The Erection Set

by Mickey Spillane

  His fingers kept working at the dials, arranging them into precise figures. “That was while your grandfather was alive and active. Unfortunately, the generation gap isn’t a new thing at all. When Cameron Barrin began to decline, the family was quick to introduce a new regime ... their own. I was one of the old guard and my opinions were merely tolerated, not accepted.”

  “Then why sweat it, mighty Hunter? You’ve made it big on your own. Today you’re handling conglomerates that make Barrin Industries look like a toy. Oh, a damn big toy, but that’s all.”

  “I told you,” he said. “I feel the obligation.”

  “Good for you, but I’m still waiting for the advice.” I signaled the waitress for some more coffee. It looked like it was going to be a long lecture.

  “Remember when your cousin Alfred had that accident with his new roadster?”

  I let the sugar lumps drop in my coffee with soft plops. Somehow they had the faraway sounds of bones breaking. I said, “There was no accident. The little bastard ran me down deliberately. He got a roadster and I got a used bicycle. He went off the road to get me and if I hadn’t jumped for it there would have been more than a broken leg.”

  “He said he lost control in the gravel drive.”

  “Balls. You know better.” I stirred the coffee and tasted it. Now it was too sweet. “Funny, but I was more pissed off about my first bike being wrecked than getting the leg busted.”

  “Remember what you did to Alfred when you got out of the hospital?”

  My mouth was working to suppress a laugh. I had swiped a short-fused aerial bomb from the July Fourth fireworks display in town and rigged it under his car. It blew right through the seat of Alfred’s roadster and they picked star-dust out of his ass for a month. “How did you know about that?”

  “Being of a legal, inquisitive mind, I surmised it, then made inquiries until I located a few witnesses. Tying in a boy with missing pyrotechnics wasn’t too difficult.”

  “You could have burned my hide, buddy.”

  “Why?” His eyes twinkled. “Frankly, I thought Alfred deserved it and it was an original form of revenge. I don’t think he ever molested you again, did he?”

  “Not physically. There were other ways.”

  “Except they never really bothered you.”

  “What I didn’t have, he couldn’t steal. Alf had more to lose than I did.”

  “That brings us up to Dennison.”

  “He’s a prick,” I grinned. “I suppose you’re referring to the time that little town twist said she was knocked up and the old man paid off for an abortion?”

  Hunter nodded and waited.

  “She was an uninvited guest at the picnic. We were all playing in the same area out of sight. I never touched the dame. It was Dennie who took her into the bushes, but he blamed me for it and paid her a hundred bucks to point the finger my way.”

  “I understand you were rather severely reprimanded, weren’t you?”

  The laugh came out and I nodded. “With a stick. I was in bed for a week, all privileges revoked and before I was on my feet they had even disposed of the dog I had adopted.” I laughed again and sipped at my coffee.

  Leyland Hunter frowned again, watching me curiously. “Was it all that funny?”

  “In a way,” I told him. “Now it seems even funnier. You see, I was the only one who ever really knew the kid, being the only one who ever managed to slip out into town. She was a smart little slob, a whore at fifteen who used to make it on pay nights with the factory crowd. She was no more knocked up than you were, but she saw money in the deal and pulled the act on Dennie. It scared him shitless, especially since it was his first piece. The old lady everybody thought was her mother actually was Lucy Longstreet who ran a sleazy bordello on Third Street.”

  “I still don’t see the humor in it, Dog.”

  “Ah,” I said. “It’s there. Dennie boy got the damndest dose of gonorrhea you ever saw. I used to enjoy watching him hang from the overhead pipes in the garage toilet and scream while he tried to piss. His treatment was a closely guarded family secret. I used to take great pleasure in hiding his medication.”

  Hunter’s slow smile turned into a silent guffaw. “You know, I wondered what that was all about. There were some dealings with the public health service when the doctor turned in his report. It took some doing to keep it quiet. Small Connecticut towns can make a big to-do about the scion of its leading family getting a dose from a local wench. I don’t suppose there was any attempt to mollify your indignity at having been made a patsy?”

  “You’re slipping, Counselor. That’s when the old man made me a present of a new car and told me I could pick my own college. That trust fund didn’t come from the goodness of his heart.”

  He picked up his coffee cup and held it in front of his mouth. Over the rim his eyes were birdlike, with a strange intensity. “I think maybe it did, now that I know the whole story. Your grandfather had his own peculiar code. You were the sucker, you could have blown the whistle on his scurrilous nephew and made the family a laughingstock and have been justified in doing so. On your own volition you chose not to. That was when he began to like you. I think it was a great misfortune that you saw little of him from that time on. Does anyone else know about this?”

  “Sure. My mother before she died. She thought it was kind of funny. And there was the gardener your skinny-dipping Dubro finally married. You see, he knew me better. The real funny part was that at that time when Dennie was ripping off his first piece, I had been through a dozen women. I was far from a virgin. There wasn’t even a chance of me hitting that little twist because I knew damn well she had the clap. All I did was stand back, take my lumps and wait for the pee pains to hit Dennie. It was worth the wait.”

  I waited while Leyland Hunter finished his coffee and set the cup down. Finally he said, “Then I take it that going back is not a personal vendetta?”

  “All I want is my ten grand,” I told him. “That is, if I can get past the morals clause.”

  “By your own admission, an impossibility.”

  “Yeah, but if there’s one for me, there must be one for the others too, isn’t there?”

  “An astute observation. However, their lives have always been under careful and constant scrutiny. They have a proven, up-to-date record that will stand the cold light of investigation.”

  I laid a five-dollar bill down on top of the check and stood up. “Hunter, my friend, you are old enough to be my grandfather, but there are still some things you have to learn. Everybody’s got something to hide.”

  “Even you, Dog?”

  “When I bury my bone,” I said, “I bury it deep.”

  “Nobody can dig it up?”

  “They have to fight me first.”

  “All this for ten thousand dollars?”

  I shrugged and lit a butt.

  We walked across town and back to Hunter’s office in the tower on Thirty-fourth Street. From the elevator starter to the receptionist on his floor, we got the same looks, some bemused, some incredulous. Leyland Hunter never wore the same suit twice in any month, and here he was showing up disheveled and happy along with another randy mutt and there wasn’t any doubt about where we had been or what we had done. The maiden lady behind her desk whipped off her glasses, dropped them in her confusion, tried to hide her embarrassment in a stuttering “good morning” and when we were inside the old man said in a low growl, “She don’t know it, but what I got is just what she needs.”

  “Hell, friend, I didn’t mean to turn you into a lecher type. ”

  “You didn’t. I’m beginning to think I always was. I just never had time to perfect the art.”

  “Never too late,” I said.

  His eyes twinkled as he eased into his big chair behind the desk. “Well spoken, Dog. Now I’ll quit giving to those damn high-handed charities and put my excess money into hands that can truly justify their existence. Incidentally ... what was her name?”

  “Cha
rmaine.”

  “Lovely creature. Would I need your, er—endorsement for another engagement?”

  I grinned at him and he grinned back. “Now, what’s on your mind, Counselor?”

  Leyland Hunter leaned back in his chair, tugged his tie open a little bit farther and let the air of his profession seep back into his face. “Do you know how often I tried to locate you, Dog?”

  “Nope.”

  “At least every year,” he said.

  “Why bother?”

  “Because certain business matters were entrusted to me and I intend to fulfill my obligations. You didn’t make it easy for me at all. You took your Army discharge in Europe and promptly dropped out of sight. I went to every extent possible to find you, ran down every lead, none of which ever panned out, and frankly, Dog, I was beginning to believe you were dead. It wouldn’t have been unusual at all. Army Intelligence, Interpol and the police departments of every country had all too many cases of ex-soldiers heavy with discharge pay suddenly being found dead or not found at all.”

  “I had no trouble.”

  “Why, Dog?”

  “Counselor,” I said, “there was nothing for me back here except aggravation. I was twenty when I left and twenty-four when I got out. I wanted to see things and do things without the entire Barrin family breathing down my neck. And don’t tell me they weren’t happy about my decision. I was their skeleton in the closet, but I rattled a little too loudly when I was home and they didn’t like to be reminded of my mother’s indiscretion that brought everlasting shame upon the great family standards. The entire clan was a pain in the ass and I was glad to be rid of them. When my mother died there were no ties left, so this Dog snapped his leash.” I stopped and tapped another cigarette from my pack and lit it. “Funny, but I sort of miss the old gent. Gramps was just at the age where I could get him all shook up with my oddball behavior. I used to play games with him and he took the bait every time.”

  “Maybe you weren’t really fooling him,” Leyland said. “He was pretty cagey.”

  “Ever hear him fart he got so mad?” I let out a little laugh, remembering. “The day I beat hell out of that snotty Webster kid and his old man wouldn’t sell the acreage Gramps wanted on the south side of Mondo Beach, the old boy almost blew the seat out of his pants yelling at me.”

  “I know.” Leyland smiled. “And you told him to go to hell and joined the Air Force the next day.”

  “I was going to anyway. I had my two years of college and wanted to fly.”

  “You made quite a record. Old Cameron was rather proud of you.”

  “Balls,” I said.

  “True, however. It was something he only mentioned to me. In a way you reminded him of his own youth. Your main fault was never aspiring to greatness. You know how he was about wanting a direct male heir.”

  “Come off it, Hunter buddy. As far as he was concerned I was a plain old bastard in the true sense. Even when my mother married my father, it was too late to lift the stigma. At least his brother’s one kid left enough progeny around before he kicked off so he had plenty of blood relatives to leave his money to. Barrin Industries fell into well-trained hands. My ten-grand inheritance was only a token gesture, but I want it.”

  “Oh, it’s there all right. Cameron’s instructions were to deliver to you stocks whose total worth was ten thousand dollars within a certain period after I contacted you. Provided you met the requirements, of course. Had you returned home in forty-six, you would have received five thousand shares. They had quite a market value in those days. However, the situation has changed. Wall Street is wallowing in an all-time low. Ten thousands dollars now represents twenty thousand shares. The remaining five will be split equally between Alfred and Dennison. It was a rather strange provision in Cameron’s will and he certainly didn’t foresee the drop in the economy or the current inflation. The only reason he held back those shares of stock from Alfred and Dennison was to let them mature further before handling a greater interest in the business.”

  “But it’s still only ten grand,” I said.

  “There’s a little more.”

  “Oh?”

  Hunter spun around in his chair, pulled a file drawer open and extracted a stiff yellow folder. He handed the contents across the desk to me. “Nothing much, but part of my obligation. Your grandfather once purchased a large tract of land in New Mexico, speculating that a government irrigation project would be instituted in the area. The bill never passed Congress and the land is still there ... beautiful, rocky and arid. It’s a snake collector’s paradise and tourists take pictures of it. He left it to your mother and now it’s yours.” He tapped the paper in front of me and handed me a pen. “If you can find a sucker you might get him to take it off your hands at a quarter an acre. That would net you an even thousand dollars. At least it’s something. Taxes are negligible and paid to date.”

  I scratched my name on the papers and shoved them back to him. “Thanks a lot,” I said. “Now how about my ten grand?”

  “You just signed a notification of availability for it. Delivery may take place to you, Alfred and Dennison simultaneously at a formal meeting at Grand Sita, your former palatial residence. Let’s say day after tomorrow?”

  I scowled in disgust. “Do I have to?”

  Leyland nodded. “I’m afraid so. Besides, think of the reunion you’ll have.”

  “Like meeting a pack of cobras,” I said.

  A ghost of a smile crossed the old man’s face, but I didn’t catch what he said. I asked, “What?”

  He shook his head and smiled. “The day after tomorrow. We’ll leave from here. Four P.M.”

  REFLECTIONS: LEYLAND HUNTER

  “Like meeting a pack of cobras,” Dog had said, and didn’t hear me when I answered, “But who’s the mongoose?”

  Dogeron Kelly, the kid they could never figure out or pin down. He didn’t give a damn for anything then and he sure doesn’t now. Anybody else would take him for just another big guy who had been around the world and had seen and done as he damn well pleased, a guy who wasn’t anything and didn’t want anything.

  But me, I’m old in the trade. Too damn many court-rooms. Too damn many times looking through wire screens at clients and watching their minds work. There are types and types, but they all fall either on one side of the fence or the other. Dogeron Kelly was walking around behind a disguise. He was a predator in camouflage, always stalking, but so much at home in whatever world he lived in he was completely at ease.

  Idly, I wondered how many men he had killed. The ones he didn’t get medals for killing. Once Interpol had queried me about a possible identification of a man whose description answered his, a man who had hijacked a shipment of stolen Nazi gold destined for Moscow. The picture was indistinct, Moscow denied the incident, and, upon further investigation, the man was reported supposedly dead or missing. I still had the photo in my desk drawer. I took it out and looked at it for the hundredth Time. It was still indistinct. It could and could not be Dogeron Kelly. Or anybody else for that matter.

  Who are you really, Dog? That look that comes from the back of your eyes isn’t new to me at all. It has violence in it and something I can’t pin down at all, something that doesn’t belong there.

  I glanced at the calendar and wondered how much longer it would be before the explosion went off.

  You’re a bomb, Dog, a damned walking bomb, but I like you anyway. You bring excitement into an old man’s life.

  III

  LEE SHAY ... REFLECTIONS

  Oh, boy, when I buy trouble I buy it in big, fat bundles wrapped in FBI WANTED posters smelling of cordite and burning rubber. Already I could hear the hum of the spectators as the jury filed in and the rap of the judge’s gavel and the clanging of steel bars. How the hell does it feel to have your hands braceleted behind your back with nickel-chrome cuffs? The only guy I ever knew who spent time in the pen said the food was lousy, the guards sadistic and the queers a menace.

  And here
I sit like a big idiot in front of an old open suitcase carefully counting out the bills. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they had been all old or all new, but they were mixed, and by the time I reached two million five I was in a sweat, my hands shaking and the pain in my gut wasn’t to be believed. The crazy green stuff was all over like grass thrown from a mower and more was still in the bag.

  Where did it come from?

  How the hell did he get it through Customs?

  Whose was it?

  That wild loon of a Dog didn’t even give a shit about leaving it here, and me with a single lock on the door and not a gun in the place. I kept looking around wondering where I could stash the stuff, but modern apartments didn’t come with hidden panels and there wasn’t enough room in the closets to take care of an extra shoebox.

  Damn it, Dog, we’re buddies. You saved my tail and I owe you, but how much, buddy, how much? We were full of piss and vinegar during the war, but for me the vinegar is all gone and all I have left is the piss and the way I’ve been leaking over your pile, there won’t even be much of that left.

  You were such a nice guy at one time. No trouble. Always doing somebody a favor, flying extra missions when a pal wanted to get laid in London; dumping yourself in front of a junior birdman to get a Jerry off his tail; taking care of the dame who got stood up. Man, you were a fooler. I don’t know what happened or why, but you changed. You wouldn’t come back after it was all over ... no, you take a European discharge and disappear into the back alleys of the world and except for a few postcards from screwball places like Algiers and Budapest, nobody knows anything about you. Ernie Kirrel thought he saw you in Marseilles, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Then I remembered yesterday’s News, the item about the new controls to be exercised in narcotics production. Turkey was cutting back on her licensed poppy fields; France was going against the illegal processors; the U.S. was funding for an all-out war against the distributors. I started to sweat all over again. The origin of the postcards made sense now. So did the money. Dog was in the racket and was cutting out before they had him over a barrel. Damn it, Dog, are you nuts? You went and heisted somebody’s bundle and they weren’t law-conscious, good-guy police types. They’d track you down, cut your nuts off and let you bleed to death while you were holding them in your hand.