Ice Blues ds-3

by Richard Stevenson

  “Eight-thirty.”

  “Nine. Nine sharp.”

  “If you’re not here at exactly nine o’clock, I’m taking the bloody two and a half million out of the suitcases, tossing it out into the corridor, and locking the door again. Do you understand that?”

  “Before you do, pocket three grand for my fee and expenses, and another three thousand for our trip to Martinique next week. We’ve gotta come out of this with something.”

  “One minute you’re a messiah and the next minute you’re a petty thief. I think you’re losing your grip. You used to be so rational. Well, no, not exactly rational. I didn’t mean that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Just be here at nine.”

  “Or close to it.”

  Dreadful Ed answered the door. “Conine’s laying down. I can give her the message.”

  “No, it’s she who has the message for me. I’m sorry to bother her, but this won’t take long. Her grandfather Lenihan asked that she arrange a visit for me with him.”

  McConkey frowned. “You go over to Dad Lenihan’s? What’s he want with you?”

  “That’s right. What’s he want with me?”

  He didn’t like the sound of this. “Just a minute.” He shut the door in my face. I stood in the cold night air shifting my feet and listening to the porch swing creaking under its load of blown snow. McConkey returned. “You can come in for a minute, but don’t get Corrine all upset, you understand?

  Her nerves are all shot to hell.”

  “I suppose they would be.”

  I left my coat to fry on the hall radiator. Corrine was lying on the brown couch with a pink blanket up to her chin, her head propped on a pillow. She sat up as I entered the room and patted her hair. “I’m a real mess, Mr.

  Strachey, I hope you don’t mind. How are you this evening?”

  “I’m cold, tired and a little curious. I’m sorry I missed the funeral yesterday afternoon, but I want you to know that

  I’ve been thinking about your brother a lot for the past several days. And I saw your mother in Los Angeles.”

  Her pale eyes brightened. “You went all the way to California and saw Ma?

  Well, how did she look? Was she out of bed yet? She sounded so down on the phone. She’s taking this pretty hard.”

  “She was up and around, but she was emotionally a wreck, yes. She seemed determined, though, to get on with her life.”

  A faint smile. “That’s Ma, all right-determined. She has more spunk than any ten people. She told me on the phone-Ma said-Ed! Ed, will you turn that thing down?”

  Ed, sulking by the TV set, climbed over his feet, which were propped on a footstool, and reduced the volume by half a decibel.

  “When Ma called yesterday, before the funeral,” Corrine went on, raising her voice in order to be heard over the helicopter explosions, “do you know what she asked me? She said why don’t I come out and see her next month? And you know what? I just might do it.”

  “That sounds as if it would be good for both of you.”

  “I’m really thinking about it this time. Mrs. Clert could make Ed’s sandwich at noon and he could drive over to McDonald’s at suppertime. Ed could drive me out to the airport and help me carry my suitcases in if I took two along. I’d rather take along a lot of clean outfits so Ma wouldn’t have to do any laundry. And then I could call Ed long distance from Ma’s apartment in California and tell him what time to pick me up when I came back. You know, this time I really think I’m going to do it. I just want to hug Ma so bad.

  I’ve been thinking about that ever since she called.”

  “You must miss her a lot. When did you last see your mother?”

  “When she left, after Pa died. That’s been-oh, I don’t know how many years. Eighteen? Why, yes, eighteen years ago this month. Isn’t that something? Eighteen years after Pa died, Jack died. They both died in the wintertime. Maybe that’s why I always feel so low every January. Ma’s always asking me to come and see her, even pay my way, but-well, Ed doesn’t really like other people’s cooking. He says it tastes funny. Ed really appreciates my cooking, even though I don’t really think it’s that great. But Mrs. Clert could make his sandwich. Or-maybe I could make some sandwiches and just stick them in the freezer. Can you freeze cold meat sandwiches? I don’t see why not. Or would the mayonnaise go bad?”

  “It might. But perhaps Ed could lift the top slice of bread and apply his own mayonnaise.”

  She glanced Ed’s way apprehensively but he was caught up in other matters.

  I said, “I think you might enjoy getting away from Albany for a while. Is this the house you grew up in?”

  “From when I was one and a half. Then, when I married Ed, we moved in with his mom, but then she got hit by the number 6 bus on Pearl Street, and we moved back over here with Ma and Pa. Then soon after that, Pa died and Ma gave us the house and we’ve been here ever since.”

  I thought maybe she meant literally, but then remembered that she worked as a salesclerk. “Your mother strikes me as a generous woman who has looked after her children in the best way she’s been able to. I got the impression that you and Jack were the only people she cared about back in Albany, though. She seemed otherwise to dislike the city and its people intensely, passionately even.”

  She looked away. “I know. Ma’s life with Pa was hard on her-on account of his ailment. But after he was gone she seemed to not like Albany even more than before. Really, though, it’s always seemed like a pretty nice town to me. People around here are friendly, and they’re always there to lend a hand when tragedy strikes. But Ma’s stubborn that way. She gets something in her head and there it sticks. Oh, well. Ma has her ways. Like Jack did. Like we all do.” She shrugged philosophically.

  I said, “Did Jack leave a will?”

  “I wouldn’t think so. Why would he? Jack was like the rest of the Lenihans.

  We scrape by, and that’s about it. Ma’s done well for herself. Went out west without a dime to her name, went to college, and got a good job that pays. I guess Ma’s the only one of us that has stick-to-it-ive-ness. She applied herself and she was rewarded for it. And you hit the nail on the head when you said she’s not stingy with her money. Ma helps Ed and I out when we need it, and she even helps Dad with his bills. Having a nurse all the time costs an arm and a leg, and Medicare hardly pays to empty the bedpan unless you go to the hospital. Many a time we’ve invited Dad to sell the house and move over here, but he likes his independence and you can’t blame him for that. But we all get by and we help each other out when times get tough, and that’s the important thing.”

  “Did your mother mention to you that I stopped in to see her?”

  “Gosh-no, I guess she forgot to say. Just because she’s distraught, I’m sure.”

  “I understand your grandfather wants to speak with me.”

  “Oh, did the Jewish gentleman tell you that? You know, I’ve had so many things on my mind that that one just went right out the window.”

  “Do you know why he wants to see me? I’ve never met your grandfather before. I only know him by reputation.”

  “Gee, he didn’t really say. But I suppose he heard you were a friend of Jack’s and wants to talk about Jack. He was real broken up by Jack’s passing. I felt so sorry for the poor old fella. His only male grandson gone.”

  “I don’t know, but I doubt that Jack would have mentioned my name to his grandfather. Who might have?”

  She blushed. “Do you mean because you’re-that way? Like Jack? Dad’s old-fashioned and never had the time of day for-perverts, he called them.

  He always thought Jack being like that was just Jack trying to get back at him.”

  “Back at him for what?”

  “Oh, for being a big-shot Democrat. Jack always said the Albany Democrats were just a bunch of crooks, and that got Dad’s dandruff up every time. Dad says the party got jobs for people so they could have a roof over their head and they could put food on the tab
le, and the party helped people when they were down and out. But Jack always said the party stole more than it gave away. Jack criticized the Democrats right in front of Dad, and sometimes Jack could get obnoxious-have these tantrums and say really mean things. And then Dad would start in on the perverts and Jack would stomp out and slam the door. But I will say that Jack always came back, and I think in his heart Dad was always glad to see him. Like last fall, until they had another falling out. Blood is thicker than water, as the saying goes.”

  “When could I visit your grandfather? Is tonight a possibility?”

  “Oh no, not this late. Dad Lenihan goes to bed after his programs. He watches the news report and then Wheel of Fortune and Hundred

  Thousand Dollar Name That Tune, and he’s all tucked in by eight-thirty.

  Dad’s an early riser, so maybe in the morning would be a good idea.”

  “What time?”

  “Ed drives me out to the store at twenty of nine, but I could call Dad first and see if it was okay for you to drop in. Mrs. Clert could get Dad ready and then Ed could take you over after he got back. Maybe about ten-thirty in the morning would be a good time. Would that suit you?”

  “It would. I’ll phone you at eight-thirty to confirm the time.”

  She smiled. “Just don’t talk politics if you don’t want to get an earful. And don’t”-she blushed again-“maybe you shouldn’t let on you’re one of Jack’s gay friends. I mean, if you are.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll come across as an Olympic gold medalist. Though not one of the gymnasts, of course. Is your grandfather in good health?”

  “Strong as an ox. I mean an ox that’s ninety-six, ha ha. No, seriously, Dad is showing his age lately. His hearing and eyesight are going, and he tires out. He can’t walk across the room without sitting down for a minute. That’s the emphysema. But when he wants to be, he can be a real hellion. We weren’t going to take him to the funeral yesterday, but he wasn’t about to put up with that, oh no. Dad never misses a funeral, especially family. So Mr. Fay carried him out to the car and into the funeral parlor, and you’d’ve thought Dad was a kid again. He always liked being around people. It really perks him up and I was glad to see it, even on such a tragic occasion.”

  I glanced at Ed, saw that he was absorbed in an electric-shaver commercial, and said, “Who is Mr. Fay?”

  “Mack Fay is Howie Fay’s boy. Howie Fay lived over by the Hainses when he was alive, and he and Dad were friends from way back. Thick as thieves, those two were. Howie Fay dropped in on Dad every day until he slipped on the ice in front of Evelyn Collins’ and broke his backbone. Howie Fay passed away last March, but old lady Fay-she’s kind of a sourpuss-she’s still over there but she never goes out. Their boy Mack Fay was working out of town for many years, but he’s back now and he and Dad seem to have hit it off. Mack visits him and they shoot the breeze just like Dad and Howie Fay did, and if Dad has to go out to the doctor or something, Mr. Fay drives him wherever he has to go. Mack Fay is not the friendliest man you’ll ever meet with Ed and I, but I have to say he’s been a godsend for Dad.

  Maybe you’ll see him tomorrow if you stick around long enough. He usually drops in around noontime and they have their sandwich together.

  The two of them and Mrs. Clert.”

  “Mrs. Clert is Mr. Lenihan’s nurse?”

  “Days she is. Nighttime there’s just an aide, Kevin, Mrs. Clert’s boy. He’d be over there now. Mrs. Clert is strictly no-nonsense, but she knows how to keep Dad contented. He’s a man, so he can be fussy. But she handles him.

  You’ll see.”

  When I left the McConkeys, I drove over to Pearl and past Pug Lenihan’s bungalow. It was ten till nine and a single light burned in a downstairs window. An old brown Olds Cutlass was parked in the driveway. I slowed briefly, then sped up and drove straight south toward the center of the city.

  EIGHTEEN

  “You’re late, you’re ten minutes late, but you’re here. I was worried about you.”

  “No need to worry. Everything’s under control.”

  “It is?”

  “Not my control, but somebody’s. We do not live in a coldly mindless and anarchic universe. There is a plan to all of this.”

  “Whose?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m more certain than ever that it’s not Adlai Stevenson’s.

  Is the money still in the closet?”

  “Sure, I checked when I came back this evening.”

  “Did anyone phone or knock at the door?”

  “No, it looks as if I wasn’t followed here. Or if I was, maybe they were waiting for you to show up. Now we’re both here along with the money, so I suppose that means the end is near. Couldn’t we just go home now and die in our own bed? I’m so sick of restaurant food.”

  “Not yet. Soon.” I sprawled on the bed and dragged the phone onto the pillow beside me.

  “Did you find out what Pug Lenihan wants with you?”

  “I’ll know in the morning when I meet him. Just a second.” I dialed the number of my friend at New York Telephone, reached him at home, and asked for a list of toll calls made from Pug Lenihan’s number during the previous week. He said he’d have them by noon the next day.

  “What’s that all about?” Timmy asked. “If Pug Lenihan’s mixed up in this, it’s only the machine using him to warn you away from turning the money over to Kempelman. Isn’t that the way you figure it?”

  “That was three hours ago. My perspective has since broadened.” I explained to him Pug Lenihan’s connections with Mack Fay as Corrine McConkey had described them to me.

  As I told it, Timmy’s face went through its wide repertoire of pale pastels.

  He said, “So Pug might actually have been involved in his own grandson’s murder? Jesus!”

  “I don’t want to believe that. But it’s possible. Maybe I’ll ask him about it tomorrow.”

  “Or maybe you won’t show up.”

  “I’m considering that.”

  Shakily, he said, “Call Bowman. Or the state police, or the FBI. Don, this is no longer just you against some half-assed dope fiends. It’s you against history.”

  As the words came out, I knew I shouldn’t have spoken them in front of him. I said, “Maybe history is about to change. And I am its agent.” He shut his eyes tightly and actually clutched his head. “I take it you continue to find my hopes and dreams wackily presumptuous.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. I do.”

  “Well, as I see it, I can either bring about the dawn of a golden age in Albany, or I can take the money and run. I can’t honestly see any middle ground at this point.”

  “You can give the money back, and we can go home and resume our good lives. That is one alternative.”

  I looked at him carefully. “You can’t mean that. Just quit, just like that?

  With Jack Lenihan still warm in his grave, and after all we’ve gone through?

  You’d hate yourself. I’d hate myself. And I wouldn’t be too crazy about you for a while.”

  He twitched with ambivalence, a state of mind that always got his juices flowing. “You’re turning it into a moral dilemma when in fact what we are talking about here is the highly practical question of surviving or not surviving. Yes, of course I’d like to see the machine zapped. And yes, Jack’s killer should be identified, tried and convicted. The last part you might be able to accomplish with the help of Ned Bowman and maybe the feds. But not singlehandedly.”

  “You mean, you can’t fight city hall. That does not sound at all like the Tim Callahan I know.”

  “You can fight city hall but you can’t bulldoze it. Not by yourself if you hope to live to see what replaces it.”

  I took this all in, considered it, and gave his thigh a squeeze. “This is getting too theoretical for me. Let’s take our clothes off and get practical.

  It’s been awhile. Shrieking with ecstasy always restores your perspective.”

  He had an argument for that too, but he onl
y belabored his thesis for about twenty minutes. We sometimes went our separate emotional and philosophical ways, but we always remembered one place where the twain met, and this handy and inherently satisfying way of connecting served to remind us of all the other lovely ways we had of connecting, usually.

  At seven Tuesday morning I checked my answering service, which had six messages. Three were social and could wait, and one was from Timmy’s mother in Poughkeepsie, inquiring as to why we were not answering our home telephone. She asked that I relay the message to Timmy that Father Frank Merrill had been injured by a Molotov cocktail tossed from the St. Vincent’s school roof by a fourth grader, and it would be nice if Timmy sent Father Frank a get-well card.

  The fifth message was from Ned Bowman, instructing me to report to his office promptly at 3 P.M. Monday-too late for that-and the sixth message was from an anonymous caller with a muffled voice. The voice had said:

  “Tell Strachey, ‘You are dead.”

  I gave Timmy the message from his mother and suggested that he call in sick at the office, then drive down and pay a personal call on the ailing Father Frank. He thought that would be unnecessary until I told him about

  “You are dead,” and then he agreed. He said he would spend a night in Poughkeepsie, maybe two.

  Room service brought Timmy his porridge and me my pitcher of orange juice and two eggs, which were not raw, as I had requested, but fried. To Timmy’s relief, I did not stir them into the juice. Timmy left for Poughkeepsie, saying he would first stop by the house to pick up a clean shirt-Mom would be surreptitiously checking his collar-and would either meet me or phone me at the hotel that night. I said sure, I figured I’d be back at the Hilton that night, and he looked at me a little funnily.

  Before I went out, I checked the money. It was intact, undisturbed, unspent.

  It was beginning to look restless, though, as if it wanted spending soon on a good deed. I told it, maybe today.

  When I walked into Ned Bowman’s office just after eight, he was already at his desk looking miserable and besieged, though the room was empty except for the two of us. His nose was heavily bandaged, with a large dirty gauze pad housing the appendage itself and six long strips of adhesive tape holding the gauze in place, as if he were under attack by a panicked sea animal.