by Garbo Norman
“It’s not funny, David. And for heaven’s sake, put that gun away.”
“Yes sir, Father!’.’
With the help of the driver, they carried Ellman to the road and put him in the hearse. Stretched out flat, he slowly revived, opened his eyes and looked around. “Don’t I rate a coffin, Father?”
“You don’t need one quite yet.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind waiting.” Then seeing David outside the open doors, the agent managed a faint smile. “Well, don’t look so damn miserable. You’ve had your fun.”
David turned away. Ah, God, he thought. I hope I haven’t made a terrible mistake. I hope I’m not going to regret letting this man live.
Chapter 22
The offices of the Hemisphere Corporation were located in one of the newer skyscrapers in the Wall Street area, a steel and glass tower whose top was lost in a low-hanging cloud as Pamela and Hank approached. They entered the lobby and took an express elevator to the fiftieth floor.
“Whom would you like to see?” asked the receptionist.
Pamela started to answer, but stopped herself and waited for Hank. “George Reese,” he said.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes.”
”May I have your names, please?”
“Pamela Bailey and Hank Ryan.”
The receptionist spoke softly into a phone, then said, “Mr. Collier will be with you in a few moments. Please have a seat.”
They sat down side by side in two straightbacked chairs and stared at the white walls, bare except for two colorprints of Yellowstone National Park. Pamela touched Hank’s sleeve. He looked at her, half-smiled, then stared at the walls once more. He’ll probably never forgive me, she thought. I’ve kept him from ruining both our lives, and every time he looks at me it’s as though he’s seeing me betraying him in bed with three other men.
It was nine days since the telephone ambush and their supposed freedom from threat, and she had not enjoyed a minute of it. Not that there had been any recriminations. Hank had not even mentioned the subject. It was as though Burke and the ambush had never existed. Which meant, of course, that he was thinking of nothing else. Wanting to get it out into the open, hoping to exorcise Burke’s ghost with a good, cleansing fight, she had tried baiting Hank.
“What’s the matter?” she asked one day. “Is something hurting you? Are you in some kind of terrible pain?”
He shook his head. The effort of talking seemed to have “become too much for him.
‘“Then what’s wrong? Why are you walking around with that look on your face?”
“What look?”
“Like someone’s been beating on you with a bat.”
He said nothing.
“Do you miss the idea of going to jail? Is that what’s bugging you?”
“Leave me alone, Pamela.”
“No, damn it! I won’t leave you alone. For the first time in weeks we’re able to walk around without a cloud over our heads and …”
“We don’t know that,” he cut in. “We don’t know anything, really. It’s been days now and we haven’t heard a word from Reese.”
“We did our part. We did everything he asked. So what do you expect to hear from him? A singing telegram of congratulations?”
“I don’t know. But we should hear something.”
She had been worrying about the same thing but was afraid to admit it. “If anything went wrong, we’d have “heard fast enough.”
He retreated into silence once more.
“Anyway, that’s not what’s really bothering you,” she said. “You’re still more concerned about Eric than about us. And that’s what infuriates me most.”
His eyes were cold. “Get off my back. I went along with it, didn’t I? Eric’s dead, isn’t he? If I can’t jump up and down with joy over it, I’m sorry. I apologize. But I didn’t know that was part of the contract.” Stiffly, he got up and walked out of the room.
Pamela sat looking after him. Some days, she thought, you can’t even get yourself into a decent fight.
When a full week had passed and there was still no word from Reese, Hank had said, “Something’s wrong. I think we should call that number he gave us.”
“He said it was only for emergencies.’* “Well what do you think this is?”
It was Hank who finally put the call through. A woman answered. “Hemisphere Corporation. May I help you?”
“I want to speak to George Reese.”
“Who’s calling?”
“Hank Ryan.”
“One moment please.”
There was a click, and a moment later a man’s voice said, “Yes?”
“Hello, Reese?”
“Mr. Ryan?”
“Yeah.”
“Mr. Reese isn’t available right now. Perhaps I can help you.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Collier. Herbert Collier. I’m one of Mr. Reese’s associates.”
“I’ve got to talk to Reese himself.”
“Could you tell me what it’s in reference to?”
“It’s personal.”
“I see,” said Collier. “Would you like to leave a number where Mr. Reese can reach you?”
“He has my number. When will he be in so I can call again?”
‘That’s hard to say. He’s in and out. But if you’d like, I can check his calendar and set up an appointment for you to see him.”
“Sure. That’ll be great.”
“How about tomorrow afternoon at three?”
“That’s okay. Where do I go?”
Collier gave him the address of the Hemisphere Corporation in lower Manhattan, said goodbye, and hung up. Hank slowly put down the receiver. “You ever hear of anything called the Hemisphere Corporation?” he asked Pamela.
“No. What is it?”
“I don’t know. But we’ve got an appointment to meet Reese there tomorrow afternoon.”
They had been waiting in the reception area for about ten minutes when a tall, thin man came out to greet them. He had a face like a wedge, sharp and intimidating. Then he smiled and was rendered human. “I’m Herbert Collier,” he said and shook hands. “And I’m also something of an idiot.” He grinned at Hank. “Reese spoke of you a great deal. He was a big fan of yours from way back. And I didn’t even realize who you were yesterday Until you’d hung up.”
Hank shrugged. “That’s old history.”
“Never mind. Apparently, you were first rate. Among the top few. And in a hard line of work. That’s something I can respect.”
Helplessly Hank felt the same flood of warmth he experienced each time his fight career was remembered by someone. When would he get over it? When would he start getting some of his kicks from now?
Collier led them down a long, bare corridor and into a corner office that overlooked the harbor. From fifty stories up the Static of Liberty looked very small and insignificant “Where’s Reese?” Hank asked when they were seated.
Collier considered the question from behind a large, bare desk. “I’m afraid I had to lie to you about Reese. He’s not going to be here.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s dead.”
Pamela and Hank looked at him.
“Unfortunately,” said Collier, “things failed to turn out exactly as planned. It wasn’t your fault. You did everything that was expected of you. You held Burke on the phone long enough for the call to be traced, and Reese and three other agents were able to move in. We know that from a brief radio message Reese sent from his car. It was the last communication we ever had from him. He and his men were found on a West Side rooftop the following day. They had been shot to death.”’
Hank felt his ears ringing. It was precisely the same sensation he used to get from a punch to the side of the head. “And what … what about Burke?”
“We can only assume he shot them.”
“All four of them?” said Pamela.
Collier shrugged. “One man was killed b
y a single bullet from a .38 caliber revolver that hasn’t been found. The other three were shot with a submachine gun that apparently belonged to the first man killed. This weapon was left at the scene. Someone with Burke’s training and experience is quite capable of pulling off something like that.”
“Then he’s still out there somewhere?” asked Hank.
“Very much so.”
Hank was afraid to look at Pamela. He had no idea what his face might show. Things were taking place inside him that he wanted to keep private.
“And what about us?” Pamela said. “What sort of position are we in now?”
“A reasonably good one,” said Collier. “Unless you’re afraid of possible retribution from Burke. If you’d like, we could put you under protective surveillance for awhile.”
“Christ no!” said Hank.
“Aren’t you going to do that anyway?” Pamela asked. “Or are we actually going to be turned loose?”
Collier smiled. “As far as we’re concerned, you’re on your own. Since you’ve exposed yourself to Burke, you’re of no further use to us there. And of course we do appreciate your cooperation.”
“Hey, come on,” said Hank. “Who’s kidding who? I mean Reese had a goddamned gun at our backs. So what’s all this crap about cooperation?”
“Would it make you happier if I said we appreciate your forced cooperation?”
“It might not make us any happier,” said Pamela, “but it would at least be more accurate.” She stared off at the distant lady, lifting her torch in the harbor. “In the meantime,” she wen: on, “I’ve been fired from my job and have absolutely no chance of getting another.”
“Call your former company in a few days,” said Collier quietly. “You’ll find they’ve had a change of heart about their . need for your services.”
“You can do that?”
“We can do that.”
“I feel as though I’m going to be sick,” Pamela said.
“Would you rather they didn’t have a. change of heart?”
Pamela left it alone.
“I’m glad you two are here,” Collier said. “I know I should have been in touch with you myself, but this wipe-out has had us running in circles. I apologize for that. I can imagine your concern, not hearing anything for so many days. But since Reese was handling your part of things,, and orderly recordkeeping was never one of his strong points, I haven’t quite caught up yet.” He threw in a gratuitous smile. “If any credit is awarded for good intentions, I did intend to call you today or tomorrow.”
“What about me?” Hank said abruptly, “Where do I come Out in all this?”
“I was getting to that.” Collier turned to Pamela. “I wonder if you’d mind waiting in the reception area for a few minutes, Miss Bailey. There’s something I’d like to discuss privately with Hank. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it himself, but I’d still like to leave him that option.”
When Pamela had left the office, Collier took a manila folder from a drawer, placed it on his desk and leafed through a half-inch of typewritten pages. “This is your personal file, Hank. Everything George Reese knew and thought about you is in here. And as you can see, it’s quite a lot.”
“I didn’t know I was that important,” said Hank, certain now that he was about to be set up for something. The only thing in doubt was just how bad it was going to be. He waited while Collier silently read through a few paragraphs. The cancer patient, he thought, waiting for his next tumor.
Collier finished reading. “What do you think of your life these days, Hank?”
“You mean since you guys came into it? Great. I can’t wait to get up in the morning.”
“No, I mean before Burke started giving you problems. Did you like the way things were going for you then?”
“Why not?”
Collier looked at him.
“Hey, come on,” Hank said. “You got my whole goddamned life there in those papers. You know what it is. What are you getting at?”
“Nothing too terrible. I was just wondering if you’d be interested in a change?”
“What kind of change?”
“Like working for us.”
Hank frowned. He felt knocked off balance, shaky. “You kidding me or something?”
“No.”
“You mean you want me to be a fucking spy?”
Collier laughed. “We’re not really spies. At least, not in the accepted sense.”
“What the hell are you then?”
“We don’t actually have a name. But I guess you could call us middlemen, since we usually operate somewhere between what the government needs to have done and what it can admit doing.”
“You mean like killing people?”
“That’s very extreme.”
“Yeah, but you do it.”
“Only when there’s no other way.”
“Thanks,” Hank said. “But I don’t think I’d care very much for being a middleman.”
Collier smiled patiently. “All right, look at it this way. What if you’d been drafted into the army in 1943 and the government ordered you to kill Germans? Would you have killed them?”
“Sure.”
“Why?”
“Because we were at war with Germany.”
“Who said we were at war?”
“The government, of course.”
“And if the government ordered you to stop killing Germans when the war was over in 1945, you would have stopped, wouldn’t you?”
“You sound like a goddamned lawyer.”
“I am a goddamned lawyer. Or at least I was, until I got into this. Sometimes it helps. At other times it only gets in the way. When .you understand the law too well, you worry too much about having to break it.”
Hank gazed off at a departing tanker, faint and small in the grey harbor. Somehow, he was unable to imagine this man being worried about anything.
“What do you want me for?” he asked. I never even finished high school. What good would I be? Except maybe to bust a few heads here and there.”
“That’s not what we’d want you for, Hank. And education isn’t always important in this work. It was actually George Reese who first mentioned you as a possibility in his reports. He thought you were tough, loyal, intelligent, and had the kind of background that could make you valuable to us in certain ways.”
“What certain ways?”
“For several months last year, for example, we could have used you as boxing instructor for the F.B.I, to check on a run of defections. We might also have gotten some help from you in Brazil and Ecuador, where we could have set up a few exhibition bouts to get you in with the locals after three American oil executives were kidnapped and we had no leads. A once popular fighter like yourself is almost universally admired. You’d be trusted as other foreigners would never be. Athletes carry that advantage. They can break down all the usual barriers of nationality difference. Someone like Pele is loved all over the world.”
“Thanks, but I’m no Pele.”
“Nobody expects you to be. It’s enough that you’re Hank Ryan, longtime contender for the heavyweight championship of the world.”
Hank smiled for the first time in days. “So how come the best I can do is night manager in a pussy parlor?”
“No sponsorship. Fact of life number one. The only thing that matters in this world is who or what’s behind you.”
“And with you I get sponsorship?”
“The best.”
“What’s that?”
“Unofficially, the United States of America.”
“Do I get a military funeral too? Unofficially?”
“We don’t really lose that many people.”
“You just lost four last week, and I know of at least three Others on this one caper alone.”
“An exceptional case.”
“Excuse me if I say bullshit.”
“That’s not what’s bothering you.”
“Why not? I like living as much as anyone.”<
br />
“I know. But that’s still not it.”
Hank was silent. Every instinct told him to get out of there as fast as he could, yet he sat unmoving.
“What’s the matter, Hank? Is it that you can’t bear the thought of leaving the Orange Lantern?”
“I guess I just don’t trust you.”
“Have I lied to you?”
“If you have, it’s too soon for me to know.”
“We’re running after you, Hank.”
“Why haven’t you mentioned anything about that other business?”
“What’s that?”
“You know , . .” Even at this point it was hard for him to be specific. “That guy I killed.”
“Tom Bishop?”
“Yeah. How come you haven’t said anything about him?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. But something?”
“Reese told you how we felt about that. What’s done is done and we go on from there.”
“Then it’s forgotten?”
“I didn’t say that. I said we go on from there.”
“Then it’s not forgotten?”
Collier said nothing.
“And maybe,” Hank said, needing to get everything clear and out in the open so there would be no remaining doubts, “just maybe, if I decided not to come in with you guys, it could be remembered and hung right up there again, right?”
“We’d rather you came with us because you wanted to, Hank. It would be much easier all around.”
“And if I didn’t want to?”
Carefully, Collier stubbed out his cigarette. “Then I suppose we’d just have to accept you the hard way.”
So there it was, Hank thought, and almost felt relieved, “Jesus, you’re a prick.”
“Well,” said Collier as he stood up. “at least you know we really want you. That’s what was bothering you, wasn’t it?”
“Not anymore. Now I got other things.”
“Who hasn’t?” The agent nodded pleasantly. “We’ll be in touch, Hank.”
Pamela was gone.
The receptionist told Hank, “Miss Bailey said she had something to do and would meet you at home.” The woman smiled. “She said to be sure not to get lost.”
“I already am.”
Chapter 23