The Company Man

by Robert Jackson Bennett

  And he did.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  She awoke before dawn and slipped out of the bed. She turned, naked, and looked at him where he lay, curled in the cream of the blankets, pillow pressed to his face. She smiled in spite of herself. He was a supremely awkward man lying down, too large for any bed and all elbows and knees when a bedmate. She did not want to wake him, so she dressed silently and then leaned down and placed one gentle kiss beside his ear. He did not even move, still deep in slumber.

  When she walked out Hayes was gone from the couch. She thought for a moment, then opened the front door as quietly as she could and walked down to the street. As she passed the courtyard statue she suddenly became aware that someone was walking beside her. She glanced to her left and saw his little blond head bobbing along at her shoulder, cigarette jauntily dancing in his lips.

  “I’ve already called us a cab,” he said.

  “All right.”

  They went far to the southwest of the city, to where the land became rocky scrub scarred with abandoned paths. Hayes directed the cabbie up past one field to where the roads turned from pavement into dirt and gravel, the sort of roads that had only recently come to know cars.

  Samantha reached into her bag and took out a folded sheet of paper. She opened it slightly. Garvey’s sketch of Skiller looked up at her, its graphite eyes blank and empty. “This man that we’re seeing,” she said. “You haven’t told me anything about him.”

  “No,” said Hayes. “That’s true, I haven’t.”

  “Who is he?”

  Hayes looked out the cab window and sucked his teeth. “You know what I did before Brightly? Before McNaughton?”

  “Well. Yes, a little.”

  “He was there with me during all that.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes. Long, long ago.”

  “Will he be glad to see you?”

  “Oh, I very much doubt it. But right now the main issue is if he’s alive, to be frank.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “Well, if my hunch is right, and those boys from the Three Ring were involved in whatever the hell all this is, and if Tazz is gone, too, then whoever set this all up would dearly like to get rid of the last witness, wouldn’t they?”

  Samantha’s mouth opened in horror. “Oh, my God, I’d never thought of that. Aren’t you worried, Mr. Hayes?”

  Hayes thinned his eyes, thinking. “Mm. No. Not especially.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because Spinsie was always very good at staying alive, and staying careful. He was almost as good as me, in fact.” He returned to looking out the window, but glanced back and added, “Almost, but not quite.” Then he saw the sketch in her hands and frowned. “Where did you get that?”

  “From Donald.”

  “How long have you been carrying that around?”

  “I don’t know. A long while. I suppose since I looked him up.”

  They got out where a wooden fence began and paid the cabbie. They walked along the fence until they came to an old path that rambled along over a wide, green field. Hayes held up a hand and she stopped behind him at the mouth of the path. He stood rock-still, studying the landscape, not moving. She tried to see what he was searching for but could find nothing. Then he made a small, satisfied noise and motioned her along.

  They followed the path until they saw a small thread of chimney smoke winding up through the trees. Hayes eyed it and said, “Well, it looks like he’s still alive, at least. You do realize that I will have to lie to him?”

  “About what?” she asked.

  “About how we found him. I don’t want him spooked.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I just hope he buys it,” said Hayes. “And that he’s off his game.”

  They walked on until a small gray house emerged from underneath the boughs. It had not been well cared for. Several shutters were missing and the front garden was filled with weeds. Off to the side someone had made a fire pit, but it had not been used in a long time. There was the glint of glass from around its edge and Samantha saw the snouts of liquor bottles poking up from the grass.

  Hayes walked up to the front door and knocked. There was no answer. Then he tried the knob, found the door was unlocked, and pushed it open.

  “You’re going in?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Won’t he be mad?”

  “Maybe,” he said, and walked in. She waited a moment and then followed.

  Inside it was dank and dark and smelled of spoiled alcohol and cheap cigarettes. The curtains were pulled shut over all the windows and empty bottles lay on the floor, on the tables, sometimes in the chairs. Hayes walked to the living room, cleared a seat, and sat and began to wait. Samantha cleared her own space on the sofa and did the same. Like the rest of the house, the room had not been taken care of. Old, musty paintings hung on the walls, most of them of England, or English countrysides. The white cliffs of Dover had grown a dull gray with dust on one wall. On another a cracked, faded team of men on horseback trumpeted and called for a missing fox, with lumps of beagles bawling about the legs of their horses.

  “When do you think he’ll be back?” Samantha asked.

  “He’s here right now,” Hayes said.

  “What?”

  “He’s here right now. He saw us coming, I think. He won’t show until he’s sure it’s safe.” Then he sighed and leaned his head on his hand.

  “You don’t want to see this man, do you?”

  “No. No, I really do not.”

  Nearly an hour passed. Hayes seemed more awake than she had ever seen him. Samantha shifted on her seat, uncomfortable. After a while she reached under the cushion and retrieved a long, heavy bullet of a massive caliber, thicker than her finger and longer than a half a foot. It was as though it’d been lost and forgotten under the cushion. She could not imagine the gun or barrel it matched. Hayes glanced at her, saw her holding the huge round, and shook his head. She replaced it, and was on the verge of suggesting they leave when a voice behind her said, “You know, breaking and entering is considered fairly impolite in most civilized circles.”

  She turned and saw there was a man leaning up against the doorway behind her. He was tall and thin and dark, with pepper-gray hair and a black mustache and a sharp, smart smile. He wore a white sleeveless shirt and gray slacks and thick leather boots, the suspenders dangling beside his thighs. There was something very starved about him, a frailness about the eyes that spoke of days without sunlight or warmth. Samantha put him in his late forties or fifties, and she was not sure why but she immediately identified him as a soldier, yet once she did she found it hard to imagine him ever fighting for any country or creed.

  “It’s also impolite to run away when you see guests approaching,” Hayes said.

  The man nodded. “I suppose. I suppose. Though you could have called ahead,” he said, his slight Cockney drawl becoming more pronounced. “It’s not often my oldest, dearest little comrade comes to visit me. I could’ve tidied the place up.”

  A few awkward beats passed. Then he smiled more widely and said, “Oh, it’s nice to see you again, little Hayseed. I see you still haven’t grown any.”

  Hayes tilted his head. “Hello, Spinsie. How are you these days?”

  “I’m decent, little brother. Decent.”

  “How are the cats? Rufus and Rudolph, yes? I didn’t see them.”

  “They’re around. They come in when they feel like it, which isn’t often. Plenty of small things to torture and devour in the fields around here. They leave them on the doorstep, don’t know why.”

  “Trophies, probably,” Hayes said. “Showing off to you.”

  “Probably.” He laughed. “Oh, it’s been a donkey’s age, hasn’t it? When’s the last time we met, little brother? I can barely recall.”

  “A year, I’d think. In Dockland.”

  “I don’t remember that. What’d we talk about?”

  “Not m
uch, Spinsie. I don’t think you were quite speaking yet.”

  The smile vanished. His eyes grew sharp and flicked to Samantha, then back to Hayes. “Yeah. I wouldn’t have been, not then. Well, now. What brings you to these inhospitable reaches, little brother? Why’ve you disturbed my peaceful retirement?”

  “I’m sorry if we disturbed you, but to be honest, Spinsie, I’m here because, well, I don’t quite think you’re retired.”

  The man nodded, then took a step into the room and eyed Samantha. “I see I’ve missed someone. Don’t believe we’ve met before.” He turned gracefully and put his hand out. “Corporal Michael Spinsten. Former, of course, but still at your service, miss.”

  “Samantha Fairbanks,” she said, extending her hand to him. He bowed and took it and kissed her knuckles, then looked up along her arm.

  “Pleasure’s all mine,” he said. “Mind if I ask who you know my little brother as? His name, I mean, just for posterity? I’d hate to interrupt any of his plans.”

  “His name?” Samantha said, confused. “To me he’s simply Mr. Hayes.”

  “Is that so?” Spinsie said, turning to Hayes. “Using your real name with her? Getting soft, Hayseed. Getting very soft.”

  “Perhaps,” Hayes said. “Why don’t you take a seat, Spinsie? This is your house, after all.”

  “Yeah. It is.” He sat down next to Samantha. Then he picked up a pipe from the table before him, produced a penknife from his pocket, and began to scrape out the bowl. “So you don’t think this is a life of retirement, comrade?”

  “No,” said Hayes. “I don’t.”

  “What makes you think such a thing?”

  “You want me to list the reasons?”

  “If you please.”

  “Fine,” said Hayes. He settled into a more comfortable position. “I don’t think you’re retired, Spinsie, because rumor has it someone moved a large amount of raw bullion through Lynn seven months ago, and I know you always specialized in that. And rumor has it that the man they arrested and prosecuted for it is perfectly innocent of the crime, and that the bills they seized in his apartments were mostly counterfeit garbage. And it’s also rumored that that same week a coffee shop in one of the shadier parts of Dockland suddenly closed down, but to be honest, well, none of the locals ever recalled it selling much coffee. Lots of shipping, though. Lots of boxes. It just came and went, they said. All of that would be why, Spinsie.”

  Spinsie nodded along happily as if they were discussing the weather. He packed the bowl, then lit a match and sucked at it until he was satisfied. “You’re remarkably well connected these days, aren’t you, Hayseed.”

  “I do all right.”

  “Yes. You’re the little king of Evesden, aren’t you.”

  “I don’t think I would go quite that far.”

  “Maybe the court adviser, then. Surprising, really. When I first found you in Delhi you didn’t seem to have a thought in your head. Ambling around, living on scraps. Never thought you’d come so far.”

  “Delhi was a long time ago.”

  “Yeah. It was.” He coughed harshly and rubbed his nose in a quick, ferret-like gesture. “So. You got a few suspicions about me sneaking in gold in the dead of night. Is that what you’re here about, little brother?”

  “Not especially, to be honest,” said Hayes. “I’m more interested in recent activity.”

  “Recent?”

  “Yes. With the unions.”

  “Unions? What unions? Last I heard there didn’t seem to be any.”

  “That’s what concerns me. I think they were trying to make one by other means, and I think you’re involved somehow.”

  “Hmm,” Spinsie said. “This is what worries you these days?”

  “Today, at least.”

  Spinsie leaned back. “You’ve changed, little brother. Changed since the old days. Back then you didn’t give a good goddamn about politics. You hardly realized the world was going on at all. Finally woken up? Finally seen the bigger picture?”

  “Spinsie, I really didn’t come here to get nostalgic.”

  “All right. Then play your cards, if you have any.”

  Hayes thought for a second, then turned to Samantha and said, “Sam, could I please see that picture you have?”

  “The picture?” she said.

  “Yes. The drawing.”

  She handed it to him. He studied it, nodded, and then passed it to Spinsie, who took it, confused. “What is this?” he asked.

  “That’s a man we think was involved as well,” said Hayes. “Somehow.”

  “Do you? And why are you bringing this to my doorstep?”

  “Because he’s dead.”

  One eye twitched. Samantha noticed he flexed his ankles. “Is he?” Spinsie asked.

  “Yes. Very.”

  “And it’s just him you’re here about?”

  Hayes gestured to Samantha. She rattled off, “There were also Charles Denton, Michael Huffy, Frank Naylor, John Evie, Edward Walton, Louis Courtney, Phineas Brooks, Turner Maylen… Several others as well. An even dozen in all.”

  Spinsie looked at her, surprised. “Well. I see why he keeps you around,” he said. “You’re his little encyclopedia, aren’t you.”

  “I prefer to be called his assistant,” she said coldly.

  “Yeah, I expect you do.” He handled the sketch, tilting it back and forth. “And you think I ran him?” he asked Hayes.

  “Yes,” Hayes said.

  “Why?”

  “Because he was involved in smuggling, and you were always a genius with the docks. With water landings, with shore-running. You could fool a port guard into carrying ammunition ashore in his mother’s valise. Distribution, I think you called it. I was demand, staying on shore. You tamed supply, at sea.”

  “Until they chained me up for it,” he said darkly.

  “You can’t still be smarting about that, Spinsie.”

  “It was seven years,” said Spinsie fiercely. “Seven fucking years.”

  “I got you out, though. Even from the other side of the world, I got you out.”

  “Yes. Yes, with your special connections. With your carte blanche, yes.”

  “It wasn’t always easy for me, either,” Hayes pointed out. “I did my own time. You know that.”

  “Not as long as me, though,” said Spinsie. “I suppose I had nothing to offer the mighty McNaughton.”

  “Well, now. Here’s your chance. Offer me something of value and I may recommend you to my employers.”

  Spinsie placed the sketch on the coffee table, glared briefly at Hayes, and then stared out through one of the dusty windows. Even though he called Hayes his little brother Samantha could see no kinship between them. She decided he was a man who called the world his brother, yet moved through it alone.

  “Well?” Hayes said impatiently.

  “If we’re going to talk business, I’d prefer if we do it over tea,” said Spinsie, and stood. “When’s the last time you had really good tea, Hayes?”

  Hayes rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t really care.”

  “You should,” Spinsie said. He walked into the kitchen. They could hear him clanking around the stove. “All proper Englishmen need an honest cup of tea every once in a while.”

  “I’m not a proper Englishman,” Hayes shouted back.

  “And you never will be if you keep this up.”

  They listened to him rustle up some coal and start the stove. As he worked Spinsie spoke at great length about the type of tea, discussing its genealogy and how it had been won and purified in the colonial days. Samantha got the impression that he had not honestly spoken to anyone in some time.

  “Sam,” Hayes said softly as Spinsie carried on talking.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “You pick up the reins,” he said. “When he comes back in.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Because he likes you.”

  “But surely I can’t-”

  “He likes yo
u more than me. He’s more likely to tell you anything than me, honest.”

  She stammered and tried to protest, but Hayes shushed her and pointed to the kitchen. After several minutes Spinsie came in with the kettle steaming and dripping and said, “Tell me, Miss Samantha, how did you get tossed in with old Hayes?”

  “I was assigned to him.”

  “Assigned? Why?”

  “I believe he had some issue organizing his work.”

  Spinsie smiled and poured three cups of tea. “Yeah. That sounds about right. Hayes never was good by himself, were you, Hayes? He’d fall to pieces if he was by himself. He always likes having one or two other people working with him. And he always, always winds up getting them into trouble, eventually. Isn’t that so?”

  Hayes blinked languidly as though he might not have heard any of it.

  “Do you live alone, Mr. Spinsten?” Samantha asked.

  “Well, no. Not alone, no,” he said hastily. “I have the cats, that’s something. There’s a logging firm up the way, though I think they’re going out of business. I see them sometimes, though, on my walks.”

  “It’s very pretty countryside here.”

  “Yeah. I think so. Hilly. Lots of pines.”

  “It’s much nicer than the ones I’ve seen recently,” Samantha said. “The man who died. We went to see his house. It was a tenement, actually.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. It was one of the most deplorable places I’ve ever seen in my life. He had a son, you know. He raised him there. Taught him how to read, a little. But we don’t know where the boy is. Wherever he is, I suspect he’s alone, too.”

  Spinsie finished pouring and made sure everyone had a cup and a saucer. Hayes set his tea down on a nearby table and ignored it.

  “Are you sure you never met the man, Mr. Spinsten?” Samantha asked.

  “I never said I never met him,” he said, almost sulkily.

  “So you did meet him?”

  Spinsie was quiet for a long while, cradling the tea in his hands. “I don’t do much out here,” he said. “It’s retirement, you’re not supposed to do much, but sometimes I get bored. And every once in a while someone comes to me with a job. About twice a year or so. I’m not sure how they get my name or find out how to get ahold of me. I guess word just gets around.” He took a sip. “I take some of them,” he said. “I mean, who wouldn’t? It’s not because I need the money. It’s just…”