“I sold a French-Chinese rug to a customer up-state. It was about twelve by eighteen and brought ten thousand, five hundred dollars. I’d be glad to show you the check, if I can keep his name covered. One of my partners has the check.”
Al put his cigarette out. “Would you tell us the town?”
“That would be telling you his name. Because it’s a small town, and he’s the only wealthy man in it.”
“It’s not Green Bay?”
“It’s not Green Bay. That town is loaded with wealthy men.”
Al looked at Art, and Art looked at me. Al stood up. Art remained seated.
Art asked, “You going to bother the boss any more?”
I put together a smile. I worked at it. “Not if you boys don’t want me to.”
“We don’t,” Art said.
“I’m sold,” I said.
Al laughed, and held out his hand. “Good-by, then.” Art was getting to his feet.
I stood up and shook Al’s hand. Art didn’t offer his.
A silence, and then, “If you’re looking for the killer of your — cousin, remember he was in business with Ducasse. And we weren’t their only customers. It looks like a trade killing to me, a business kill. We can’t afford that kind of business, and especially in a town like this. Believe me, Kaprelian, we’re clean, all three of us.”
I wasn’t the law; they didn’t owe me any explanations. Were they frightened, too? Not as much as I was, I’d bet.
“And Mr. Dykstra doesn’t want to sell the Sarouk?”
“Right now,” Al said, “he doesn’t even want to talk about it.” They were moving toward the door.
They turned there, and both nodded, Al smilingly, Art without the smile. They went out.
That’s when I started to tremble. I heard the outer door close and went to the window a few seconds later. They went down the steps together and cut across the street, and then headed down Bradford, toward the beach steps.
Nothing had been said; everything had been implied. Dykstra was no longer one of the boys. He had the two-man organization for the preservation of his ego; otherwise he was a small man dying in a quiet town. And with the crime commissions popping up like weeds around the country, with the heat on, all his former associates wanted from Dykstra was peace. He couldn’t afford trouble from either end.
That didn’t make him any less dangerous to people like Lee Kaprelian. Why hadn’t they been tougher? Because they knew I’d talked with Waldorf? And Dykstra thought I knew what Sam had known? Had he thought I’d come up there to blackmail him, this morning?
The trembling died. The tension-fatigue killed it and I pulled off my clothes and pulled out the bed and hit the sack without benefit of pajamas.
Slept without dreams or awakenings, slept like a single man on a government pension. The morning brought another spring day. And my phone was ringing.
It was Claire. She said, “Had a call from your sister. She didn’t know how else to get in touch with you.”
“Oh.”
“She wanted to tell you the funeral was today. At one-thirty at St. Haroutiun Apostolic Church. And she wanted to know if you’d seen Selak.”
“What’s happened to him?”
“He disappeared, I guess. Lee, come on up for breakfast. I’m — nervous.”
“About Selak?”
“Oh — no, I don’t suppose. I’m just generally nervous.”
“It’ll be an hour, at least, but I’ll be there. I just got up.”
“On the honeymoon,” she said, “we’ll never get up.”
“Maybe I can get there earlier. Don’t talk like that; it’s spring.”
Upstairs, the baby squalled and was silent. That’s what came from honeymoons. And was it bad?
Bathed and shaved and dug out the old Oxford gray three button. With a dark blue tie and a white shirt, with black shoes. Sam was dead. “We can lick these guys, Lee; put the wood to it … After you, I’m first …’ Sam was dead. Past secretary of the Junior League of the AGBU, Berjouhi-adorer, the second named of Sarkis Sabazian and Son, beloved of all who knew him — except Berjouhi.
They’d all be there, at St. Haroutiun’s Apostolic Church, all his relatives and friends. And all mine. The young ones might be friendly, but the old ones? I’d always been too much of an Americatsi for them. And Sam had died at my feet. In the apartment of THAT WOMAN.
That woman was waiting at the door when I came off the elevator at the top floor. Smiling, looking washed and fresh and about seventeen. I kissed her. I held her for seconds.
“Well,” she said finally, “the new Kaprelian. Tender and thoughtful.”
“You’ve still got the check,” I said. “When I get my cut, watch me change.”
“In that case I’ll keep it for a while. Lee, what do you think about that Selak? Is it — ”
“Because of you? Probably. You appeal to all men. Especially in the spring.” We walked into the living room. “The boys were waiting for me, last night. They were sitting in my — apartment.”
“The boys?”
“Dykstra’s boys. Art and Al, the menace brothers.” We were in the dining room; I sat down.
She still stood. “Lee — What did they want?”
I shrugged. “It was just a friendly visit. I’ll be all right so long as I leave Dykstra alone.”
“You’re going to leave him alone I hope?”
“I think I am. They got to me. They scared me.”
She shook her head and went over to stare out at the lake, her profile to me. She didn’t look seventeen any more.
“Don’t think about it,” I said quietly. “He’s not going to bother us.”
“How do you know he isn’t?” She’d turned to face me. “What do you know about that kind of people? They’re lawless; they don’t follow any patterns of behavior. They don’t know fear.”
“Oh, yes, they do. At least, Dykstra does. He struck me as a man who’s scared silly. He’s a man who’s always been on the inside and now he’s outside. All he’s got is the pair who came to see me.”
“You know so much. Lee — ”
“Let’s eat.”
She looked at me quietly a moment, and then went out to the kitchen. I wasn’t sure whether I’d be eating my breakfast or wearing it, in the next two minutes, but she seemed under control when she came back. She was carrying two glasses of orange juice.
She set one in front of me and sat down on the other side of the table with the other.
She sipped, and said, “Carl was here last night.”
“Evening — or night?”
“He was here. He was very pleased about the price you got for the Chinese.”
I said nothing.
“I told him about your feeling regarding Bey. He promised to talk to him.”
“That’s big of him. Do we have to talk about Carl Lieder?”
“Why shouldn’t we?” Light tone, cool tone.
“Maybe I’m jealous of him.”
“Migawd! Carl — ? He’s a hundred and twelve years old.”
“Don’t ‘migawd Carl’ me, elegant lady. You think a lot of him.”
“Hey, we are jealous,” she said. “This is getting interesting.”
“Is there something besides orange juice?”
“Yes, master.” Mock humility. “Will you tell me more, if I bring it?”
“Lay off,” I said. “So it’s ridiculous. I just don’t like the man, or the type.”
Quiet. The annoyance growing in me, the resentment, the hate. She sat there, saying nothing, her glass empty, her hands limp on top of the table. Studying me, her face showing compassion.
And finally, “Lee, let’s not fight. We can ruin everything, sniping at each other all the time. You get so — so damned intense.”
“Very rarely — before I met you,” I said.
“And now, for some reason, you resent your interest in me. Are you ashamed of loving me? What is it that — eats at you?”
“The
men you’ve known, probably. I guess I’m still a hick about things like that.”
“It’s not your concern,” she said quietly. “Your only concern would be the men I know, and will meet.”
“Which brings us back to Carl Lieder.”
“Carl. Carl, Carl, Carl … Why him, that perfumed mummy?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you’re working together. Maybe because you seem to admire him so much; anyway, his ability.”
“That’s all,” she said. “Just his ability. Otherwise, he gives me the creeps. Have you thought of something else, Lee? Have you thought it might be because — of your family?”
“Yes,” I said, “I’ve thought of that. Let’s eat.”
“All right. One thing more, your sister wants you to pick her up for the funeral. She wants to go with you. She seemed friendly, Lee.”
“She’s all right,” I said. “She’s — American.”
Sun on the tablecloth, a warm breeze coming in from the west, the lake as brightly blue as the sky. Eggs and bacon, toast and jelly, coffee. Some peace, less edge to my irritability.
“I wonder where Selak is,” she said.
I shrugged.
“They’ll blame you for that, too.”
“Probably. Or you. You’ll get blamed for everything. You’re Americatsi.”
“Hmmm. And you could build that up, through the years, into some peeve, couldn’t you? Lee, you’d better be sure. You’d better start believing in me pretty soon, or leave me. It would be better to walk off while it’s still high than to batter it into hate.”
“Maybe. And maybe I’m too far gone.”
“Physically, you’re gone. Sex isn’t the only basis for marriage.”
“It must be the most important one or more men would shack up together. I’m just a skeptic. But I want to believe.”
After breakfast, I helped her with the dishes, and then she put some records on, music I didn’t know. We sat and listened and smoked and had another cup of coffee.
Aware of her I was, always. But today I was thinking of Sam, too. And thinking ahead to the funeral, and all my people who’d be there. Ann wanted to be with me. That was a gesture, and the kind I could expect from Ann. One ally I had.
I said, “I’m going down to see Waldorf.”
“Now what?”
“I’m going to tell him about those — characters who dropped in on me last night.”
She took a deep breath. “I — suppose it’s wise. He’ll think we’re co-operating, anyway.”
“Aren’t we?”
“Of course, of course. I mean, it will be a point in our favor.”
I stood up, and she stood up. I kissed her and felt the warmth of her body, the eagerness of her, and pulled away, smiling. “You surely kindle me, lady. But we’ve got a lifetime.”
“We hope. Don’t look at any strange females.”
“All females are strange. That’s their chief attraction. I’ll phone you, after I come back from the funeral.”
“All right. And tell Waldorf about this — Selak, too, won’t you?”
“Probably,” I lied. I didn’t want any cops bothering Selak’s sister.
At the Safety Building, the man in the big room, the man at the switchboard, told me that Sergeant Waldorf would be available in a few minutes. He was closeted with the Lieutenant, right now.
I sat on one of the benches near the high windows on the Cedar Avenue side. It was a busy room. Detectives, uniformed officers, men from the district attorney’s office — and taxpayers. The taxpayers were easy to spot; they were the thin ones and the worried ones.
Then Waldorf came through the entrance from the hall, and the switchboard man gestured him over. He listened a few seconds and then looked my way, frowning. He looked weary, this spring morning.
I studied him as he came over, the fighter’s face and the unusual nose and the department store suit. This must be an honest town; all our detectives look so poor.
“Well, Kaprelian — ?” he said. He sat down on the bench next to me.
“I went to see Dykstra, yesterday,” I began, and went on from there, through the dialogue with Dykstra and the trip to Badger Junction and the three-cornered soiree of last night.
When I’d finished, he said, “AI Hagen. The other would be Art Felker. They didn’t really threaten you, did they?”
“I — suppose not. They made things clear, though.”
“Mmmm-hmm. Well, they probably killed Sabazian. And Ducasse, too. They scare you, Kaprelian?”
“They did. Aren’t they supposed to?”
“Scare you enough to make you level about the rest of it?”
“I’ve told you all I can, Sergeant.”
“Have you? You haven’t told me how it’s tied up with your rug swindles. Now that rug washer is missing, that Saroian. His sister reported it, this morning. And the Lieutenant’s been wondering why you’re still breathing the free air.”
“There were no swindles,” I said shakily. “I had nothing to do with Dykstra until I went to see him, yesterday.”
“He wouldn’t be back of your little gang, eh? He’s just here because he likes the town?”
“I think he’s here because he’s scared,” I said. “It’s a quiet town and he’s retired from the rackets. And probably not of his own volition.”
Waldorf looked at me sharply. “You know that, do you? Where’d you learn it?”
“I told you about my dialogue with Al and Art. It’s a guess I had which they confirmed. I think, too, that this Ismet Bey is tied up with them, some way.”
He pulled a loose cigarette out of his pocket and shoved it into his mouth. “Keep thinking. Out loud.”
“Sam was dumped in front of Miss Lynne’s apartment, wasn’t he, Sergeant? What kind of car did the witness downstairs see?”
He paused a moment, studying me. Finally, “A black car.”
“A black Buick?”
He shrugged. “She didn’t know. And she didn’t see who was driving.”
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll assume it was Art and Al. We’ll assume they didn’t figure Sam would die. That’s logical enough, because they wouldn’t stick their necks out that far, if it was going to be a murder rap.”
“How far?”
“Dumping him in a public place like that. They dropped him off as a warning to Miss Lynne. And maybe they knew I was there. Why would they do that?”
“You tell me, Sherlock.”
“Because Bey had convinced them that Sam was tied up with us, for reasons of his own. Bey used them as stooges.”
Waldorf shook his head. “You really pulled that one out of the hat, didn’t you? You wouldn’t be trying to use me as your muscle on Bey, would you? What the hell would he have to gain?”
“A rug he’s traveled over two thousand miles to get. A rug he’d built his whole damned cult around. He’s offered us thirty thousand for it.”
“Us — ? I thought that was Lieder’s rug?”
“All right, then, he’s offered Lieder thirty thousand. Through me. And Lieder won’t sell. And Bey’s probably scared that he won’t sell at any price.”
“Any price?” Waldorf’s smile was dry. “That would be some rug.”
“There’s never been a rug like it in this town, before. If the signature is genuine, it’s a priceless rug. My father’s been in this business all his life, and he never saw one anywhere near it.”
Waldorf sighed, dropped his cigarette on the terrazzo floor, and stepped on it. “Kaprelian, you’re a local boy. And you’re in damned fast company. You know that, don’t you?”
I nodded.
“You’ve left home, left the store. For the quick money — and that blonde. Maybe you know what you’re doing, but I don’t think so. You know, I checked your dad. Through the Better Business Bureau, through the bank he deals with, through his competitors. The man’s got an amazing reputation — for people in that business. He’s honest.”
“Sure, and damn
ed near broke.”
“That matters to you, huh? That’s the big thing?”
“I don’t know, Sergeant. This I know — I’m in love.”
“Oh,” he said. “Christ-You’re in love. Oh, for — ” The flaring nostrils quivered; he rubbed one clenched hand. “You simple — ”
“That’s what I keep telling myself. You’ve seen her, Sergeant. That’s strange, being in love with her?”
“It depends upon your interpretation of the word,” he said. He looked past me, toward the high windows. “I keep thinking you’re grown up. You’re just a punk. In love — ”
Happy marriage he must have, if he was married. Could anybody but a married man be that sour on the subject?
I stood up. “And one thing more, Dykstra would like to have us believe the two murders are connected.”
“You don’t think they are?”
“What does it matter what I think?” I asked him. “I’m just a punk, Sergeant, in fast company.”
He looked up, and then past me, again. “That you are, whether you believe it, or not. They’ll probably all get out of town, eventually, and leave you sitting in the clink.”
With this happy thought, I left him. Went down the long and space-wasting corridors of this municipal architectural monstrosity to the huge stone steps. It was a bright day and the whiteness of the Safety Building was glaring in the sunlight. I left it behind, walking down the stone steps to my car.
The Badger Agency was on Second Street, a new building, two stories high and dedicated to the placement of upper strata job seekers.
The girl in the lobby said that Miss Kaprelian was busy with a client at the moment, and how are things with you, Lee?
“Fine,” I said, out of habit, “and how is my sister’s disposition this week?”
“She hasn’t been the happiest girl in the world. She should be married, Lee.”
“To whom?”
“We know. Let’s not kid each other. They’re made for each other, those two. What’s wrong with the girl?”
The boss, she meant. The boss had wanted to marry Ann for two years. I said, “Ann isn’t as modern as she looks and sounds.”
“What do you mean? What kind of talk is that?”
“Armenian talk. Ann’s — old country.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake — what a silly — ”
Bloody Bokhara Page 14
