Her voice was husky. “You don’t sound right,” she replied. “Didn’t you sleep?”
“I slept,” I answered. I didn’t want her to hang up. “You?”
“I was exhausted,” she said. “Did you see that item in Nan Page’s column this morning?”
“I saw it.”
“Did your wife see it?” she asked.
“I suppose so,” I said. I laughed harshly. “I didn’t see her this morning.”
“Uncle Matt saw it too,” she said. “He called me. He was very angry. He told me not to see you, that you were nothing but an adventurer.”
I was interested. “What did you say?”
“I told him I would see whom I pleased,” she said quickly. “What did you think I would say?”
I ignored the challenge in her voice. I had an idea. “He was sore, eh?”
“Yes,” she said. “I never heard him so angry.”
“Good.” I laughed. “I’ll give him a chance to get even angrier. We’re going to have an affair.”
Her voice dropped. “Brad, please. I said it was over. I can’t live like that.”
“This is for the newspapers,” I said. “I want your uncle to get so mad at me that he opens up. He might make a mistake.”
I could hear her draw in her breath. “I couldn’t do that,” she said. “He’s always been so good to me.”
“Okay,” I said, making my voice flat and harsh.
“Brad, please try to understand——”
I cut her off. “The only thing I know is that you’re quitting on me too.” I put false understanding in my voice. “But it’s all right, baby. I don’t blame you.”
I could almost feel her wavering over the phone. I kept silent. After a second, she spoke. “All right, Brad. What do you want me to do?”
I held the feeling of triumph out of my voice while I spoke. “Get out your prettiest dress. You’re giving a cocktail party for the press this afternoon to inform them about your charity drive.”
Her voice was dismayed. “That too? It’s such a cheap thing to do. To take advantage of all that horrible——”
I wouldn’t let her finish. “It won’t hurt the charity and it will help me. I’ll call you back when I’ve made arrangements.”
I put down the phone and waited a moment, then picked it up again. “Mrs. Schuyler is giving a cocktail party at the Stork at five this afternoon, for the press, in connection with the Infantile Drive,” I told Mickey. “See that all arrangements are made and have the staff get out every columnist in town with photographers.”
I started to put down the phone, then changed my mind. “Have our own photographer on hand to cover,” I said. “And keep the swing shift. I want to make the morning papers with this as well as the news services.”
“Okay, boss,” Mickey’s voice was crackling. I heard a buzz through the phone. Then she came back on again. “Paul’s on the wire.”
I hit the button on the phone. “Paul?” I asked. “You get that dope?”
“Yes,” he said. “A young chap name of Levi.”
“You know him?” I asked.
“No,” Paul answered. “He resigned to go into private practice in Wappinger Falls, New York.”
“Wappinger Falls?” I asked. Something about that didn’t hit me right. “Isn’t that funny?” Usually when these guys get a taste of something big they don’t go back to the farm. They generally wind up in a cushy job with some big company.
“Nobody seems to know much about him now,” Paul answered. “But at one time he was considered one of the department’s really bright boys. Honour student at Harvard Law and so on. Specialized in corporate anti-trust. This was his first big case.”
“How come he didn’t prosecute it?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Probably department politics.”
“What’s his first name?”
“Robert M. Levi.” His voice was curious. “You on to something?”
“I’m spitting in the wind,” I said, “and I hope it blows in Matt Brady’s face.”
I put down the phone and hit the buzzer again. Mickey came on. I looked at the clock on my desk. A quarter after one. “Find out where Wappinger Falls, N.Y., is and how to get there,” I said. “And call the garage and tell them to have my car ready. Then call home and tell Marge to send my dark blue suit and a complete change, down to the office. Tell her I’ll explain later.”
I bolted a sandwich before I picked up the car. I don’t know whether it was the excitement or the sandwich that was tying my stomach into knots, but whatever the reason it was better than the sinking feeling I had had the last few days.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I HIT Wappinger Falls at two-thirty. It wasn’t a very big town; I almost left it at two-thirty-one, but I was lucky. I put on the brakes and skidded to a stop in front of a row of stores.
I got out of the car and looked down the street. There were a few office buildings there, two-storey taxpayers. I quickly checked the directory in each. There was no Robert M. Levi listed.
I went back out into the street and scratched my head. This was the last place in the world I would ever expect a promising young corporation lawyer to settle down to practice. I saw a cop walking down the street. I went to meet him.
“Officer,” I said, “can you help me out? I’m looking for someone.”
Long ago I had found out that upstate New Yorkers were even more taciturn than New Englanders. This cop wasn’t going to prove me wrong. He pushed his cap back on his head and surveyed me slowly from head to foot. Then he spoke, or rather grunted. “Hmmm?”
“I’m looking for a lawyer, Robert M. Levi.”
He stood there silently for a minute while he thought it over. “There’s no lawyer aroun’ here by that name.”
“There must be,” I said. “I was told in Washington that he was here. I drove up from New York to see him.”
“You mean the city,” he said.
“Yes,” I answered. “New York city.”
“Hmm,” he said. “Nice day for a drive.” He shifted a wad of tobacco around in his mouth and spat carefully into the gutter. “What you lookin’ for this fellow for?” he asked.
I had a hunch he knew where Levi was, so I told him the best thing that could come to mind. “I got a job for him. A good one.”
His eyes looked out at me shrewdly. “There’s a lawyer shortage in the city?”
“No,” I answered, “but Levi’s got the reputation of being one of the best young men in his line.”
He glanced down the street at my car, and then back at me. “There’s no lawyer by that name practicin’ here, but there’s a Bob Levi aroun’ He was a flyer durin’ the war. An Ace—got eleven Jap planes. Heard he spent some time in Washington after the war. Might he be the one?”
That was good enough for me. “Yes,” I said quickly, “he’s the one.” I lit a cigarette. This Levi must be quite a guy. The more I heard about him, the less I could believe that he would settle down here. “Where can I find him?”
The cop raised his arm and pointed up the street. “See that corner there?” I nodded and he continued. “Well, you turn there an’ follow it to the end of the road an’ that’s it. You’ll see a sign there, Krystal Kennels. He’ll be there.”
I thanked him and got back into my car. I turned at the corner he had pointed out. It was a dirt road. I followed it for a mile and a half. At last when I was beginning to think I was the victim of a practical joke, the breeze brought the sound of barking dogs to my ear and just around a turn the road came abruptly to an end.
There was the white sign, Krystal Kennels. Underneath it were the words: “Wire Fox Terriers—Welsh Terriers. Puppies available. Mr. and Mrs. Bob Levi, Props.”
I got out of the car and walked up to a small white cottage, set back from the road. Around behind the house I could see the wire fences of the kennels and hear the happy yapping of the dogs. A Ford station wagon stood beside the house. It was
a forty-nine car. I pressed the bell.
I could hear it ring in the house and at the same time I heard a bell ring out in the kennels. It seemed to be a signal that set all the dogs to barking. Through the din I could hear a man’s voice.
“Out in the back here,” it called.
I came down off the steps and walked around the house towards the kennels. The walk was neatly kept, the grass freshly cut, the flower beds trimmed and the earth beneath them just turned.
“Over here,” the voice called.
I peered through the wire fence. A man was sitting on the ground tending to a small dog that a woman was holding. “Be with you in a minute,” he said in a pleasant voice, without looking up. The woman smiled at me without speaking.
I leaned on the fence and watched them. He was cleaning the dog’s ears with a long swab. His eyes squinted in concentration. After a minute, he grunted and got to his feet. The woman let the dog go and he scampered happily off in the direction of his playmates.
“Had a bug in his ear,” the man explained, looking at me. “Gotta keep ’em clean or there’s no telling what might happen.”
I smiled at him. “People get bugs in their ear too,” I said. “But when they do, it generally does no good to clean their ears. It’s their mouths that need washing.”
A quick light of caution jumped into the man’s eyes. He cast a side glance at the woman. She didn’t speak. I looked at her. For the first time I noticed a certain Oriental cast to her features.
“What can I do for you, sir?” he asked. I noticed his voice had gone flat and expressionless. “Looking for a puppy?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m looking for a Robert M. Levi. He was an attorney for the Department of Justice in Washington. You’re the only one by that name out here. Are you the man?”
Again that glance flashed between them. The woman spoke. “I’d better get up to the house. I’ve work to do.”
I stepped aside and let her through the gate. I watched her go up the walk. There was a certain oriental manner about the way she walked too—short, careful steps. I turned back to the man and waited for him to speak.
His eyes were on her until she disappeared into the house. There was a look of pain in them that was strange to see. He turned back to me, a veil dropping over them, hiding whatever he felt. “Why do you ask, mister?”
I didn’t know what was torturing this guy, but I didn’t want any part in prolonging it. There was something about him that I liked. “I’m looking for some information and advice,” I said.
He looked around me at my car and then back at me. “I gave up the practice of law several years ago, sir,” he said. “I’m afraid I can’t be of much help to you.”
“It’s not law that I’m interested in,” I said. “It’s history.”
He looked puzzled.
“About a case you worked on for the government,” I explained. “Con Steel. It was an anti-trust matter.” I lit a cigarette, watching him carefully. “I understand you investigated and prepared it.”
The suspicious look came back into his eyes. “What have you got to do with it?” he asked.
“Nothing, really,” I said. “It just may be pertinent to a matter I’m working on, so I thought I’d come and see you.”
“Are you a lawyer?” he asked.
I shook my head. A hunch told me I’d better go careful with this guy or he’d clam up altogether. “I’m a public relations counsellor,” I said, taking out a card and handing it to him.
He looked at it carefully, then gave it back to me. “Why are you interested in that case, Mr. Rowan?” he asked.
I played a long shot. “I spent eight years building up the business you see on that card. Eight years of work and all my life before getting ready for it.”
I dragged on the butt, watching his face. A look of interest began to show there. I kept on going. “One day I’m tipped off to the big deal, representing the whole industry. I made my pitch and I sell. I know I got it in my pocket. Then a a guy calls me down to his office and offers me a job. Sixty grand a year. Big money. I can buy everything I want in this world. There’s only one hitch.”
I stopped again to see if I had him with me. He was with me, all right. “What’s that?” he asked.
I dragged on the butt and spoke slowly. “All I gotta do is doublecross everybody else in the deal. Dump all the people who work for me and helped make a shot like this possible, and toss over my friends.”
I ground the cigarette under my foot. “I told this guy the only thing I could. To keep his job. That was just a few days ago.
“To-day I’m busted and almost beat. I dropped eighty percent of my business all because he put me on his D.D. list. I came up here on a hunch, grabbing at a straw. While I stood here talking to you, I got a feeling that something like what’s happening to me, once happened to you. That same guy did it. Want to know his name?”
There was a far-away look in his eyes as he answered. “You don’t have to tell me. I already know his name.” I could see him take a deep breath. His voice was as filled with hatred as any human sound could be. “Matt Brady.”
“Give the man sixty-four silver dollars,” I said softly. “Now where are you going to spend it?”
His eyes came back from space and fixed on mine. “It’s hot out here in the sun, Mr. Rowan,” he said. “Why don’t you come on up to the house and we can talk. My wife makes a nice cup of coffee.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
HIS wife’s coffee was all that he claimed it to be. It was hot and black and heavy, but clear, not muddy like many strong coffees. We sat in the kitchen, with a cool breeze coming from the open windows, and talked.
His wife was Eurasian. Half German, half Japanese. He had met her in Tokyo while with the occupation forces, and she had a strange combination of beauty. Almond eyes, but blue; golden skin, but with a pale pink Nordic flush in her cheeks; thick black hair that fell in soft waves down past her high cheekbones to her delicate throat.
They listened attentively while I told them the story of my relationship with Matt Brady. When I had finished they exchanged a curious glance.
Levi’s face was impassive when he spoke. “Just how do you think we might be able to help you, Mr. Rowan?”
I held my hands open in front of me in a gesture of helplessness. “I don’t know,” I confessed. “I’m stabbing in hopes that I’ll find something.”
He stared at me silently for a moment, then his glance lowered to the coffee in front of him. “I hate to disappoint you, Mr. Rowan,” he said softly. “But I can’t think of a thing.”
I had the feeling he wasn’t telling all the truth. He had been too interested when I mentioned Brady. There had been too much hatred in his voice. He was afraid of something. I didn’t know what it was, but I was sure of it. Then it clicked. Everything began to fall in place. Brady had something on him.
Somewhere in the course of his investigation into Con Steel he must have come too close for Brady’s comfort. An idea of what Brady might do in a case like that came over me. He would find the man’s weak point, then hammer at it until the guy folded. He was doing it to me; he could have done it to Levi. What other reason would a man like him have to make him suddenly abandon a promising career and settle down to something as alien to his ability and training as this?”
“There must be something,” I insisted. “You worked on the Con Steel case. I was told you know more about that outfit than any man alive, except Matt Brady.”
Again that curious glance between his wife and himself. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I know that would be of help to you,” he said, equally stubborn.
I could feel a weary hopelessness as I got to my feet. Nothing but blanks everywhere. Apparently I was dead and refused to admit it. My mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “He’s got you too,” I said.
Levi didn’t answer, just looked up at me through inscrutable eyes.
I stopped in the doorway and looked back. “Need a part
ner here?” I asked sarcastically. “Or does Matt Brady supply the dogs when he throws you to them?”
A flash of fire showed in his eyes. “The dogs are my idea,” he flared. “They’re better than people. They don’t know the meaning of betrayal.”
I went out the door and down the long neat walk to my car and headed back to town. I was about halfway back to the main road when I heard a horn honk at me. I looked up in the mirror. Levi’s wife was driving the station wagon I had seen in the driveway. I pulled in to the right to let her pass.
She shot past me in a cloud of dust and around a curve in front of me. Slowly I followed around the curve. I jammed on my brakes. The station wagon was parked on the side of the road and she was standing beside it, waving at me. I pulled to a stop beside her.
“Mr. Rowan,” she said in that curious accent. “I must to talk with you.”
I pushed open the door on her side. “Yes, Mrs. Levi?”
She climbed into the car and nervously lighted a cigarette. “My husband wants to help you, but he’s afraid,” she said quickly. “He’s afraid you are another Brady man.”
I laughed shortly.
“Do not laugh, Mr. Rowan,” she said. “It’s not funny.”
The laughter died away in my throat. It certainly wasn’t funny. Only a fool laughed at a funeral. And it was even worse when the funeral was your own. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Levi,” I apologized. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
She glanced at me out of the corners of her eyes. “There are many things my husband would tell you but he dare not.”
“Why?” I asked. “What could Matt Brady do to him now?”
“It’s not for himself Bob is concern,” she answered. “It is for me that he is afraid.”
I didn’t get it. What could Matt Brady have to do with her? It must have shown in my eyes.
“Can I talk to you?” she asked, a certain pleading in her voice.
It was more than just her words I heard. It was many things she said all at once. Are you my friend? Can I trust you? Will you harm us? I thought of all these things before I answered. “You may know a person all your life and never really know what he is like,” I said carefully. “Then something happens and you find that all the people you knew are like nothing and someone you never saw before will reach out a hand to help. That’s the way it is for me right now. No one I know can help me.”
Never Leave Me (1953) Page 12
