he called Maggie Connors; the phone rang seven times before she answered it.

  “Is that you, Anton?” she said. “I was in the darkroom. The pictures are developing right now. Hang on. I have to see how they’re doing.”

  Van Diemen hummed tunelessly, which he did when he was impatient.

  Five minutes later, Maggie Connors came back to the phone. “They came out beautifully,” she said. “I got the whole thing: the guy falling, the spikes going right through him. Did you see me drive away?”

  “I saw you.”

  “I really burned rubber getting out of there. I didn’t slow down till I got to the Concourse. Where are you, Anton?”

  “I’m at home.”

  “Can’t you tell me where that is?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t. Perhaps later. What happens next? I mean the photographs. Do you give them to an agent.”

  “Lord, no. I’m going straight to the photo editors of the News and the Post. The managing editors know about the guy on the fence by now, but they don’t have pictures. They’ll send reporters and photographers running up there, but the corpse will be in the morgue when they get there. I feel great, beating out every photographer in New York. You did me a real favor, Anton.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Van Diemen said courteously. “I look forward to seeing your photographs in the newspaper. Now I must be going. I’m rather tired.”

  “Wait! Wait! Don’t hang up, Anton. Who was the guy on the fence?” Her voice was loud, excited. “I gotta tell the photo editor something. Was he a mobster or what?”

  “He was a hired killer. That’s all I can tell you right now. You may be hearing from me again.” Van Diemen hung up before she could start on something else. One thing about her was she never gave up, and however praiseworthy that trait was, it could also be a nuisance. Why he was involving himself with the woman was a mystery. Could he be falling in love? The notion was so absurd that he laughed out loud. Could a vampire fall in love? he asked himself. Perhaps a vampire could, but it had never happened to him.

  The odd thing was, if by some quirk of his vampire nature, he had to fall in love, why couldn’t it have been with an absolutely gorgeous creature?

  Van Diemen rested well enough, and the telephone rang while he was looking at Daily News photographs of the killer falling from the sky and impaled on the fence. All the photographs were clear; Maggie Connors must have used a special lens to get such clarity in such bad light.

  Van Diemen picked up the phone and Bradford Wilcox said, “I’m back, William. I have to make the funeral arrangements for my wife and, naturally, be at the funeral, which is the day after tomorrow. After that, I’m free to go to work. Free in other ways too. So what’re these new problems? Lay it on me and I’ll feed it into the old computer.”

  Van Diemen was glad to hear from Wilcox. When he wasn’t making a fool of himself, he was a damned good lawyer. Van Diemen told him about the vandalism of his property and the three men in the pickup truck.

  “I’m afraid my neighbors are going to be very angry with me. The flyers blew all over the area. My servants tried to pick up as many as they could. Some will be found and read, and then I’ll have the whole neighborhood down on me. You know what people are like up here. They’ll be frightened by that Aids Treatment Center more than anything else.”

  “You’ve got a problem, William, but I think it can be handled. Has anybody bothered you yet. I mean by ringing your bell or sending letters?”

  “No so far, Bradford.”

  “That’s good. What we have to do here is head them off at the pass. A preemptive strike. We have to get to them before they get to you. What I’m going to do is have my secretary call every householder in your area, not leaving out the apartment houses nearby, and get some sort of town meeting set up. Can you think of any citizens’ center or church, maybe a school, where such a meeting could be held?”

  “I’m afraid not, Bradford.”

  “Not to worry. I’ll take care of everything. I don’t suppose you’d want to attend. It would be better if you did.”

  “I’d rather not, Bradford. I was counting on you to defuse the situation and explain about the hoax. Tell the people some unscrupulous real-estate developers want my property, and they are trying to drive me out with this vandalism. Tell them what’s been happening to me could happen to any of them.”

  “Good thinking, William. Have no fear. Bradford C. Wilcox is here. What was the other problem?”

  Van Diemen sighed, a little tired of the lawyer’s exuberance, but he could hardly fault the man for that. Energetic action was needed.

  “I don’t know if it’s really a problem,” he said. “These thugs had bundles of the flyers they tossed about up here in the back of their truck when they drove away. Why I don’t understand is why the flyers haven’t been distributed. Clearly that was their intention, but they haven’t done it. Otherwise this place would be swamped by derelicts and welfare cheats.”

  The lawyer thought for a moment. “Maybe Landau and his mobster friends called it off. Yeah, I’m not afraid to call them mobsters. Landau is a mobster himself, a gangster with a law degree. I think that’s what happened: They called it off.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I don’t see where the problem is, William.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but what if the flyers haven’t been distributed because something has happened to those men.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, mobsters are always having gang wars and the like. Those flyers have my name and address on them. If something has happened to those men, I wouldn’t want the police coming here asking questions.”

  “Relax, William. I doubt you’ll be hearing from the police, but if by some chance you do, call me immediately. You have my home number and my office number, and I’ll give you the number of the funeral home. If I’m not in any of those places, my staff will find me. Meanwhile, say nothing to the police. Do you hear me?”

  Van Diemen was amused. “You seem like a new man, Bradford. What has happened to you?”

  “I am a new man, William. For too long, I’ve been pushed around by women. Now I’m free, and I’m going to make the most of it. I haven’t been able to get hold of Landau, but I’ll light a fire under him when I do. The hell with him and his tapes. ‘Publish and be damned’ as the Duke of Wellington said to some blackmailing woman. Sit tight, William. We’ll beat the bastards yet.”

  “Good for you, Bradford. Is there anything else?”

  “No, I have to run. Good night, William.”

  “Good night, Bradford.” Van Diemen smiled as he hung up the phone. Things were looking up.

  Sixteen

  During the week, Bradford Wilcox called to say that he had calmed down the concerned citizens who lived on Van Diemens Road and the streets adjacent to it. Some of the flyers had been found, and Van Diemen’s neighbors had been preparing to take action when the lawyer headed them off. The meeting was held in a school gymnasium; it was stormy at first, but in no time at all, Wilcox had th
e people eating out of his hand.

  “You can relax, William,” Brad said. “It’s all over.”

  “Thank you, Bradford. Any word of Landau? There hasn’t been any more vandalism or anything in the mail. Do you think he and the Simonellis have given up?”

  “I’d like to believe that, but I don’t. All we can do is wait for what they try next. Did you hear Landau’s house burned down?”

  “Yes, it was the television news. The fire department thinks it was arson.”

  Wilcox laughed. “All I can say is, God bless the arsonist. They ought to give him a medal. I know that’s not how an officer of the court should talk, but that’s how I feel. You haven’t heard from the police?”

  “Not a word. I’m too much of a worrier, I suppose.”

  “We all have our worries, William. I used to worry plenty, but no more. Life is too short. My kids don’t like me, but so what. I hated my own father. Life is not an Arthur Miller play, with everybody whining that nobody loves him. Life is meant to be lived, right?”

  “You’re right.” Van Diemen thought Wilcox was beginning to sound more like Henry Miller than Arthur Miller. He hoped the lawyer wasn’t going to wear himself out in pursuit of his newfound freedom. Van Diemen wanted Wilcox to keep his shoulder to the wheel; so far he’d been doing just that.

  Thursday passed without any call from Wilcox. On Friday evening, just after six, the lawyer called again, and his news was bad.

  “Don’t get too alarmed by what I’m going to tell you. Landau is back, if indeed he ever left, and he is trying to get support for an application to the court for the city to seize your land by right of eminent domain. Do you know what that means?”

  Van Diemen knew what the term meant, more or less, but the fine points of the law were beyond him. That was what he had Wilcox for, to explain them. He said so.

  “Well, it’s like this,” Wilcox said. “The legal definition is as follows: the right of a government to take private property for public use by virtue of the superior dominion of the sovereign power over all lands within its jurisdiction. A city is a government. Do you follow me?”

  “Yes. What I want to know is can they do it?”

  “The city can take your property, but first an application must be made to the court. I’ll fight it every step of the way. I’ll bury them in postponements and appeals, but I’m not sure how long I can do it. To be frank with you, we could lose. If Landau and his friends want your land badly enough, they’ll do their damnedest to get it. They say they want to build affordable housing on your land.”

  “They’ve certainly picked a touchy issue. Did Landau call you?”

  “No, I would have said right off if he had. He’s back, but he hasn’t tried to contact me. There’s talk all over the street downtown. Suddenly you’re news, like it or not. Everybody knows you’re represented by Wilcox and Philpot, specifically by me, and that’s news too. We have clout, but people are waiting to see how much.”

  As the lawyer talked, Van Diemen felt out of his depth for the first time in his long life. Until then, he had taken it for granted that his money would protect him, stand between him and the dangerous, uncertain world of mortals where everything was in constant turmoil.

  “Who will make this application,” Van Diemen asked, “if the case goes forward?”

  “The city attorney.”

  “Landau and his supporters can put pressure on him, I suppose.”

  “You suppose right. Like all political appointees, he’s subject to pressure. It depends on how much support Landau can gather.”

  “What has he got now?”

  “Some members of the city council, two state senators, three state assemblymen. He may have more than that, but for the time being they’re lying low, waiting to see how the wind blows. That’s politicians for you—a bunch of weasels.”

  “How does the mayor fit into this?”

  “They think they can get Mayor Gargan to support the claim. The city does need affordable housing, but I doubt they’ll get it from Landau and his playmates. If the city does get the property, it won’t remain long in their hands. Landau doesn’t give a damn about low-income people.”

  “It doesn’t look too good, Bradford. I’d hate to lose what I have here.”

  Van Diemen had no idea what he’d do if he lost the place where he’d lived so long. A thousand times the money he had wouldn’t make up for it.

  “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” the lawyer said. “The conniving bastards. What they’re really counting on is the support of the newspapers and direct-action groups like Wilfred Pendleton and his Black Devils.”

  “What about the Hispanics?”

  “They want nothing to do with Pendleton, but they’ll push for taking your land. They’re better organized than Pendleton’s group. A big Hispanic gang called the Latin Kings are turning political. They may get into it.”

  Van Diemen felt like a man about to be swept over Niagara Falls. “Does the action have to go through Albany?”

  “Unfortunately, no. Most of the upstate polls are against bailing out the poor. We could expect some help from them, but they won’t have any say in the matter. The application must be made to a city court. Landau and the Simonellis have a good chance of having it approved if they get the right judge. It will come up in Judge Camacho’s part, I hear. He’ll be coming up for re-election soon, and he’ll need the Hispanic vote.” Van Diemen felt the cold hand of fear clutching at him. How much more bad news was he going to hear? He was afraid of no man, but the city wasn’t a man, it was a force with no face that he couldn’t hope to stand against. If the bastards won, what could he do? Hole up in his castle and throw grenades at the city marshals when they came with the court order? And what would they do if he tried to make a fight of it? Call for a SWAT team to root him out of there. The whole thing was a horror.

  “You think the newspapers will support this barefaced robbery?”

  “Maybe not Newsday. But the tabloids, yes, the Times, yes. The problem is, they won’t see it as robbery. They’ll see you as a selfish old millionaire standing in the way of progress. The tabloids will go against you just to do it. It’s their way of letting their dumbbell readers know they’re on the side of the common man. The tabloids love to bait millionaires. The Times doesn’t bait millionaires, but it will give its sanctimonious support to the takeover. Sorry I have to tell you all this, William, but I wanted to lay it on the line so you’ll know what we’re up against.”

  Van Diemen sighed wearily. “Thank you. I suppose I’ll survive, come what may.”

  “Hey! Hey! It’s not over till the fat lady sings. Don’t let the bastards grin you down. I’ll be right in there fighting for you. Let the papers print all the editorials they want. You’re not some poor old gent starving in a drafty castle. You’ve got money, pal. Let’s use it to fight this fight. Okay?

  Van Diemen was too despondent to say much of anything. “Okay,” he said. He wished Brad would get off the line so he could think. But there was more.

  “If the application goes forward,” Brad said, all geared up for the legal battle ahead, “a copy will be served on you by mail. You don’t have to appear in person since it’s a civil matter. A judgment may be handed down if you don’t appear. That’s where I come in. I appear for you and the jousting begins. Call me the minute you get any court papers, and I’ll send a messenger to pick them up. Okay?”

  “Okay, Bradford. Is there anything else? I’m rather tired,”

  “I’ll call you if there is. Hang in there, William.”

  “Just a moment,” Van Diemen said quickly.

  “Would you happen to know where Landau has been living since his return to the city?”

  “You’re not going to try to contact him, I hope/’ The lawyer sounded apprehensive. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. As your attorney, I am firmly against it.”

  “Just a thought, Bradford. Good night.”

  Van Diemen hung up the phone
and sat there thinking. He looked around his library, the dear familiar place, and suddenly he was angrier than he’d ever been, and he knew he’d rather die than be put out in the streets like some homeless derelict. He’d fight, by the Antichrist he would, and while Brad was preparing his briefs, Van Diemen would be fighting for his home and his castle.

  The law was too slow. It would be agony to drag through months, perhaps years, while the lawyers argued. The lawyers got fat and the clients got thin. He’d let Wilcox go ahead and see what he could do, but he wouldn’t wait too long for results. If the whole case started to go wrong, or the newspapers started lambasting him, he’d forget about the law and strike out on his own. He had a pretty good idea that he wouldn’t be able to do anything else.

  The Mob would back off since Landau thought he could use the court to do his dirty work. Van Diemen wasn’t so sure about the Colombians; they might have their own ideas of how to handle the problem of this obstinate old Dutchman up there in his weird castle. They might order another hit just to show the paunchy, soft Italians how real men got things done. Who could say what they’d do? Hit the castle with rocket fire or rent a helicopter and make a bombing run? There wasn’t much in the way of destruction they couldn’t buy since they had money.

  There was no doubt that a force of wild Colombians could storm the castle. If they hit the gate with a big garbage truck going full speed, it would go down. They might have to hit the gate twice, but it would go down. The mastiffs would attack, but they’d be riddled with bullets. The murderous hitmen would get into the castle one way or another.

  What had Van Diemen to fight back with? The Glock, the dart-firing Marine Corps shotgun, the grenades. Well, he had more small arms than that. He had an Uzi submachine gun, an M-16 automatic rifle, a Czech-made light machine gun. Not much against well-armed and determined attackers, but he had something else that he didn’t even want to think about. It was his doomsday weapon, and to use it meant the end of everything he loved. Placed here and there in the castle were two hundred pounds of dynamite sticks that could be detonated simultaneously by a plunger box, the kind used by mining companies. All he had to do was raise the plunger and shove it back down, and the dynamite would explode.