The Erection Set

by Mickey Spillane

  “You and Harvey,” I said.

  “There’s no reason for knocking me down like that.”

  “Don’t ever sneak up on me.”

  “I thought I was whistling.”

  “You were drinking.”

  “Sorry, old man.”

  “Speak,” I said.

  “Can’t we go refill my glass?”

  “All I got is beer in the house.”

  “Plebeian, but it might do. I haven’t slummed for a long time.”

  I had to grin at the idiot. He had missed his big pitch but was still swinging. “So slum,” I informed him.

  The driftwood sputtered and burned with a dull glow and pop onto the bare floor, sipping a cold Blue Ribbon beer without bothering to talk. An hour squeezed by and the fire died to a ruby glow of ashes along the logs and I said, “How’d you find me, kiddo?”

  He tore the top off a beer without looking at me and answered, “You had no place else to go.”

  “I own the joint.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?”

  “Somebody bought it,” he told me. “I didn’t buy the Canadian story after I saw you, so all I did was put the pieces together.”

  “Maybe I’ll rap you right in the mouth.”

  “What for? Who wants a born loser anyway?”

  “Pam seems to have held onto you.”

  “She’s a slob.” He took a real long pull of the Pabst, put the can down and flashed a smile at me. “I wish I could win,” he said. “It’s hell living in the garbage can.”

  “What do you want, Marv?”

  “Is it all that obvious?”

  “Kill the shit, kid. What do you want?”

  Something happened to his face. The mouth was tight and his eyes had a funny color to them. “Maybe I want my balls back.”

  “You’re a fucking swindler, Marv,” I said.

  “Not really.” He got up, walked to the ice chest and pulled out another can of beer. This time he popped the top and didn’t bother pouring it into a glass. “I’m a stupid, Mr. Kelly. Is that bad English?”

  “Pretty bad.”

  “I have the unfortunate attribute of loving my wife even after I was trapped in a terrible affair that totally deballed me.”

  “You deballed yourself, buddy,” I told him.

  “The story is rather old now, isn’t it?”

  “Sure, for deballing.” I topped off my beer and got me another one. “Let’s speak, Marv.”

  “What makes you think ...”

  “Cut the shit and speak, Marv. You didn’t come here to slop up my brew.”

  “Alfred and Dennison are both homosexual.”

  “So what else is new,” I said.

  “You know?”

  I gave a little shrug.

  “But how do you know about it?”

  “I have, er ... some oddball associates who are rather astute at recognizing their own kind. They pointed the finger at both of them. Oh, nothing definite, nothing provable, but I respect their judgment. Since your first night here I have made a few inquiries, but if those two have been indulging, they’ve been quite shrewd about it. The ones they call friends are all very proper and very straight, but there have been many times when they’ve been gone a day here, a few days there, on somewhat mysterious so-called business trips that required rather tedious explanations in detail when they returned home. At least on Dennison’s part. Alfred isn’t given to loose talk unless he’s pressed for it.”

  “Not many people would pick Alfie for a queer,” I said.

  “He has the sadistic streak for it. He’d be one of the mean ones.”

  “At least Dennie has an excuse.”

  Marvin looked at me questioningly. “He picked up a dose of clap from a whore when he was a kid and it probably scared him away from all women after that,” I said.

  “Understandable.” He had another swallow of his beer and nodded. “That could explain a lot of things. I’m surprised that you knew.”

  “I didn’t. It’s just something that’s been on my mind like a dirty joke you can’t quite remember.”

  “Well, this isn’t exactly a confirmation, simply an educated guess. I got to mulling it around in my mind and thought it might be an interesting point to pursue in your, er, morals clause combat.”

  “You sure have a bad taste for those guys, Gates.”

  He turned the can around in his fingers, studying the label. “The venture into the field of swindling wasn’t all my own idea. It’s taken a long time to resurrect the details, but they set me up for it.”

  “You didn’t have to take the bait.”

  “Ah, but I did. It isn’t very pleasant to live off the bounty of a demanding woman. One sometimes stretches too far for independence. I was outclassed, outmaneuvered and out on my ear before I realized what happened. Life has been pretty miserable ever since. I presume you know all the details?”

  I nodded.

  Gates put the can down and got up. “Well, good hunting. Didn’t mean to waste your time. Thanks for the drinks.”

  “Any time,” I told him.

  When he had gone I finished the last of the groceries I had in the house, cleaned up and dressed, then drove back toward Linton and took the road that led out to Stanley Cramer’s house.

  All the lights were on downstairs and through the open curtained windows I could see three old men grouped around a table playing cards, each wearing a plastic eyeshade like an old-time faro dealer, hands held close to their vests.

  From out of the night a little dog came up and yapped happily at me and before I reached the porch Cramer had the door open and was waiting for me. “Come on in, son. We’ll finish the hand, then we can talk.”

  The bald-headed guy was Juke, the other one was Stoney and they had all worked together for my grandfather back in the old days until age had put them on the shelf. Their weekly card game was a ritual they never interrupted, but I was an oddity and part of the past they kept so close to them and an hour went by in small talk about Barrin Industries before Stanley Cramer finally got to the point.

  “You know,” he told me, “ I got to thinking after you left. About that explosion and all.”

  I lit a cigarette, sat back and waited.

  “Went over to see one of the old chemical engineers who was there at the time and he said for the life of him, he couldn’t figure what made the place blow like that. When they were investigating he never spoke up because he kind of figured somebody might of messed around with those acids, left something open and it spilled ... and since nobody was bad hurt and the damage was minor, he just passed it off. But it just beats all how that safe got blown outa the wall the way it did.”

  “You said there was nothing in it.”

  “Only petty cash and old papers and plenty of the cash was still laying around, so it couldn’t have been robbery.”

  “Remember any of the papers stored there?”

  Cramer looked at the bold guy and nodded. “Tell him, Juke.”

  “Old company formulas for metal alloys. Secret stuff at one time. By the time of the blast it was out of date, so nobody could have wanted them. They was scattered around too. I had a pound can of good tobacco in there too. The other stuff was all put in the new vault.”

  I tried to pick the meat out of what he had said but couldn’t, so I waited some more. These old guys had their own way of doing things.

  “Anyhow,” he went on, “I never gave this next thing a thought until Stan brought it up the other day, but about a week later they needed something out of the new vault and when they went to get it open the dial was jammed and they had to call in a guy from the safe company. He said somebody had tried to pry it off or something. I forget. Now, that there Alfred, he said the forklift they had in there the day before when they was moving in some office machines probably banged the safe and damaged it.”

  “Possible?” I asked.

  “The kid who
ran the forklift was too damn careful for that. He sure would have reported it right away if he did. He said it never happened, but that Alfred gave him a chewing out anyway and the kid quit. Well, when they got the safe opened, the two of them, Al and Dennie, they spent half the day in the vault going through the stuff and when they came out they looked meaner’n snakes trying to swaller an iron egg.”

  “Tell me something, didn’t they have the combination to that vault?”

  “Nope. Not until the old man’s will was all probated and they took over. Until then only your grandfather and Jimmie Moore had the numbers. Now they’re both long dead.”

  “What about the combination to the old safe?”

  “Hell, no trouble to that. Stoney here reset the combination to ten-twenty-thirty so we could all remember it. Maybe a dozen of us knew it, but like I said, wasn’t anything in there worth stealing and if it was one of us it woulda been easier to turn the knob.”

  “Makes you think, doesn’t it?” Cramer suggested.

  “They hold an inventory the second time?”

  “Damn right. The payroll was in there, in cash. Nothing missing though. Everything checked out against the books. Old lady Thorpe, the comptroller, she’s dead now too, she checked out all the files against her own memos so nothing happened. In fact, Jimmie Moore was in the vault with your cousins and watched while they counted up the cash. Alfred, he was more interested in the papers, but what the hell, it was all going to fall into their hands in a little while so he didn’t ask any questions.”

  “Odd,” I said. I took another drag on the butt. “Looks like somebody wanted something.”

  Cramer nodded slowly. “But didn’t get anything.”

  “What could they be after?” I asked him.

  He gave me a funny little grin. “That’s what we’re wondering. Now, old farts like us got holes in their memories, but if we keep thinking long enough, we might find out what it was all about. We still got a few friends around who remember a little better and we’ll ask around. You going to be in Linton long?”

  “Know the old house at Mondo Beach?”

  They bobbed their heads in unison.

  “My hidey-hole, and keep it under your hats.” Then I told them what was going to be happening around the plant when the movie company moved in. Their seamed faces broke out into broad smiles.

  Stoney said, “Damme, all them girls around. Think we’ll get to see any of them flesh scenes they make nowadays?”

  His baldie friend looked at him and grunted. “Hell, why bother? You can’t get it up anymore anyway.”

  “Like hell I can’t! Why just last month ...”

  He was still telling the story when I left.

  Bennie Sachs wasn’t comfortable talking business at his home. He was still in his uniform with his gun belt hanging on the back of his chair and he looked tired. In the kitchen his wife made rattling noises at the sink and the two kids were asleep. Now he ran his fingers through his hair and watched me through those smoky eyes of his. “You’re really going all out, aren’t you?”

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “Look, you don’t go dropping fag charges on anybody to start with these days. You never can tell whose toes you’ll step on.”

  “All I want to know,” I said, “is have you ever heard any noises in that direction?”

  “I hear all kinds of noises, Kelly. I don’t sit in judgment on moral issues, I simply enforce the laws.”

  “Tangling with the Barrins got you shook?”

  “Not one flipping bit, my friend. If they got out of line, they’d go the same route as anybody else. And let me add something before you try it. Yes, there are certain preferential treatments you give local citizens of justifiable character, otherwise, you’d be batting your head against the wall. There’s no harm in going out of your way a little bit to do favors either, just as long as you spread the joy in other directions too. This isn’t all that big a place where a cop can be totally impersonal and all the way out of it. I live here too. I know people. They know me. If there are strangers around here, you’re one of them.”

  “Let’s get back to the first question with something added.”

  “Look...”

  “You know about the picture that’s going to be made here, don’t you?”

  He stopped swinging in his chair and watched me.

  “Yeah, they’ve already applied for permits.”

  “Not because my cousins like the idea, buddy. I’m squeezing them. There’ll be money in this town if the deal goes through, but that’s not the end of it. I have to keep squeezing if I want Linton to stay alive.”

  “Come off it; Kelly, the factory is going to ...”

  “That’s a lot of bullshit. There’s a back alley fight going on that will probably make a junk pile out of the whole shebang if it works out wrong. Now look, I’m not asking for information. I’m looking for an opinion. I can go around you easy enough, but I haven’t got the time and you’re the most direct route.”

  Something seemed funny to him and he let me see a begrudged smile. “People are known by the company they keep,” he said.

  “What?”

  “An old adage, Kelly. Like princes shouldn’t consort with clowns. The stage makeup might rub off on the wrong sleeve.”

  “Skip the philosophy.”

  He stared at his hands and rubbed them together. “One of our proper but sissy citizens was up on a morals charge. He was bailed out, defended and released all through the efforts of an anonymous benefactor. It happened to another a year later and we put the hints together, but that ended it.”

  “No name?”

  “Draw your own conclusions,” he said. For a few seconds he sat there in thought, then turned around in my direction again. “In five years we had four cases of extreme brutality reported. The pattern was always the same ... a young whore all beat to hell but not willing to make any charges. Always a screwy story of falling out of a window or something. Invariably, big medical bills would be paid in full, in cash, and the twist would leave town for greener pastures well bankrolled. The last one was two years ago.”

  “Just four?”

  “Only that many were reported. Finding a beat-up whore isn’t all that unusual. Finding four in the same age group is.” He was studying my face, then said, “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s backward, that’s what.”

  “What’s backward?”

  “Nothing you’d be interested in, Mr. Sachs. I just think you blew a cute notion of mine to bits.”

  “Maybe it’s a good thing.”

  Leyland Hunter sounded tired and told me that an old man needed sleep a lot more than the young studs, but he came out of his grouch when I asked him if there had been any news on a street kill a few days ago.

  “That’s been in all the papers, Dog ...”

  “I haven’t seen the papers.”

  “May I ask why...”

  “Did they get an identification?” I insisted.

  “Yes. It seems the deceased was connected with the European underground. Incidentally, he apparently was in this country illegally. He was a French citizen with quite a lengthy criminal record.”

  “Nothing more?”

  “His ... killer hasn’t been identified,” he told me. ‘Dog, look, if you’re in some sort of trouble ...”

  “I’m not.”

  Hunter didn’t sound a bit reassured. “I hope not.”

  “Look,” I said, “how about standing in for me when that stockholder’s meeting comes off.”

  “I expected to, not that it will do much good. Nothing has changed except the fact that McMillan has picked up a little more support. They can still outvote you. Oh, you’ll have a seat on the board if you want, but he’ll hold the reins. The first thing that happens is that your cousins will be ousted and you’ll be left like the rest, holding a lot of worthless paper.”

  “Suppose I could force his hand.”

  “Dog. Nobody forces Cross McMilla
n’s hand. He’s a friend to no one and an enemy to most. You’re in a losing game.”

  “You know what’s happening at the plant?”

  “All eyewash, Dog. The picture being made there will be of temporary human interest, coupled with the fact that Barrin has a minor resurgence of activity, but after that it will be all over. Sometimes I’m sorry you even bothered to come home.”

  “I’m not all the way home yet, Counselor.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s say it’s like I’m on third base.”

  He grunted and I could picture him shaking his head. “Then let’s say it’s like the bottom of the ninth, a weak hitter is up and there’s already two strikes on him.”

  “That leaves only one answer then, friend.”

  “Oh?”

  “Sure, I steal home with the winning run.”

  “Impossible.”

  “At least it’s a chance,” I said.

  XIX

  S. C. Cable moved his company into Linton with all the fanfare my buddy Lee Shay and a top publicity outfit could muster. The caravan was quartered at two motels with offices in the old hotel uptown and the production crews getting the sites ready for filming. Somehow there seemed to be an aura of prosperity hanging over the town and everyone moved a little quicker and a little happier.

  McMillan was playing his cards right too, making the front pages of the local paper with photos of himself, Walt Gentry and S. C. Cable, the story recounting his association with Walt in other ventures, and to the casual reader the whole deal looked like his idea to start with. It was going to make a big impression on the stockholders when the meeting took place and if there were any swing votes left, they’d damn well go to his side. Old Cross was a real cutie, all right. Funny thing was, I was beginning to like him. Good enemies were hard to come by. When he wanted something he’d go all out to get it.

  The sun was starting to set in the west and I climbed up to the widow’s walk that jutted up from the roof, lay down on the weathered boards and scanned the beach area with my binoculars. A few birds were still charging at the surf, pecking furiously into the wet sand for late tidbits and the tall grass rippled under the pressure of the breeze. A quarter mile away a large stray dog sniffed among the dunes, but outside of that, the beach was empty. A pair of fishing boats cruised by, outriggers up, heading for home. The lone sportsman in the second one was stretched out on the deck enjoying the late sun. He’s lucky, I thought. Not a damn thing to think about except who was going to clean his fish.