‘Certainly,’ said Barrett. ‘Everyone wants to do away with the smell of commercialized hard-core pornography -‘
Duncan held up his hand. ‘No. The sleazy back-street peddlers of hard-core pornography are not the ones we worry about. We worry that this same kind of obscene matter will be given respectability by notable imprints like Sanford House and become available in every bookstore. It is precisely because of Sanford’s reputation that we selected this Jadway book, to serve notice on the powerful publishers that this thing has reached its outer limit and must come to an end. Now, this was the basis for the arrest this morning. But actually, Mr Barrett, I don’t want to overstate our case or my feelings. I mean, specifically in the matter of Ben Fremont I don’t feel that strongly. I do feel strongly about the whole trend in literature and motion pictures in this country, but I had no intention of making the People versus Ben Fremont our cause celebre. No. We have more important crimes on our investigative agenda and court calendar. This is a relatively small thing.’
‘Well, then…’
‘It’s those women in Oakwood. They were pressuring our office, with some justification, and we had to satisfy them. I’m sure you can understand that.’
‘And with Fremont’s arrest you’ve satisfied them,’ said Barrett.
‘Right,’ said Duncan. ‘We’ve done our duty. But now, also, you have a client and you have a duty. I’m willing to be cooperative, within the limitations of what has already happened. The arrest has been made. The accused has been booked. You’ve got him out on bail. What’s the next step you have in mind?’
Barrett drew on his pipe, and watched the smoke billow upward. At last he leaned against the desk. ‘I want to be reasonable, too, Mr Duncan. I think this would satisfy my client. I would like to see Ben Fremont plead guilty and have him pay a fine of twenty-four hundred dollars, but in return his one-year jail sentence might be suspended. If that trade could be arranged, that would satisfy us.’
‘Mmm, well, if that could be arranged, you do understand that entering a plea of guilty would be tantamount to a banning of The Seven Minutes throughout Oakwood. All the other bookstores in Oakwood would be afraid of the STDL and of our proceeding against them also.’
‘We don’t give a damn about Oakwood,’ said Barrett. ‘Let it be unavailable there. In that way, you’ve satisfied the STDL in that community. Since Oakwood is an unincorporated part of Los Angeles County, a separate area even though it comes under your jurisdiction, it means the book could be suppressed there but would still be sold elsewhere in Los Angeles County.’
“That’s right.’
‘Very well. My client is interested in the rest of Los Angeles County, and the effect of any action in Los Angeles on booksellers in other large cities around the country. If the book can remain on sale in most of Los Angeles County, that’s all that counts. As for Oakwood, no one in that community will any longer be offended by seeing the book there. And those who want the book can drive a few blocks farther, to Brentwood or Westwood or some other nearby section of Los Angeles, and buy it. That’s what it come to. And in a week or two the book will be on sale in the large cities throughout the nation, and it will have its acceptance. The shock of
it will be mitigated by this acceptance, and there won’t be any further trouble over it. There you have it, Mr Duncan.’
Barrett waited.
Elmo Duncan stubbed out his cigarette, came to his feet thoughtfully, thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, and walked slowly around the area between the swivel chair and the shelves of massive legal tomes lining the wall.
Abruptly he stopped his pacing.
‘Mr Barrett, what you’ve suggested sounds reasonable enough to me.’
‘Good.’
‘We’ll satisfy those ladies. As for Lucas and Rodriguez, they’re so immersed in this sort of thing, I’m sometimes inclined to think they’re oversensitive to every word they read. Of course, it’s understandable. They have to field complaints almost daily. They must answer the complainants, like the group in Oakwood. But I know I can contain my assistants. In fact, I could come to an agreement with you right here and now about reducing the charges, except that I owe my staff the courtesy of discussing this with them first, since they’ve given the case so much of their time. But I quite agree. This is a nuisance matter, a routine matter, and we can treat it routinely. So let’s give ourselves until tomorrow, Mr Barrett. Let me smooth any ruffled feathers, and when that is done you can enter your guilty plea, and I can promise you that I’ll speak to the judge and the result will be no more than the fine and a suspended jail sentence. Fair enough?’
Barrett stood up. ‘Fair enough.’
The District Attorney came rapidly around the desk to shake Barrett’s hand and see him to the door. ‘You be sure to call me around this time tomorrow.’
‘Don’t worry. I won’t forget.’
As he opened the door, Duncan seemed to remember something. ‘And by the way, if you’re seeing Willard Osborn soon .. ’
‘I’m having dinner with him tomorrow night.’
‘Well, don’t forget to say that you saw me, and that I wanted you to give him my regards and to tell him how pleased I am about the time and attention his network has given me lately. You can tell him I’m most appreciative.’
This, thought Barrett, is what it’s like in the marketplace, everywhere.
‘I’ll certainly tell him,’ said Barrett.
Duncan was looking up at the wall clock. ‘Now I’d better get cracking. I’ve got a busy afternoon and an even busier evening.’
Although the summer’s day had been mild and warm, with the coming of darkness the winds had begun to whip up from the west and by late evening it was chilly. Especially was it cold on this drive along the ocean.
Shivering slightly from the unseasonable weather, Elmo Duncan huddled deeper in a corner of the rear seat of the Cadillac limousine that Luther Yerkes had sent for him after dinner. Duncan glanced at the windows to see whether they were completely rolled up; they were. He considered asking the chauffeur to turn on the heat, then realized from the landmarks that they were no more than five minutes or so from the Malibu colony and soon enough he would be insulated from the wind and the cold.
After a long, exhausting day, with hardly time enough for him to exchange gossip with his wife or give the children attention or eat a relaxed meal, this ride from his new house in the Los Feliz district to Yerkes’ beach place was doubly tiresome. He wished that Yerkes would use his more accessible dwelling, the vast French country-style habitat in Bel-Air, for these conferences. Or, at least, hold the conferences at his desert residence in Palm Springs - on weekends, when the distance did not matter - because the atmosphere was more relaxing. Yet, despite his chafing, he understood the wisdom of using the beach place. It was secluded. Yerkes put much importance on his right to persona! privacy, and more so when he did not wish his behind-the-scenes activities subjected to public knowledge and speculation.
These regular meetings between the District Attorney of Los Angeles and California’s wealthiest industrialist, which might be regarded with suspicion by many persons, had begun some months ago as weekly conferences, but now that Harvey Underwood and Irwin Biair had been retained and brought into them they had become two and three-times-a-week conferences. Later the alliance between Duncan and Yerkes would have to come out. As yet it was too early, and a vital tactic was to keep the opposition, Senator Nickels’ political organization, unsuspecting and therefore off guard. Tonight, aside from those with whom Duncan was meeting, only two persons knew of his destination. One was his wife, and the other his chief of police.
As he idly watched the beach cottages that ran along flush with the Pacific Coast Highway pass by his view, the thought came to Duncan - as it often did at this stage in the drive - that he was extremely lucky to have been tapped for bigger things by a kingmaker. Many of those beach houses out there were the second homes, the summer homes, of the affluent
. It would be nice to have one for the family. It would be nice to have much more than that. Even better, it would be wonderful to have power.
Elmo Duncan had been raised in Glendale, strictly lower middle class, no poverty or rea’ deprivations, but no extras or advantages either. His elders in the caste system of his youth had warned: Never exceed the budget, and know your place. Well, perhaps living with that had been an advantage in itself. He had seethed to rebel against a life that revolved around economy (you thought of money before anything else, because you had to) and against a life
that demanded humbleness (you had to listen to other people who were your economic superiors, while they never had to listen to you). All things considered, he had come a long way. The night that he had learned he had been elected district attorney by an amazing majority, he had thought that he had achieved the absolute pinnacle of success. Only after two dramatic court cases, which he had prosecuted with great intensity and skill and which had made his name a household word in Los Angeles, had he heard the first whisperings of what was possible. Even after he became aware that there were summits beyond what he had already achieved, he had not believed himself capable of attaining one of those loftier positions. That is, he had not believed it until the fabulous Luther Yerkes had reached out and knighted him. And even Elmo Duncan knew that Yerkes never picked losers.
Recollecting the golden weekend - last winter, it had been, in Luther Yerkes’ desert hideaway in Palm Springs - Duncan was once again warmed and his weariness was shed. When he had arrived on a Friday evening for that weekend, Duncan had tried to speculate on the purpose behind the invitation. Yerkes needed no favor from a mere District Attorney. Yerkes had no interest in collecting Names. So there could be only one motive behind his invitation, and it could not be social. Yet, as the Friday gave way to Saturday, and Saturday passed, and most of Sunday also, without his making any overture, Duncan’s hopes had deflated completely.
He remembered that before dinner of that final day in the desert - he was to drive back to Los Angeles immediately afterward - he hated himself for having been unrealistically ambitious, and he hated Yerkes for having made a fool of him in his own eyes. He remembered his first impression of Yerkes. It had been one of distaste, a heresy toward a kingmaker that he would not admit to himself until the beginning of the final evening, when his disenchantment had gradually set in.
Luther Yerkes was a scant five feet five, yet he weighed 180 pounds. He had a round head crowned by a disconcerting auburn hairpiece. His fat face was bland, imperturbable, almost benign at first sight. It was the chubbiness and the layers of chin, plus the external trappings 6f power, Duncan had guessed, that deceived the court visitor. But as you came to know Yerkes, watch him at the ticker tapes, overhear him on the telephone, talk to him, the blue-tinted glasses he always wore indoors no longer hid the small marble eyes, and the bland fleshy face no longer masked the cunning, conceited, arrogant man behind it. The feminine bejeweled hands and mincing walk were lies also, because the hands figuratively disguised brass knuckles and could sign a death sentence, and the walk enabled him to keep his balance even when he walked over other people’s heads.
The last evening of that winter weekend in the desert, they had
dined alone. The moment after the entree had been served, Luther Yerkes had begun to speak in that clipped, faintly hoarse voice, and, except to gulp a mouthful of food, he had not ceased speaking to Duncan for almost a half hour. He had invited Duncan here because he had heard many favorable things about him. Before inviting him, he had investigated Duncan’s past and present life and career, and even his family and distant relatives and friends. So he had heard about Duncan. He had learned about him. But he had not seen him in person or in action or listened to him. That was what Friday night and Saturday and most of this day had been all about. To size Duncan up.
Now he wanted to tell Duncan that he had sized him up, and Duncan fit. Fit what? Why, the boots of the next United States Senator from California. Senator Nickels ? Certainly he would run for re-election. But he no longer fit. He’d got too big for his boots. He could be defeated. Yet only by the right man. Yerkes had decided that Elmo Duncan was the right man. If he was big enough to take guidance, he would be big enough for the United States Senate. Duncan had always been a quick study, and he understood ‘guidance’ to mean that if he went along, if he were to achieve one of the highest seats in the land, he would be expected to remember who had put him there.
Duncan had always had high regard for, and pride in, his own integrity. He had also learned along the way that one remembers friends and one compromises on small matters to achieve greater ends if one is to be a politician. And somehow one’s integrity remains intact, at least most of it, enough of it. And he sensed that Luther Yerkes understood and respected to what degree he might be willing to be Yerkes’ man. In Duncan’s eyes, Yerkes had undergone one more metamorphosis. Yerkes was kind and intelligent and handsome and fatherly. And by the time Yerkes had walked him to his car, Duncan had agreed to take guidance. Yerkes would be his mentor and his patron.
Elmo Duncan had hummed aloud and happily all the three-hour drive back to Los Angeles.
Only later, a few days later, had he decided to investigate his patron just as his patron had investigated him. Duncan had always known that Yerkes was rich and powerful. Now, because he was curious and his wife was curious, he determined to learn the extent of Yerkes’ riches and power. Duncan’s wife, Thelma, had done the research. Luther Yerkes’ aerospace and electronics holdings were too vast and intricate for a layman to grasp. He owned the fifty-million-dollar Space Parts Center, employing seven thousand workmen and technicians, near San Diego. His Flight Propulsion Division at the edge of Pasadena had grossed one billion dollars last year. His Recomm Company in Dallas had outbid Lockheed Aircraft, Boeing, and Douglas with its air-frame proposal for a new 290-ton supersonic transport plane, and this
resulted in a contract that might eventually earn him twenty-seven billion dollars of potential sales. Somewhere he had control of a Data Systems Division that turned out process-control computers. He had joined foreign firms to finance projects in the Middle East and in Latin America.
Yerkes was sixty years old and had not married again after a divorce almost forty years ago. His sports were marlin fishing and a big-league baseball team he owned. His hobbies were collecting French Impressionist art and vintage Rolls-Royces and Bentleys. His interest in politics had never been made public. Yet there was evidence that he had financially supported four presidential candidates, six senatorial candidates, and three candidates for governor, and always against opponents whose campaign promises threatened his holdings. Every candidate Yerkes had supported, as far as Duncan had been able to learn, had been elected to office. Yerkes’ obsession was money. His politics backed no one party, only his obsession, and its sole platform appeared to be: Defeat anyone who has obstructed or wishes to obstruct the progress of free enterprise.
It gave Elmo Duncan a heady sensation to know that Luther Yerkes was taking not just a financial interest but a personal interest in building Duncan as a candidate for the Senate.
‘Here we are, sir,’ the chauffeur announced.
Duncan realized that they had turned off the Pacific Coast Highway and entered the gate beside the guardhouse of the Malibu colony, and were now drawing up before Yerkes’ sprawling beach place.
As the limousine stopped, Duncan, without waiting for the chauffeur, opened the car door and stepped down on the flagstone walk. The gusty wind tore at his smooth blond hair and curled his trench coat against his legs. He pressed the doorbell., and a few seconds later the Scottish butler admitted him and took his coat.
‘They’re waiting in the billiard room, Mr Duncan.’
“Thank you.’
He strode quickly through the grilled breezeway, a heated kidney-shaped indoor swimming pool on one side of him, a brace of dressing rooms and sauna baths on the other side. Once in the house,
he crossed past the grand piano in the parlor and descended the three steps into the comfortable billiard room, which was dominated not by a billiard table but by a huge ornate antique pool table.
Harvey Underwood, who resembled a thoughtful heron, wearing his usual meditative look and inevitable English tweeds, was arranging three balls on the table, as Irwin Blair, rumpled wavy hair and baggy beige Dacron suit, chalked his cue stick and announced that he couldn’t make this trick shot more than once out of three times. Luther Yerkes, popping a mint into his mouth (he had given up smoking recently), watched them with disinterest.
Yerkes was attired in a checked sport shirt, clay-colored slacks, and ridiculous ankle-high suede Indian boots. To the critical eye, he looked like Hetty Green’s twin brother, had she had a twin brother. To Duncan, still, he looked superb.
Duncan ran his comb through his disheveled hair, put it away, and then gave a stage cough. Yerkes looked up, peered through his bluish glasses, and came to him immediately.
‘Elmo, glad you made it at last.’
‘We were delayed by the traffic on Sunset,’ said Duncan. ‘I hated to hold you up.’ The other two were greeting him, and he raised a friendly hand. ‘Hello Harvey - Irwin.’
‘Let’s go into the living room and get right down to business,’ said Yerkes. ‘It’s five after ten. We don’t want to be all night.’
Blair’s acne-pocked mobile face registered dismay. ‘Hey, don’t you want to see this trick shot?’
(1969) The Seven Minutes Page 7
