by Dane Hartman
“You should have gotten there sooner. Like a couple of days sooner.”
“Haines was working on it. It was under investigation.”
“Haines,” Harry muttered.
“What can I tell you, Harry? You know how much shit comes in here all the time. The fucking Coast Guard should be doing this sort of thing, but you know, nobody’s got the budget, nobody’s got the manpower, everyone passes the buck. Look, you’re alive, that’s something.”
“I suppose I should take this opportunity to express my gratitude for fishing me out.”
“Don’t express it to me. We weren’t the ones to fish you out. We found you lying on the dock when we got to the marina. Somebody had already done the fishing for us.”
Harry looked closely at Togan, scrutinizing him to see if maybe he was joking. But it was no joke. “So who was it then?”
“Beats me. Maybe the same person who called us up and alerted us in the first place.”
“No record of who called in?”
“Anonymous informant if you want to get technical, that’s all I can tell you.”
Harry didn’t say anything for several moments, reflecting on this, puzzling out who it could be. He directed his gaze to the flowers. This was one hell of a secret admirer, he thought.
“I thought you might like to know we did some backgrounders on those bastards we caught at Golden Gate.”
Harry had completely forgotten about them and the incident that had led to their capture. It seemed to him that it had all happened years ago.
“What did you find?”
“They’re all involved in drugs. Smack mostly, some coke and angel dust when the urge strikes them, but their bread and butter is brown Mexican shit.”
“Oh, so what’s the problem that they started blowing each other away?”
“The problem is they belong to rival syndicates. Apparently someone’s moved too much shit in all at once, and you know how these things work, everyone wants a piece of the action. It’s too big for the locals to handle. You just happened into the middle of the war is all.”
“I wouldn’t be mistaken in thinking that you’ve made the same connection I have,” Harry said.
“No, you wouldn’t be mistaken. No telling how much Mexican was unloaded from the good ship The Sojourner . . .”
“Hyacinth,” Harry corrected him.
“By any name. That’s Haines’ department. But my point is the market’s gotten flooded. It creates havoc among our favorite local pushers.”
“How about Father Nick? He’s in a position to cause a lot of havoc.”
“Father Nick.” Togan didn’t want to think about Father Nick after the furor Harry had provoked by arresting him. “If you’re smart, Harry, you’ll want to stay far away from Father Nick.”
Harry spread out his hands as though to embrace his cheerless little hospital room. “How much farther away can I get than this?”
“You got a point.” Togan rose from his chair. “But just in case, the boys down at the department, as an expression of our concern and—”
“You going to cut the bullshit?”
“Eventually.” Togan seemed a bit nervous about making this presentation. He held out the package he’d come in with. “Well, here it is. We figure the way you’re going you’ll be needing it.”
By the shape of the package Harry had a good idea what it would be. Still, he pretended surprise when on opening it he revealed a gleaming .44 Magnum. Unquestionably, it was something he could use since his last .44 was down at the bottom of San Francisco Bay.
“I appreciate this.”
“We’re always thinking of you, Harry.” Togan neglected to say what direction their thoughts took. As he stepped to the door he turned abruptly to ask Harry how much longer he was obliged to stay confined in the hospital.
“They don’t say. Doctors are like cops, they look at you, nod gravely, and walk away. You don’t know what’s on their minds. But my feeling is I won’t be here long.”
“Later then. And if by chance you should remember what you were doing down at that boat feel free.”
“Absolutely, Bob, absolutely.”
Togan hadn’t been gone for more than five minutes when Harry disconnected the catheters they’d wired him with. Wasn’t hard, a little excess blood quickly staunched, and he was free. Climbing out of bed was another matter. A child of three had more dexterity than Harry at this point. He used his hands to prop himself up. As soon as he attained a fully vertical position it was all he could do to remain there. His head felt woozy as though he’d been drinking for the last twenty-four hours and had just now registered its impact. But he was bound and determined to get out of this place. Like jail cells, hospital rooms were places for other men—and women. Including whoever occupied the next bed.
Nobody would ever die on the Keepnews estate. Too beautiful a place for it. Too much green, too many flowers, too much water flowing through irrigation ducts and out of stone fountains fashioned into nymphs and satyrs. When the time came for people like Keepnews they would go down into the city for their sendoff.
Harry wasn’t sure how he felt. He’d been out of the hospital for all of three and a half hours. It was as if the headache he’d begun his little adventure with had spread into the rest of his body, providing a constant dull ache that slowed him down but couldn’t quite stop him.
Wendy wasn’t around to welcome him this time. Instead a man of considerable size and untrusting eyes appeared. He wore a plain, checkered shirt and dungarees no designer would have gone near. He could have been one of the gardeners or else a security guard. Maybe both.
“Mr. Keepnews expecting you?”
“Mr. Keepnews is always expecting me. It’s just I don’t always turn up on time.”
The man nodded, not sure how to take this. “You’ll wait a minute,” he said. It was not a question. “What’s your name?”
Harry told him. This seemed to ring a bell. “Then I suppose it’s all right if you head on up. You know the way?”
Harry knew the way. You could see it from his vantage point: the slow gracious curve of the gravel road up to the house.
Keepnews must have spotted him from one of his picture windows. He came out to greet him. A frown was on his face. “Harry,” he started, “you shouldn’t be here. You should be in bed. I just got back from the hospital, no one knows what happened to you. The nurses are frantic.”
“It’s nice to know you’re missed.”
Harry got out of his car and walked with a purposeful stride toward the millionaire. Walking was like a whole new enterprise for him, but he was getting the hang of it.
Keepnews, despite his expression of concern, admired Harry’s precipitous flight from his hospital bed. Under the circumstances he would have done the same thing.
Keepnews brought Harry out to the verandah in back, which, with its inlaid mosaic floor and marble portico, resembled an old Venetian piazza more than anything else. He insisted that Harry have a drink although he himself refrained.
Then he placed himself in a big wicker chair and leaning forward indicated that Harry should tell him everything he had learned.
Harry tried to, but kept getting vaguely distracted by the music that was filtering down from one of the open upstairs windows. It wasn’t Monteverdi, being too percussive and rambunctious; more likely it was Wendy’s music than her husband’s.
“So you found no heroin?”
“I suspect it had already been removed before I got there. They had no further use for the boat. With what kind of money they’re making they can afford a dozen yachts like yours.”
Keepnews scowled, probably displeased that people were making more money than he by illegal means.
“What’s happening, if my hunch is right, is that a whole new operation is being opened up, that this is only the beginning.”
“And to what do you account this?”
“Father Nick.”
“Ah, Cimentini. Your nemesis
.”
“You might say that. But the fact is he hasn’t been out of the slammer for long, he’s just starting to get back in business. This is his way of overwhelming the competition right off the bat.”
“So there will be more instances of piracy?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Keepnews appeared to consider this prospect for a brief interval. “Where’s the heroin coming from, Harry?”
“Mexico.”
“All of it?”
“Mexico or Colombia. But to get from one you got to go through the other. Or past it or over it.”
“Yes, I see your point. Tell me, what’s happening down at the department, I mean with your hearing?”
“Hasn’t been scheduled yet. No one’s particularly anxious to deal with it now, not Avery, not Bressler, not the D.A. They’d just as soon let it hang for a while.”
“How would you like to go down to Mexico for me?”
“Depends on what you have in mind.”
“Frankly, I’d like to lure these people into striking again. But this time my men will be prepared.”
“Bait in other words.”
“That’s it.” Keepnews smiled as though Harry had just made a very happy discovery. “Bait.”
“May I ask you a question?”
“Fire away.” This was an unfortunate choice of words, but Harry let it pass.
“Are you thinking of doing this to home in on the Mexican connection or just for revenge?”
Keepnews was not at all offended by the question. “Revenge, what do you think? I’ll leave the stopping of drug traffic to the law enforcement agencies, though I can’t believe they’ll do a goddamn thing about it, just between you and me. All I’m after is showing whoever these people are, Father Nick or Father Time, that you can’t kick Harold Keepnews in the ass and expect to get away with it. I want to do them some real harm. Not some shit operation, I’m not interested in going down to some fucking cantina in Mexico, finding four or five of their flunkies, and blowing them away. I’m sure they got a thousand guys, what do you think they get, five, ten bucks a day? You can get a million assholes that way. Lose a couple, it doesn’t hurt your business at all. I’m talking about some way of getting to their vital parts. Destroying a shipment or two, now that will hurt them.”
“What do you need me for? Plenty of men walking around who could do the sort of thing you want.”
“You’re the best. You don’t go off half-cocked. I’m not looking for a hit man, I don’t want anything to do with them. Besides, by the time you’re through you will not only be handsomely compensated, but you might very well have the satisfaction of pulling the rug out from under Father Nick.”
This part of the deal did in fact attract Harry.
Sensing this, Keepnews leaned forward, “Look, you and I know, no matter how this suspension business works out, even if they reinstate you, they’re never going to allow you the opportunity to get at him. Too much controversy’d be generated after that commotion at that disco downtown. Somebody gets to Father Nick, it’s not going to be you. It’ll be one of those assholes like what-the-hell’s-his-name—Haines.”
Harry avoided responding to this directly. Instead he asked Keepnews just how he meant to go about this project. He assumed that he had it all figured.
And he did. “Basically, I’m going to buy myself another boat, a cutter maybe, nothing too elaborate.”
“Don’t want to lose out too much if it’s hijacked or goes down?”
“You got it. Then I’ll spread the word we’re looking for a crew, hire the best that comes around, then set sail down into Mexican waters. It’s that simple.”
“Nothing’s that simple. What do you do, tell the men they’re being set up for dope runners when you’re hiring them or do you wait until they’re out in the middle of the Pacific?”
“I don’t think we tell them at all. Won’t help them to know.”
“Might save their lives.”
Keepnews shrugged. This might not have been high on his list of priorities. “If they’re warned in advance we lose before we’re half a knot from land. I’ll make sure of arms on board, and I have a man in mind I’d want to skipper the vessel. I’d let him in on it. He’s a friend, completely trustworthy. So he’d know. And naturally you’d know.”
“If I come along.”
“I sure hope you do, Harry.”
“All right, suppose your plan works, what’s it going to accomplish if all that happens is you waste the jokers who try to steal your ship? You said before that’s not what you’re aiming for. How are you going to get close to the heroin?”
This problem did not seem to disturb Keepnews in the least. “Eventually we’ll work these things out, Harry. I am not unaware of the obstacles facing me. But as you know I am a determined man. I seldom lose at what I attempt. So you let me do the worrying about these matters. All you have to do is say yes.”
“I want to think on it.”
“Yes, I expect you’d want to. That is sure fine with me. About how long you figure this thinking is going to take?”
“Tomorrow morning, that be soon enough for you?”
Keepnews’ face registered some astonishment.
“You could take a couple of days if you’d like.”
“No sense procrastinating, is there?”
Keepnews was about to show him out. Harry told him not to trouble himself, he looked like he was enjoying the comfort of his wicker chair too much.
“Suit yourself,” Keepnews said. “Talk to you in the morning.”
Harry was halfway through the house and out the door when he heard someone address him.
“You have a pleasant chat?”
Harry started, looked around, trying to ascertain where the voice was coming from.
Then Wendy appeared, wearing a light lavender caftan, her face partially obscured by the shadows of the stairway.
“Hello, Wendy, how are you?”
“Bored.”
“A universal condition,” Harry remarked, about to turn away and continue for the door. Wendy had the effect of unnerving him, not simply because she was so attractive but more because she seemed to want something from the world, from him in particular. But instead of making her interests clear, she chose to be coy about them. Harry did not like guessing games.
“Are you running away from me?”
“I was in the process of leaving your husband, not running away from you.”
She was now moving down the stairs, bare feet silent against stone steps. “Ex-husband.”
“Not yet,” Harry reminded her.
“A mere technicality.”
She approached him. Light was pouring in through high-arched windows in back of her, igniting her caftan so that it reduced the thin summer material to transparency. There was nothing Harry could discern that she wore underneath.
“Well, so long as we’re not getting on each other’s nerves, I suppose that’s what’s important.”
“Oh, but we are. Didn’t you hear what Harold said? He’s a man determined never to lose.”
“You overheard our conversation?”
“Every word.” Her smile was a dangerous thing. So was the caftan. Harry was relieved when she stepped away from the light. Relieved and disappointed. She sat down on a couch—there were three to choose from in the enormous room—and asked Harry if she could get him something.
“Your husband—ex-husband, excuse me—already provided me with a drink.”
After his flight from his hospital bed he’d neglected to eat anything. The alcohol in his system, having nothing to sponge it up, had gone straight to his head, which had suffered enough lately.
“I see. That’s how we are around here, we vie for the position of host. Needless to say, Harold generally wins.”
“But not always.”
“There are some things Harold, even with all his money, will never have. Nature is occasionally more bountiful than real estate deals.�
�
Harry gave her a searching look. “I noticed,” he said.
“Are you familiar with a place called Lord Jim’s?”
“On Polk? I’ve passed by it, why?”
“Do you think you could meet me there at five-thirty this evening?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Other plans?” She did not sound surprised by Harry’s refusal.
“Something like that.” Other plans included sleep because right now he could barely keep his eyes open.
He started toward the door. Wendy didn’t move from the couch. She called after him, “Harry, did you like the flowers?”
He stopped. “So you’re the one?”
“I’m the one.”
“Very pretty flowers. Thank you.”
He took another few steps before she brought him to a stop again. “Did the police tell you who called them and told them the Hyacinth was going down?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, did they?”
“They didn’t know.” Harry was looking at her real carefully. “Anonymous caller,” he added.
“Not so anonymous now.” She did not let Harry get a word in. “And did they tell you who pulled you out of the bay?”
So, Harry thought, my mysterious admirer turns into my mysterious rescuer too. This was getting very complicated. “What time did you say? Five-thirty?”
She nodded, and at last he was free to leave.
C H A P T E R
E i g h t
Lord Jim’s, on the corner of Polk and Broadway, was not the sort of place Harry was used to frequenting or felt particularly comfortable in. It was a place where ferns and plants with long-winded Latin names climbed and hung and drooped from every niche and crevice, their growth probably inhibited by the rock music pulsing out from some of those same niches and crevices. Tiffany lamps and what rays of the sun got through the stained-glass windows provided most of the light in the room. There was only space at the bar. The settees and the couches were filled with couples who radiated such good health that Harry had half a mind to rush back to his sickbed. Even Lord Jim himself wouldn’t know what to do in this kind of atmosphere.