“This the only copy?” I asked Bunk.
“There’s one on file in Washington, updated from your local file.”
“What if someone wanted to see it?”
“They’d have to have a pretty good reason. We keep a pretty tight lid on these things.”
A real tight army lid, he meant, and I knew better than anybody how easy those were to pry off. If you knew how.
SALLY SURPRISED ME when I came in that night with a houseful of new furniture from Bellow’s. The front half of the parlor contained an oak dining room set, with a credenza along the wall. In the rear half, which she now insisted on calling the living room, sat a new davenport and, to my horror, an overstuffed fauteuil that had replaced my father’s old reading chair.
My father was a genial and quiet man who had a life of the mind quite separate from his daily mathematical routine, an important corrective against seeing life as a ledger. When I enrolled in Wichita University my father urged me to study business, a subject that interested me not at all; by the time I was in the army selling tires and gasoline and running whores, though, I was immensely grateful to him for the advice. He read every night in that chair, and on nights when I was home so did I. I was not happy to see it gone.
My silence had put a scare into her, and her voice was very quiet when she asked me how I liked it. Typically, she hadn’t run through in her mind all the possible reactions to her expensive little surprise. I didn’t want to be an ogre, but I couldn’t pretend to be happy about it.
“How much?”
“A little less than a thousand, in installments. It was a bargain, if you look at what these pieces all cost individually. And they gave us a special extra five percent discount, with you being a vet and all.”
“Where’s the old furniture?”
“They took it away.”
“And did you get a trade-in? A discount for the value of the old furniture?”
“I didn’t think to ask.”
I walked out without another word.
I FOUND THE manager standing in the back of the furniture store selling a bedstead to a young couple who looked as though they were saving it for the wedding night. The boy’s eyes looked like they were going to pop right out of his skull if he didn’t dip his wick pretty soon, which was understandable given the healthy young specimen of femininity at his side. I’d made it clear to the other clerks that the manager was the only one I’d do business with, and I must have looked serious because they kept their distance. The manager was getting flustered, and finally he met my steady glare.
“Can one, ah, one of our salesmen help you, sir?”
“You’re the manager, you’re the one I need to see. I’ll wait.”
“Is this about an adjustment?”
“You might say that.” I made a point of keeping my voice low; nothing betrays weakness like an emotional outburst. “Your boys cheated my wife in my absence, and I’m here to see it set right.”
The young couple exchanged glances.
“I’m sure if there’s been some kind of misunderstanding one of the salesmen can help, they’re authorized . . . ”
“I’ll wait. You sell the lovebirds their nuptial bed and we’ll talk afterward.”
“Actually we’re going to wait a day or two and think about it,” the boy said, and the girl whacked his elbow.
“I want to get it now, Herbie,” she hissed as Herbie pulled her away by the arm.
“Sorry if I cost you a sale,” I said, without the least trace of sorrow in my voice.
“That’s quite all right, couples often need to ponder a major purchase, especially just starting out. Now what was the problem with your wife?”
“It’s not a problem with my wife, it’s a problem with your sales force. They had a whole houseful of perfectly good furniture hauled out of my place this afternoon with no credit given in return.”
“Of course we’re dealers in new furniture only.”
“I don’t give a damn, you know perfectly well you don’t give good material away to the Salvation Army. You sell them someplace, now I want some of those pieces back, and I want compensation for the rest.”
“As far as I’m concerned, sir, you’re not entitled to any. If your wife had mentioned compensation at the time we would have informed her . . . ”
“Listen to me. What’s your name?”
“Stan Franklin.”
“All right, Stan, I notice Bellows has an ad once a week in the Eagle but not the Beacon. Old man Bellows got something against the Jews?”
“Mr. Bellows happens to be my father-in-law, and he doesn’t feel that the Beacon’s readers are our type of clientele.”
“I mention it because I know the Eagle wouldn’t run a story about a naïve mother-to-be, the wife of a vet, getting gypped by one of their own advertisers, but I bet the Beacon would jump at it. Of course, that wouldn’t matter to you, since none of your customers read the Beacon.” TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS off the price of the furniture, and my dad’s old chair would be delivered in the morning. I was a little disappointed that old Bellows caved in so quickly when his son-in-law phoned him. What I’d really wanted was to smash one of their expensive tables to pieces and beat Mr. Stan Franklin to a bleeding pulp with one of its legs, after which I might allow the remainder of the sales force to flee before I soaked the place in kerosene and watched it burn to the ground. Maybe, I thought, I needed a drink.
THREE SOAKS, TWO men and a woman, were swozzled over at Norman’s blind pig. Norman introduced them but their names wouldn’t stick in my head so I ended up calling the woman Honey, the taller of the two men Stretch, and the fatter one Tub. Neither of the men seemed to like his nickname much, but neither said anything at first. The woman warmed to hers, spilling out of her girdle with her eyes at half mast, mascara running with sweat and possibly tears from earlier in the evening.
Tub and Stretch were vying for her favors, and my arrival had made them question the short-term wisdom of that rivalry. The presence of an interloper called for a united front, lest Honey decide against both of them. Norman was a friend, so I let the rubes’ veiled insults roll off my back at first.
Later, though, an innocent mention of my war record on Norman’s part set Stretch off on a long, rolling diatribe about returning servicemen and the easy ride we had. When I didn’t challenge his assertions he got madder and started dropping hints that I might have fabricated my service record. I didn’t really give a good goddamn what these idiots thought about me, but the bourbon was starting to make me feel mean.
“You may be right, Stretch. You know my wife got a whole five percent off a dining room suite this afternoon, just by virtue of me having been overseas? Shit, if I’d know about the five percent veteran’s discount at Bellow’s Furniture Emporium I’d have signed up before Pearl Harbor.”
Stretch made a face like someone had just cut a fart, and he looked away from all of us, sniffling in distaste.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Lots of guys got classed 4-F. Nobody thinks the worse of you for it.”
“Who says I was 4-F?”
“Fallen arches, maybe?”
“I’ll be damned if it’s any of your business. Just maybe I was essential personnel.”
“Say, folks, how about a round on the house?” Norman said.
“What’s your line, Tub?” I asked, trying to salvage the situation.
“I’m an assistant mortician,” he said. I felt a little pity at the thought of him draining the blood out of bodies into a little floor drain in the center of a dark, antiseptic room. I wanted him to get Honey’s favors for the night, to know the touch of a living woman’s hand for a change.
“That’s interesting work. I was in the Quartermaster Corps; we used to furnish the army morticians with all their gear.” I looked at Honey. “It’s more complicated work than you might imagine.”
Stretch squirmed in his chair. “That’s no way for a man to make a living, touching corpses. What kind of
woman would want your hands on her knowing where they’ve been?”
“What do you do, Stretch?”
“I,” he said with a drunk’s exaggerated, pious dignity, “am an insurance adjuster.”
“So your racket is cheating people out of money they’re legitimately due at the lowest points of their lives.”
Stretch rose to his wobbly feet and, teetering, grabbed the back of the chair for support. “That’s a damnable lie, sir. I make sure cheats aren’t soaking the insurance company, and I keep everybody’s rates low. That’s what I do, sir.”
“You’re a jackal,” I said, and at that he took a swing at me. I stood and dodged it and gave him the bum’s rush to the stairs. Behind me Honey let out an incredulous whoop as I kicked Stretch in the pants. He tumbled headlong down the staircase and hit his head hard on the door, cracking one of its glass panes. He turned, thrashing, but I had the door open before he could get his feet planted, and when he hit the gravel I gave him a swift kick to the belly while upstairs Honey cackled with delight. He vomited, narrowly missing my shoe.
“Now take a fucking hike before I crack your skull wide open,” I said as I headed back upstairs.
THE ADRENALINE HAD burned off some of the alcohol, and I had Norman pour me another bourbon. The violence had flushed some toxin out of my system and I felt good, really good, for the first time in days. Tub and Honey, his hand up her skirt provoking a heady giggle, seemed to have forgotten about me. They finished their drinks and got ready to leave.
“Mister,” Honey said at the top of the stairs, her hair and makeup wrecked, “you sure gave old Nate what for.”
Norman busied himself with KP and I apologized for kicking Stretch down the stairs.
“That’s all right, I get tired of listening to that son of a bitch anyway.”
“I guess Tub’s going to get himself some tail tonight.”
“You think so?” Norman seemed surprised.
“Are you shitting me? Those two horndogs were about to come to blows over the old floozy.”
“Huh. ’Cause she’s married to Nate, the fellow you kicked down the stairs.” He got the bottle and poured me another, then sat down and grimaced. “My hip. Hurts like a son of a bitch and the doc says there’s nothing to be done.”
“You ought to try some Hycodan. Only problem is you can’t take a shit or pop a hard on.”
“I think I’ll stay away from that, thanks. I knew some hypos when I was young and it never went too well.”
“You don’t have to shoot it up, it comes in a pill.”
“Still and all. One of my few pleasures left in life is my morning dump. And if some dame came in here and wanted me to jump her I’d like to leave the possibility open.”
“Hell, get yourself a whore.”
“I’m not comfortable with the idea of paying for it. Last time I did that I caught myself a hell of a dose.”
After lecturing Norman about the proper relationship between rubbers and harlotry I sat contemplating my glass, feeling the warm elation of the evening’s violence dissipate, replaced by a dull, empty aching. The worst part was the realization that the ache was one I’d been feeling for weeks or months without ever noticing it. “Did you ever want to kill someone?”
“Sure,” he said. “Lots of times.”
“Ever think about really doing it?”
I BID NORMAN good night and drove home woozy. I walked into the house ready to report to Sally the happy outcome of her misadventure at Bellows Furnishings, but it was one-fifteen in the morning and she had gone to bed long before. That was a shame, because I wasn’t mad at her anymore. The new dining room table was still set for dinner for two, which made me think for the first time that evening that I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. I opened the icebox and found two steaks on a plate.
Though my domestic skills were few, I could fry a steak. I got out a cast iron skillet, the same one Sally had tried to brain me with, and melted a couple of pats of butter. When that started sizzling I dropped the larger of the steaks into the skillet and while it was still good and rare slapped it onto a plate and ate it at the head of the dining room table. The wooziness had begun to dissipate by the time I finished, and I crept down the hallway to the bedroom. There I was surprised by lamplight and a neatly made bed. “Sally?” I called out, knowing that it was pointless; she was off somewhere, teaching me a lesson. I undressed and went to bed, and despite my late meal and the unaccustomed amount of bourbon in my belly I slept soundly and without dreams.
ELEVEN
FATHER FLANAGAN CONTRADICTS HIMSELF
THE NEXT LETTER was postmarked St. Louis and read:What kind of man cheats the govement hes’ fighting for in the first place? You have got no shame or humility and you caused heartbeaks. Ill be heading your way soon and youll be none the wiser as to when.
This time he included a lock of black hair, one I assumed belonged to one of my Roman girls and not to the sender himself. I was momentarily at a loss as to how to proceed, and all this was irritating the hell out of me, given all the other grief I was being handed at the moment.
THE MATTER OF Mr. Huff was still on the agenda. Park was concerned about getting ourselves or the boss implicated if he or I did anything illegal or untoward, so I phoned Hiram Fish at his office and arranged to meet him for chop suey at the Bellflower Café downtown. He flinched a little when he saw me walk in the door but had mastered himself admirably by the time I sat down at his booth.
The chop suey tasted like shit, but at the Bellflower that was a tradition and I wouldn’t have wanted it any different. “How come you suppose they serve Chinese food in a place with nary a sole Chinaman on the premises?” he asked.
“Bellflower used to buy scraps from the butchers and fry it up every which way, and calling it chop suey kept people from wondering much what they were eating.”
“I had real Chinese food in San Francisco when I was in the Merchant Marines,” he said. “Wasn’t like this at all. San Francisco, there’s a wide open town, drunks and whores and hopheads all over the place. Hell, I may head out there again. Now that the war’s done there’s plenty of opportunity for a man like me.”
He was talking fast and nervous, one of those people who’s afraid in an awkward situation that a few moments’ silence will reveal something terrible, so I let him babble for a while until he let drop something that made me understand why he was so nervous: He thought we wanted him to spy on old Mrs. Collins.
“I suppose you’re going to tell me she gave a whole troop of Boy Scouts the clap.”
He looked blank for a second. “I don’t know what she did. Usually it’s wives want husbands watched or vicey-versey, so I thought Mr. Collins might want me to keep an eye on her.”
“Hell, let her go to her DAR meetings, Collins doesn’t give a damn what she does.”
“What, then?”
“I want you to get a picture of a guy with a dick in his mouth.”
Again the blank look, followed by a troubled squint. “You mean like via mail order?”
I almost got up and left right there; either he was playing at being obtuse or he was a genuinely stupid son of a bitch. “I need you to follow a particular fellow who means Mr. Collins harm. I have reason to believe this fellow gets his pleasure in Riverside Park late at night, and I want you to sneak up on him in flagrante delicto . . . ”
“In where?”
“In the middle of sucking a dick.”
“Who is this guy?”
I handed him a manila envelope, which he started to open right there, the dumb shit. “Open it later, damn it. His picture’s in there and his address and everything I have on him.”
“I’ll get on it this afternoon. It’ll take me a week or so to establish his habits, get to know his comings and goings, that’s at twenty a day, with a fifty dollar deposit.”
“Don’t hand me that crap, Hiram. This is worth five hundred, but only if you get us a crystal clear picture of the guy on his knees with a pair of
balls bouncing off his chin. Until that picture’s in our hands you get doodly squat.”
“If that’s the way you feel . . . ” He started to rise, and when I didn’t try to stop him he sat down again. “Listen, I got expenses. How about twenty to tide me over?”
I handed him the ten I’d been planning to all along, and spent the rest of my lunch half-listening to the cascade of ill fortune he’d been subject to over the last few months.
“It’s because you’re a fink,” I said.
“What?”
“No offense. But you’re in a profession that calls for you to be a fink, and no good fortune is going to come your way until you repent.”
He nodded, expression blank again, and seemed to be reflecting on the surprising news that he was a professional rat. I was glad to have enlightened him, and when it was time to go I magnanimously paid the check and left a princely half dollar on the table for our stick insect of a waitress.
A WEEK LATER Hiram Fish left a message with Mrs. Caspian for me to meet him at his office on North Broadway. It was down a narrow, dark corridor above a camera shop, and he gave a start when I opened the door without knocking. His skittishness was understandable; both eyes were purple and black and his discolored nose was a few degrees off true. A grisly line of stitches ran horizontally beneath his mouth, and his left arm was in a sling. Two of the fingers on his right hand were in splints.
The Adjustment Page 10