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"He didnt want to. I didnt give him much choice. He says youve always been nice to him. "
"I tip him enough, the silly little fuck. You gave me a fright, you know. I dont know what you want or why youre here. Or who you are, for that matter. I seem to have forgotten your name already. " I supplied it. "Matthew," she said. "I do not know why you are here, Matthew. "
"Who did you phone from the coffee shop?"
"You were there? I didnt notice you. "
"Who did you call?"
She bought time by puffing on her cigar. Her eyes grew thoughtful. "I dont think Im going to tell you," she said at length.
"Why are you pressing charges against Jerry Broadfield?"
"For extortion. "
"Why, Miss Carr?"
"You called me Portia before. Or was that just for shock value? The peelers always call you by your first name. Thats to show their contempt for you, its supposed to give them some sort of psychological advantage, isnt it?" She pointed at me with her cigar. "You. Youre not a policeman, are you?"
"No. "
"But theres something about you. "
"I used to be a cop. "
"Ah. " She nodded, satisfied. "And you knew Jerry when you were a policeman?"
"I didnt know him then. "
"But you know him now. "
"Thats right. "
"And youre a friend of his? No, thats not possible. Jerry doesnt have friends, does he?"
"Doesnt he?"
"Hardly. Youd know that if you knew him well. "
"I dont know him well. "
"I wonder if anyone does. " Another puff on the cigar, a careful flicking of ash into a sculptured glass ashtray. "Jerry Broadfield has acquaintances. Any number of acquaintances. But I doubt he has a friend in the world. "
"Youre certainly not his friend. "
"I never said I was. "
"Why charge him with extortion?"
"Because the charge is true. " She managed a small smile. "He insisted I give him money. A hundred dollars a week or he would make trouble for me. Prostitutes are vulnerable creatures, you know. And a hundred dollars a week isnt so terribly much when you consider the enormous sums men are willing to pay to go to bed with one. " She gestured with her hands, indicating her body. "So I paid him," she said. "The money he asked for, and I made myself available to him sexually. "
"For how long?"
"About an hour at a time, generally. Why?"
"For how long had you been paying him?"
"Oh, I dont know. About a year, I suppose. "
"And youve been in this country how long?"
"Just over three years. "
"And you dont want to go back, do you?" I got to my feet, walked over to the couch. "Thats probably how they set the hook," I said. "Play the game their way or theyll get you deported as an undesirable alien. Is that how they pitched you?"
"What a phrase. An undesirable alien. "
"Is that what they- "
"Most people consider me a highly desirable alien. " The cold eyes challenged me. "I dont suppose you have an opinion on the subject?"
She was getting to me, and it bothered the hell out of me. I didnt much like her, so why should she be getting to me? I remembered something Elaine Mardell had said to the effect that a large portion of Portia Carrs client list consisted of masochists. I have never really understood what gets a masochist off, but a few minutes in her presence was enough to make me realize that a masochist would find this particular woman a perfect component for his fantasies. And, in a somewhat different way, she fit nicely into my own.
We went around and around for a while. She kept insisting that Broadfield had really been extorting cash from her, and I kept trying to get past that to the person who had induced her to do the job on him. We werent getting anywhere- that is, I wasnt getting anywhere, and she didnt have anyplace to get to.
So I said, "Look, when you come right down to it, it doesnt matter at all. It doesnt matter whether he was getting money from you, and it doesnt matter who got you to press charges against him. "
"Then why are you here, angel? Just for love?"
"What matters is what itll take to get you to drop the charges. "
"Whats the hurry?" She smiled. "Jerry hasnt even been arrested yet, has he?"
"Youre not going to take it all the way to the courtroom," I went on. "Youd need proof to get an indictment, and if you had any it would have come out by now. So this is just a smear, but its an awkward smear for him and hed like to wipe it up. What does it take to get the charges dropped?"
"Jerry must know that. "
"Oh?"
"All he has to do is stop doing what hes been doing. "
"You mean with Prejanian. "
"Do I?" She had finished her cigar, and now she took another from the teak box. But she didnt light it, just played with it. "Maybe I dont mean anything. But look at the record. Thats an Americanism I rather like. Let us look at the record. For all these years Jerry has been doing nicely as a policeman. He has his charming little house in Forest Hills and his charming wife and his charming children. Have you met his wife and children?"
"No. "
"Neither have I, but Ive seen their pictures. American men are extraordinary. First they show one pictures of their wives and children, and then they want to go to bed. Are you married?"
"Not anymore. "
"Did you play around when you were?"
"Now and then. "
"But you didnt show pictures around, did you?" I shook my head. "Somehow I didnt think so. " She returned the cigar to the box, straightened up, yawned. "He had all that, at any rate, and then he went to this Special Prosecutor with this long story about police corruption, and he began giving interviews to the newspapers, and he took a leave of absence from the police force, and all of a sudden hes in trouble and accused of shaking down a poor little whore for a hundred dollars a week. It makes you wonder, doesnt it?"
"Thats what he has to do? Drop Prejanian and youll drop the charges?"
"I didnt come right out and say that, did I? And anyway, he must have known that without your digging around. I mean, its rather obvious, wouldnt you say?"
We went around a little more and didnt accomplish a thing. I dont know what Id hoped to accomplish or why I had taken five hundred dollars from Broadfield in the first place. Someone had Portia Carr intimidated a lot more seriously than I was likely to manage, for all my cleverness in sneaking into her apartment. In the meantime we were talking pointlessly, and we were both aware of the pointlessness of it.
"This is silly," she said at one point. "I am going to have another drink. Will you join me?"
I wanted a drink badly. "Ill pass," I said.
She brushed me on the way to the kitchen. I got a strong whiff of a perfume I didnt recognize. I decided I would know it the next time I smelled it. She came back with a drink in her hand and sat on the couch again. "Silly," she said again. "Why dont you come sit next to me and we will talk of something else. Or of nothing at all. "
"You could be in trouble, Portia. "
Her face showed alarm. "You mustnt say that. "
"Youre putting yourself right in the middle. Youre a big strong girl, but you might not turn out to be as strong as you think you are. "
"Are you threatening me? No, its not a threat, is it?"
I shook my head. "You dont have to worry about me. But youve got enough to worry about without me. "
Her eyes dropped. "Im so tired of being strong," she said. "Im good at it, you know. "
"Im sure you are. "
"But its tiring. "
"Maybe I could help you. "
"I dont think anyone can. "
"Oh?"
She studied me briefly, then dropped her eyes. She stood and crossed the room to the window. I could have walked along behind her. There was something in her stance that suggested she expected me to. But I stayed where I was.
She said, "Th
eres something there, isnt there?"
"Yes. "
"But its just no good at the moment. The timings all wrong. " She was looking out the window. "Right now neither of us can do the other any good at all. "
I didnt say anything.
"Youd better go now. "
"All right. "
"Its so beautiful outside. The sun, the freshness of the air. " She turned to look at me. "Do you like this time of year?"
"Yes. Very much. "
"Its my favorite, I think. October, November, the best time of the year. But also the saddest, wouldnt you say?"
"Sad? Why?"
"Oh, very sad," she said. "Because winter is coming. "
Chapter 2
On my way out I left the passkey with the doorman. He didnt seem any happier now, even though he was getting to see me leave this time. I went over to Johnny Joyces on Second and sat in a booth. Most of the lunch crowd was gone. The ones who remained were one or two martinis over the line now and probably wouldnt make it back to their offices at all. I had a hamburger and a bottle of Harp, then drank a couple shots of bourbon with my coffee.
I tried Broadfields number. It rang for a while and no one answered it. I went back to my booth and had another bourbon and thought about some things. There were questions I couldnt seem to answer. Why had I passed up Portia Carrs offer of a drink when I wanted a drink so badly? And why (if it wasnt another version of the same question) had I passed up Portia Carr herself?
I did some more thinking on West Forty-ninth Street, in the actors chapel at St. Malachys. The chapel is below street level, a large understated room which provides a measure of peace and quiet that is otherwise hard to come by in the heart of the Broadway theater district. I took an aisle seat and let my mind wander.
An actress I used to know a long time ago once told me that she came to St. Malachys every day when she wasnt working. "I wonder if it matters that Im not a Catholic, Matt. I dont think so. I say my little prayer and I light my little candle and I pray for work. I wonder whether or not it helps. Do you suppose its okay to ask God for a decent part?"
I must have sat there for close to an hour, running different things through my mind. On the way out I put a couple of bucks in the poor box and lit a few candles. I didnt say any prayers.
I spent most of the evening in Pollys Cage, across the street from my hotel. Chuck was behind the bar and he was in an expansive mood, so much so that the house was buying every other round. I had reached my client late in the afternoon and had given him a brief rundown on my meeting with Carr. Hed asked me where I was going to go from there, and Id said I would have to work it out and that Id get in touch when I had something he ought to know. Nothing in that category came up that night, so I didnt have to call him. Nor did I have any reason to call anyone else. Id picked up a phone message at my hotel: Anita had called and wanted me to call her, but it was not the sort of night on which I wanted to talk to an ex-wife. I stayed at Pollys and emptied my glass every time Chuck filled it up.
In the Midst of Death Page 2
