The Big Score

by Kilian, Michael;

“I thought of that—for a very brief minute. But it’s ridiculous. Matthias Curland doesn’t even know the kind of people who use bombs. The only person he knows who might be mixed up in something like that is you.”

  “What do you mean, Diandra?”

  She stood up, clenching her fists. “Goddamn it, what’s going on, Peter? Tell me or I’ll scream!”

  “Ease up, babe. Ease up. Sit down, please. I’ll tell you everything I know. You want a belt? You look like you could use one.”

  He could see her struggling with herself. Whichever side won, she sat down. “Pour me some vodka.”

  Poe filled a glass, adding ice from his machine.

  “What I can tell you is this,” he said, resuming his seat. He glanced down, arranging his thoughts, as if about to make a speech. “I have a lot of enemies, Diandra. You know that. There are guys who have lost out in deals, people I’ve pushed out of the way, Social Register types who think I’m an upstart, and I suppose a few weirdos who’d like to do something bad to me just because I’m in the newspapers and the magazines and on television all the time. You get as successful as I am and you find people who can’t wait to see you take a fall—maybe hurry it along. Look at the way everybody piled on Trump.”

  She looked out the window. He couldn’t tell how closely she was paying attention to him.

  “But I think it could be more serious than that,” he continued. “I don’t remember how much I’ve told you, but I’ve had some mob guys interested in my Michigan City casino, the same East Coast guys I left Atlantic City to get away from. I’ve kept them at arm’s length. I’ve done everything in my power to keep that place operating on the up and up—a strictly honest business. I don’t think this sits too well with some elements. Casinos with them are like garbage to rats.”

  “Are you telling me I have to live in fear of being blown up just because you own a casino?”

  “I can’t get rid of it. I need it as collateral for my Cabrini Green loan. Everything else is in hock. I’m kinda overleveraged. But you don’t have to worry. I’ve gone to, well, the authorities. I’m cooperating in every way. I think that, once there’s some heat put on those pricks, they’ll back off and leave me be. I’m sure of it.”

  “I can’t stand this, Peter.”

  “I really don’t think we have anything to worry about. I just can’t let it get out, about the mob wanting to make a move on my casino. It would queer my new bank loan. And it sure as hell wouldn’t do our social reputation any good. So, not a word about this to anyone. Absolutely no one. Including Matthias Curland.”

  “Matthias Curland.”

  “Yeah. How is he, by the way?”

  “He wasn’t hurt too badly.”

  “That isn’t what I mean. How is he feeling? How is he disposed—toward me?”

  “He’s extremely angry.”

  “I shouldn’t be surprised, should I? Well, he’ll get over it. You can help.”

  “Me?”

  “Sure. He likes you, doesn’t he? Seems pretty obvious to me he does. A lot.”

  “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  “Well, now I want something more. I want you to calm him down. I need to get back in his good graces.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever it takes. Be friendly. You were friendly with him up in Wisconsin, weren’t you? After I left?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She really looked frazzled. He wondered what else.

  “Did he make a pass at you? Did you fuck him?”

  Her eyes widened. Her mouth was all twisted. He wished he had a picture of her like this. He’d have it enlarged and framed. For the next time she got out of line.

  “I hate you, Peter.”

  “Fine. Hate me. Take a walk. File for divorce. Only remember, you signed a prenuptial. You walk away with nothing. I could keep your clothes, only I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Look, you egomaniac son of a bitch, I went to my room after you left and stayed there. Matthias was dancing, with that Cindy. Why do you think he’s still up there?”

  He studied her. She looked ready to kill him. Instead of turning violent, though, she finished her drink.

  “Look,” he said, speaking softly now. “I wouldn’t have minded. I’m an understanding guy. These are modern times. Hell, I don’t want you to take a walk, Diandra. I’m glad you’re my wife. I can’t imagine myself married to anybody else. I don’t doubt a thing you say. That broad made it real clear she has the hots for him. She’s a hell of a looker. I’d be surprised if he didn’t give her a poke. He’s just like his brother, that guy. Doesn’t matter he’s engaged to that stuck-up Phillips lady. A good-looking piece of ass walks by, and bingo.”

  Diandra got up and refilled her glass.

  “You’re not going to turn into a lush on me, are you? That’s a whole ’nother problem.”

  “Damn it, Peter, my nerves are shot. I drank myself silly last night, coming back to an empty home, when I needed you, and you off in Springfield with that she-devil secretary of yours. Now I’ve got the worst hangover of my life, all right? I’m trying to get back to normal. Leave me alone.”

  “Fine, babe, fine. All I’m asking is for you to be a good wife and help me out here. I need Curland. I need his ideas, his connections. It’s the biggest goddamn deal of my life. I’m sorry those bastards tried to get rough, but that’s all over and we’re all out of it okay. But I don’t want my plans knocked into a ditch just because my high-society architect has gone into a snit.”

  “He didn’t say anything about derailing your plans. Your goddamned building is probably the farthest thing from his mind. He’s just upset, angry. He wants to know what happened and who did it. And why.”

  “When the time comes, I’ll give him a fill. Right now, I want you to calm him down, make him happy. Find out when he’s coming back. Meet him at the airport. Go to his house. I don’t care. Get him into a mood where I can talk to him. Tell him I’ll do everything I can for that girl. I’ll meet with him whenever he wants, wherever.”

  She collapsed back in her chair, staring down at her feet, part of her hair falling over her face.

  “My bill was passed,” he said. “Went through the Senate like a well-oiled cannonball.”

  “Hurray for you,” she muttered.

  He stood up. “You get well, whatever it takes. Then get yourself cleaned up. I’ll take you to dinner tonight. Bice’s. The Cape Cod Room. Whatever. I’m going over to the office. I’ve got five corporations to run. I haven’t paid any attention to most of them for weeks.”

  He went up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. She didn’t move.

  “I love you, babe,” he said.

  She put her hand on his. It felt cold.

  CHAPTER 14

  Matthias returned home from Wisconsin as tired as if he’d walked instead of flown. He’d stayed up all night with Cindy, and haunted the hospital waiting room throughout the next day, though her father, upon arriving, had strongly suggested he leave. After spending the next night in a grubby motel, uselessly calling the burn unit for reports on her unchanging condition, he decided he might just as well be in Chicago. He wasn’t doing Cindy any good, or himself. A sheriff’s deputy had taken a statement from him, and he’d filled out a lengthy mariner’s accident report for the Coast Guard. No one else seemed to have any interest in him.

  A salvage crew had pulled the remains of the Lady P from the shallows, and some local divers had gone looking for bomb fragments at the request of the sheriff’s office, but none had been recovered. The Transportation Department in Washington supposedly was going to investigate the incident, but it didn’t appear that much was going to come of it.

  His plane reached Chicago in late afternoon and he went directly to his Schiller Street house. As Matthias expected, Christian wasn’t there. A number of messages were waiting by the kitchen phone, most of them two or more days old. He didn’t even want to look at them.


  He went up to his room and collapsed on his bed, fully clothed. The doctor had given him some painkillers for his hand, and he’d taken them—though, in the Prussian tradition of his family, he usually avoided such medication. You learn not to mind the hurt, his grandfather had told him when he was a little boy. Prussians don’t cry.

  It was dark when he awoke. He thought he’d simply reached the end of his sleep, that it was near dawn, but it was only a little past nine. He realized he’d been awakened by a sound. The damned doorbell.

  He wasn’t up to facing Sally. If it was Christian, he could just go find another harbor for the night. He had enough lady friends in the neighborhood.

  Matthias sat up on the edge of the bed. With his luck, it might be that Michigan police chief again. Actually, that was one person he actually would like to see.

  Swinging open the front door, he was surprised to find Diandra, an ethereal figure in a long white dress, hands clasped together, head slightly bowed.

  “I called Door County. They told me you’d left today. I took a chance that you’d be home by now.”

  “And so I am.”

  “May I come in? I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Yes, of course. Excuse me. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  He led her into the living room. She looked around, curious.

  “It’s just as I imagined your house would be.”

  “Please sit down. Would you like a drink?”

  She hesitated. “Yes. Vodka and tonic. It will help.”

  He returned with two glasses, managing them clumsily with his bandaged fingers.

  “How’s your hand?”

  “I certainly know it’s there. The doctor said I should be fine in a couple of weeks. Cindy will be scarred for life—on her back and leg.”

  “They do wonders with plastic surgery now. Peter said to tell you he’s going to get her the best.”

  “How nice.”

  She crossed her legs demurely, then sank back in the couch, lifting her glass and looking at him over the rim. “He’s really upset.”

  “I’m sure he is. It was an expensive boat.”

  “You’re being unfair. He wants to do everything he can.”

  “How about providing an explanation?”

  She glanced away, to the painting of his mother, then back. “He’d like you to believe it was just an accident.”

  “I’d like to believe that myself. But it wasn’t.”

  She sighed. “I’ll tell you what he told me. And I believe him. He said he has some business rivals. I guess they’re not very principled. He’s not sure it was them, but he went to the authorities about them. He said he did, anyway. He doesn’t think they’ll try anything like that again.”

  “Sounds all very neat.” He was angry, but not at her. He regretted his churlishness to her up in Wisconsin.

  “I’ve heard of things like this before,” she said. “A designer whose shows I used to work in had a showroom firebombed once, and never did find out why. In any event, Peter doesn’t seem very worried, so it must be all right.”

  “Of course. Everything is all ticketyboo.”

  “What?”

  “An upper-class English colloquialism. Sorry.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “I’m just mad. I wish I knew at who.”

  They looked at each other. He had held her naked body just a few days before. He’d run his hands all over her. Somewhere in all that, he recalled that she’d told him she loved him—and he her. But that night was so far removed from their present circumstance that it seemed almost as if it had never happened.

  “Where does this leave us, Matthias?”

  He shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

  “Do you still want to do Peter’s building?”

  The truthful answer was yes. He couldn’t get that out of his mind, either. When his plane was approaching Chicago, he’d looked off toward the slums along the north branch of the river, imagining the curving sail and soaring tower rising from there to the sky. He’d sternly told himself that he ought not have any part of the project now, then questioned why that was so. It wouldn’t make any difference to Cindy whether the building was erected or not. Poe was going to put something up there. Why not his design?

  “I haven’t decided. I’d like to think about it some more, after I’ve managed a good night’s sleep.”

  “Did I awaken you? I should have realized you’d be taking a rest.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “Would you at least talk to Peter about it? He’d like you to.”

  “I don’t suppose he’s made up his mind on the design.”

  “As a matter of fact, I think he has—the full-blown one, with the sail. But don’t tell him I told you. Please don’t tell him anything I’ve said.”

  “Or done.”

  “Matt, please.”

  “You probably shouldn’t have come.”

  “I had to. I couldn’t leave things the way they were.”

  “Shall we just forget that night?”

  “I don’t want to answer that question.”

  He sought her eyes, but she kept them from him.

  “All right. I’ll call him. Perhaps tomorrow.”

  “You’ll meet with him tomorrow?”

  Had he sent her to arrange this? “No. I may call him tomorrow.”

  “He’s holding a press conference Thursday, I think maybe about the building.”

  “I’ll call him.”

  She finished her drink and set the glass on a coaster on the table next to her. Then she sat back primly, hands folded in her lap. “I probably ought to go.”

  “What about us?”

  “I’d like to be your friend, Matthias.”

  “My friend.”

  The doorbell rang. As his father would say, people in polite society didn’t come calling at this hour.

  Another surprise. Sally. She rushed into his arms.

  “Matt! I saw the lights and was hoping you’d be home. I was so worried about you, darling. I kept calling you. I couldn’t find Christian. Are you all right? You gave me such a scare.”

  She pulled him tight and lifted her face to be kissed. He did as she wished, but stiffly, embarrassed.

  “Oh, dear. Your hand. Did I hurt you?”

  She stepped back, and then noticed the woman sitting in the living room.

  Diandra gave her a weak smile. “Hello, Sally.”

  “Mrs. Poe.” Sally’s face darkened. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

  “I—I just dropped by. I wanted to make sure Mr. Curland was all right.”

  “Of course you did.” She glanced at him unhappily and stepped back toward the door. “Well, I can see I’ve come at an inconvenient time. Good night, everybody.”

  “Sally, please stay.”

  She pulled open the door. “Perhaps we might talk tomorrow.”

  “Sally, for God’s sake.”

  “Good-bye, Matthias.”

  Her heels clicked sharply on the walk.

  Diandra got up.

  “Now I really must go,” she said.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  She touched his arm, but only for a moment. “There’s nothing to say. Just meet with Peter. We’ll work things out from there.”

  Christian breezed in early in the morning, catching Matthias in the midst of fixing himself a bloody Mary.

  “Home is the sailor, home from the sea, I see,” he said cheerily. “Preparing to launch yourself again, big brother?”

  “It’s my hand. It hurts like hell. I’m afraid I’ve been using alcohol therapy.”

  “Grandfather would disapprove.”

  Christian put a kettle of water on and got a jar of instant coffee out of the cupboard.

  “I don’t mind,” Christian said. “I enjoy a bit of role reversal now and then. I’ve got a busy day ahead of me. Larry Train’s promised me my own one-man show and I’ve got to get some pictures together. Our friend
Poe’s already said he’ll buy one. Sunshine everywhere, big brother.”

  “Do you have enough work at hand? I thought all you’ve been doing is portraits.”

  “May have to borrow a few of those back, just to flesh out the exhibition. We’ll hang them as ‘sold.’ But I’ve got a few canvases here and there. I stashed some over at the museum, and there are a couple up at the house in Lake Forest. And of course Larry has some he hasn’t sold. That’s what sparked this. He thought we might as well make a big deal out of it.”

  “I wish you luck.” He meant it sincerely.

  Christian poured some hot water in the cup and then stirred the mixture vigorously with a spoon.

  “Luck to you, too. Have you and Sally set a date?”

  “That’s not exactly been decided.”

  “I’ll be happy to be best man. I am, don’t you know.”

  He downed his coffee in quick gulps. “Must dash, big brother. Badly need a shower and shave. You want to come with me to the museum? Poke around a little? Look at my stuff?”

  “I didn’t know you had any of your paintings there.”

  “I put them away in the vault.”

  “I’m not really up to it. I have all these phone calls to answer.”

  “Well, suit yourself. You ought to watch that drinking, old fellow. It can get to you.”

  He started to leave, then stopped. “You haven’t given Sally an engagement ring.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “I know it’s dreadfully middle class, big brother. But so is Sally. Why don’t you give her Mother’s? Sally would like that.”

  “Mother’s ghost wouldn’t.”

  “Mother wouldn’t give a damn, Matt. It meant about as much to her as her marriage.”

  Among the telephone messages that had been waiting for Matthias was a surprising one. Douglas Gibson was one of his oldest friends, but they hadn’t had much contact in recent years, the last time a chance encounter one evening on New York’s Fifth Avenue. Now Gibson wanted to see him, rather urgently. When Matthias returned the call, he quickly suggested lunch at the Chicago Club. Matthias hadn’t arrived at any sensible decision as to how to deal with Sally, and didn’t want to wait around the house for another encounter with her until he’d made up his mind what to do. He accepted.