The Erection Set

by Mickey Spillane

  Leyland Hunter said, “Most of the staff have died or retired. They never replaced them.”

  “It’s still beautiful,” Sharon told him. She was peering out the window, a strange expression on her face. “I never came in this way.”

  “I thought you were only here once,” I said.

  “In the house. Many a time I sneaked onto the grounds.”

  “Hell, I used to sneak out. It’s hard to picture somebody wanting to sneak in.”

  “This was the house on the hill, Dog. Every kid I knew used to envy the ones who came here.”

  “I had more fun in town.”

  Hunter chuckled again, his eyes moving between us both. “I’m afraid you were to the manor born, but not bred, Dog. Whatever genes your father carried sure took hold in you.”

  “Bastards have more fun, buddy,” I assured him.

  “And coming home doesn’t raise any nostalgia at all in you?”

  “Not a damned bit. This place doesn’t represent opulence for me at all.”

  “What does, Dog?” He had stopped smiling and was watching me with a lawyer’s eyes now.

  “I’ve seen better and worse.”

  “You’ve played a lot of poker, too, haven’t you?”

  He didn’t have to tell me what my face looked like. I said, “I hardly ever bother to bluff, Hunter boy.”

  “Again, that qualification. Hardly. Very improper. I think you mean rarely.”

  “So I’m stupid,” I said.

  The gravel drive gave way to old-fashioned Belgian paving blocks as we pulled into the area in front of the house. I let my eyes drift out the side window and took in the towering three-story mansion with its imposing Doric columns flanking the broad staircase, and for a single second I could see the old man standing there, hands on his hips, the cane in his hand, lips twisted in a snarl as he waited for me to walk up to where he could take a cut at my rear end, a sample of what was waiting for me inside. My mother’s face would be a pale white oval in the upper window, suddenly covered by her hands, and the grinning faces of Alfred and Dennison would be hidden behind the great oak door, unseen, but their muffled laughs of anticipated pleasure ringing in my ears. Somewhere the girls would be cleverly out of sight, but not out of earshot of that cane landing on my hide.

  But he never made me yell and he couldn’t make me cry. I did that later when I was alone, not from the pain, but the damn humiliation of having to take Alfred’s lumps for him. Or Dennie’s. Or one of the girls’.

  It passed in a second. The old man was out in the family plot now, my mother discreetly buried in another cemetery, and the others probably above such trivia by now.

  The only one there was a middle-aged butler obviously awaiting our arrival. I didn’t recognize him. “Fine reception,” I said.

  Hunter nodded and hefted his attaché case. “You aren’t exactly a cause célèbre and I am simply a family retainer, I’m afraid. And, of course, Miss Cass here is an outsider. Nothing to require a formal reception.”

  “Just tell me one thing, Counselor. Am I expected?”

  “Of course not,” he told me. “Do you think I want to spoil all the fun?”

  I grinned at him, then the grin broke into a taut laugh. I said, “I have the feeling you’re going to drag this out as long as possible.”

  “You feel right, Dog. Until now, my relationship with the Barrin family has never been what you’d call fun. I think it’s about time I had a little.”

  Sharon shook her head and stared at both of us. “Look, maybe it would be better if I waited in the car.”

  “Kitten,” I said. “after all the trouble of sneaking onto Grand Sita. I think you deserve seeing what the Barrin clan is really like.”

  The butler’s name was Harvey, and he took our hats, ushered us to the polished walnut doors of the library, slid them open ceremoniously and stepped forward to announce us.

  Somehow the years fell away again for another brief instant and it was like peeking into the same room when something of momentous portent was being acted upon. There were other people then and Cameron Barrin would be seated behind the hand-carved desk. Now there were seven faces, five oddly familiar, and one was behind the desk. The butler’s voice had the same intonation old Charles’s had had and there was that same casual, almost disdainful turning of the heads as we were announced.

  Harvey said, “Mr. Leyland Hunter, Miss Sharon Cass and Mr. Dogeron Kelly.”

  It was funny. No ... it was damned well hilarious. Oh, they saw us all at once and were willing to grant Hunter a degree of recognition with supercilious smiles, then offer Sharon an expression of semipolite curiosity, but when my name sank in there were five people there who damn near shit in their pants.

  Dennison stared at me from behind the desk, his beady little eyes almost popping out. Alfred stiffened in his chair and knocked over an ashtray. Veda had a drink halfway to her mouth, didn’t know what to do with it and set it on the floor like some harridan in a Bowery barroom. Pam and Lucella just gave each other open-mouthed expressions before they looked at me again.

  Only Marvin Gates, the husband Pam kept on the marital leash, was able to smile. He was half drunk, impeccably dressed like an outdated Hollywood director and he raised his drink in my direction. “Ah,” he said, “the family skeleton has come out of the closet. Welcome home.”

  Pam snapped out of her shock as though she were being awakened from a bad dream. The voice that used to be shrill was coarse now and she snapped, “Marvin!”

  “Sorry about that, dear,” he told her. “Thought it was the proper thing to do, y’know?” He took another pull at his drink and grinned again.

  “Don’t bother getting up,” I said to the room in general. I took Sharon by the arm, led her to a leather wing-back chair and sat her down. Behind me, I knew Leyland Hunter was watching the entire tableau with satisfaction, so I put on the rest of the show.

  Somehow Dennison had struggled to his feet and was standing there, still glassy-eyed, and reluctantly held out his hand. “Dogeron ... I thought ...”

  I squeezed his hand and saw him wince. “No, I’m very much alive, Dennie.” I ran my eyes over his pudgy body. “You’ve gotten fat, kiddo.” I dropped his hand, looking down at the remains of the slob who had made my life so miserable those long years ago. He was four inches shorter than me, weighed just as much, but it was all in front and back of him, bulging through his clothes. I said, “How’s your pecker these days, Dennie?” Behind me I heard a couple of sharp gasps and Hunter covered his laugh with a cough.

  Cousin Alfred didn’t bother offering his hand. That snaky face of his glared pure hatred at me, but he didn’t chance staying seated and having me yank him out of his chair. He stood up, a lanky caricature of a ferret with the same expression he had the day he clipped me with his new roadster. He said, “Dogeron,” with a voice veiled in sarcasm, wishing I’d drop dead on the spot.

  “Still got a sore ass, Alfie?” I asked him.

  “That broken arm ever give you troubler?” he said with quiet venom.

  I grinned at him, a nice, slow, easy grin that was all teeth and half-lidded eyes. “Not a bit, Alfie.” I bent down, picked up the brass ashtray he had flipped over and squashed it double in my fist. “See?”

  Not a muscle moved in his face. “Good. I often worried about it.”

  “I thought you would,” I said deliberately. “It makes me feel better to know you were so concerned.”

  My hellos to my three female cousins were polite and brief. They couldn’t get the horror out of their eyes so I gave them time to adjust, letting them sit there wondering what the hell was going on. Marvin Gates still wore his silly smile, busying himself making drinks for us without asking what we wanted, his eyes touching Pam’s with wry humor all the while. Somehow he was enjoying the show too and I couldn’t help liking his attitude. He was an incompetent jerk who had gotten his balls in the wringer from a sour swindle and had been paying for it a long time. Pam had laid t
he clout on him pretty heavy and now he was getting his turn to watch the squirming.

  Behind me, the metallic snap of Hunter’s attaché case reminded me we had come for other things and I pulled up an ottoman and sat down beside Sharon. Unconsciously, her hand reached out and touched my shoulder. I could feel her fingers stiff with tension, trembling slightly at the hostility in the air.

  It was Hunter’s scene now and he played it well. He had held the stage too many times in this same room and he knew all the lines and all the tricks. He knew the audience too and how to play to them.

  For a moment he looked at each one individually, then: “Ordinarily, this would have been a routine meeting. However, with Mr. Kelly’s return we can enter a new dimension that has been necessarily delayed by his absence. Now ...” he looked around once more, “I take it you are all quite satisfied with his identity?”

  It was Alfred who said, “Shouldn’t we be?”

  Hunter smiled indulgently. “After all, twenty-some years is a long time. If you prefer further documentation...”

  Alfred said, “It won’t be necessary.”

  “Very good.” He picked several printed sheets from his case and spread them open on his lap. “Most of the details of your grandfather’s will are well known to you. However, there are certain provisos that were to be explained only when all of you were present. Each of you who shared in the estate was given his inheritance immediately after the death of Cameron Barnn. It was only Mr. Kelly’s share that was not awarded. As you are aware, it was to be ten thousand dollars m Barrin Industries stock at the time of Mr. Barrin’s death As you well know, the number of shares representing ten thousand dollars now are quite disproportionate from the gate of Mr. Barrin’s death. I am now prepared to deliver those shares to Mr. Kelly.”

  I could feel Alfred’s snide smile from where I was sitting. “Wasn’t there a provision attached to that award, Mr. Hunter?’

  “You are referring to the morality clause, I believe?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you intend to investigate Mr. Kelly’s background for a possible breach of that clause?”

  “You’re right again.”

  Hunter looked at Dennison and he stared a smirking smile too. “I agree completely,” old Dennie said.

  I was about to get up, slap them both on their ass and get out of there, but saw the motion of Hunter’s hand and sat down again.

  The lawyer said, “In that case, I have been instructed to enforce another proviso which was not known to you.” He paused for a second, his face bland, but his eyes were twinkling. “Before the remainder of the estate can be awarded, Mr. Kelly has the option of conducting a full investigation of your background for a breach of the morality clause. The time limit on such investigation will be limited to three months.”

  Dennis and Alfred were on their feet instantly, Dennie’s face flushed and Al’s livid with anger. “That is ridiculous,” Dennie stated.

  Hunter shook his head and cut him off. “I’m sorry. It was your grandfather’s request. You both have stated your intentions, I now state his. Had you not bothered, this matter could have been settled immediately.” Hunter turned slowly and looked at me. “It still may be if Mr. Kelly does not care to exercise his prerogative. If he refuses, the bequest will be made as stipulated.”

  Alfred stood there, his fists clenched at his sides. Dennie was leaning on the desktop, his face still flushed with the indignity of it all. The three girls hardly breathed and Marvin grinned over the top of his drink.

  “A question, Counselor,” I said. “Supposing they get something on me and I get something on them?”

  The introspective stare Hunter held on me told me more than he realized. He was evaluating me again and his estimate was going up. I was reading back into a dead mind and reading it right.

  Leyland Hunter nodded sagely and said, “In that case, the entire remainder of the estate goes to you.”

  Inside my head my mind was laughing because the old boy was paying off for all the times I had gotten the dirty end of the stick. He was saying, “Go get ’em. It isn’t much, but you never wanted much anyway. If they deserve it, stick it up and break it off.”

  “Well,” Hunter asked me, “do you choose to exercise your prerogative?”

  I didn’t bother to smile. I simply looked at Dennison, then at Alfred and let a few seconds go by. “You’re damned well told I do,” I said.

  We drove into Linton and had supper in the log and fieldstone restaurant that used to be a gristmill. The decorations were from another era, flintlock pistols, spinning wheels, strange household utensils and relics from the time when America was vibrant with potential energy and every man an individual who knew how to determine his own destiny. The food was simple and magnificent, the wine a tasty local product, and we finally sat back, filled and ready to talk.

  With our glasses filled from a fresh bottle, Hunter toasted us all. “To a successful day,” he said. “It was a pleasure to see the Barrins outraged at the mere suggestion that they might have a moral flaw.”

  “You’re a crafty bastard, Counselor. The old man was a shrewdie too.”

  “Indeed he was. I hope you think more of him now.”

  “Not more, just better.” I sipped my drink and put the glass down. “One thing went over my head, friend. You could have laid me out on that morals clause right then. Why didn’t you?”

  Hunter finished half his glass before he answered me. “Had they not demanded the investigation of you, I would have. You see, that was another proviso of Cameron’s. I imagine he figured you wouldn’t have stood a chance otherwise, so he gave you one at their expense. If they wanted to be nasty about it, they had to put up with some discomfort at least. If they weren’t so simon-pure, they’d pay for their attempt to discredit you.”

  I nodded and made wet circles with my finger on the tabletop. “Think much of my chances, buddy?”

  “Frankly, I think it’s a lost cause. I told you, I have already made inquiries and your cousins are quite re-spectacle.”

  “You’re too orderly, Hunter,” I said. “You didn’t get your nails dirty. If you want dirt, you dig where the dirt is. Something always turns up.”

  “You think you have more experience at that sort of thing than I have?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised, mighty Hunter.”

  “No,” he said. He finished the rest of his drink. “Nor would I.” He snapped his fingers for the check, put it on his credit card and stood up. “Now,” he said, “I hate to be party to a possible immoral act, but tomorrow I have a session with the accountants at the factory. I have arranged to stay at the Gramercy Inn for the night, with separate accommodations already made for you two. In the meantime, you may have the use of the limousine, with or without the driver. I rather suspect Willis would be happy to be relieved. He has a room reserved for him too. If you wish, you can drive back to the city if you can pick me up again tomorrow. It’s your choice.”

  Sharon started to laugh and gave him a look of faked anguish. “Mr. Hunter, you really are something. How can you even suggest a thing like that? Don’t you know anything about women at all? I have no change of clothes, no nightgown ...”

  “Hell, sleep in your drawers,” I said.

  “Why, you...” She punched me in the arm and hurt her hand.

  Hunter was watching us impishly. “I’ve provided for such a contingency,” he said. “The necessary apparel was purchased earlier by phone and has already been delivered to your room. I trust you’ll find my selections satisfactory. My legal mind also encompasses a fairly accurate estimate of female sizes and delicate necessities.”

  “You know, Counselor,” I said, “I’m beginning to wonder if there aren’t a few things you could teach me.”

  “In some areas only, Dog,” he replied.

  For an hour after we dropped Hunter and Willis off at the hotel, we cruised around Linton. By full moonlight the town was a prettier place, the grime hidden, the gr
adual decay of the buildings unseen. No longer was there a night shift at the factory, so the streets were quiet, most of the windows in the residential area dark. A patrol car was parked outside an all-night diner and another drifted by idly with barely a glance at us.

  The memories came back again, but with little impact ... the old sandlot where I played softball with the Polacks was still there, littered with garbage now, but the wire backstop was still in place, rusted and sagging, a collection area for windblown papers.

  We drove down Third Street and I said, “See that old building on the corner?”

  Sharon nodded. “Looks like a haunted house.”

  “Belonged to Lucy Longstreet. She was Madam Lucy then. Only whorehouse in town. That used to be a swinging joint on Saturday nights.”

  “How would you know?”

  I let out a laugh, remembering. “Hell, girl, kids know everything. There was a tree in the back we used to climb so we could watch the action. I’ll never forget that black-haired girl from Pittsburgh. One day she and Mel Puttichi were inside on that big brass bed sexing up a storm and got little Stash so damn excited he let go of his limb and fell down on top of me and knocked us both out of the tree. I felt like whamming him. Things were just getting good.”

  “Dog!”

  “So what’s wrong with watching? All kids are curious. It was first-class sex education.”

  “And I suppose you were a steady customer at the place from then on?” she pouted.

  “Hell no. Ran plenty of errands for Lucy, though. Always a buck tip and a chance to see one of the dames bare-ass when we brought in the package... if we were lucky. That black-haired dame never used to wear clothes ever. Quite a sight.”

  “You’re terrible.”

  “They had a double murder in there one night. That ended things for Lucy. It was never the same again. I think she took her suitcases of money and moved out to the coast.”

  “What happened to the girls?”