Graveyard Plots

by Bill Pronzini

  He printed a short, two-paragraph note on one of the pieces of paper, folded it, and slipped it into an envelope. He addressed the envelope, sealed it, finished his breakfast, put on his overcoat, and went out to the elevator.

  In a drugstore two blocks from the Graceling Hotel, Cain bought a twenty-two-cent stamp. There was a mailbox on the opposite corner, and he dropped the envelope inside after noting on the front the times that mail was picked up there.

  Before returning to the Graceling, Cain bought a newspaper from one of the sidewalk vendors. In his room, he read it carefully. There was no mention of the episode in Hillsborough. Cain had not expected that there would be; for one thing it had happened well past midnight, too late for the morning editions; for another, and more importantly, he knew that Agenrood would not have called in the police. But he read the paper thoroughly just the same.

  He lay on his bed, thinking, for the remainder of the afternoon. At five o'clock, he went out to a nearby restaurant and ate a light supper. On the way back from there, he stopped at a parking garage that had a telephone booth. He inserted a dime and dialed a number from memory. A man's voice answered.

  "Hello?"

  Cain did not say anything.

  "Hello?" the voice repeated.

  Cain held the receiver away from his ear.

  "Hello? Hello? Who is this?"

  Cain hung up and left the garage.

  The distinguished-looking man who sat in James Agenrood's private office at Consolidated Trades, Incorporated, tamped the dottle from his briar pipe and said, "Let's have a look at this note, Jim."

  Wordlessly, Agenrood passed a folded sheet of paper across his marble-topped desk. The distinguished man picked it up, unfolded it, and read:

  Agenrood:

  What happened Wednesday night can happen again, if there is a need for it. And if there is, you can be sure a garage wall will not be my primary target. Stay by your phone this weekend.

  The distinguished man folded the paper again and laid it carefully on Agenrood's desk. "No signature," he said.

  "Did you expect there to be one?"

  "Easy, Jim."

  "I'm all right."

  The distinguished man refilled his pipe. "What do you think he means?"

  "It's obvious, isn't it?"

  "Maybe."

  "He wasn't trying to kill me the other night at all. He's not a professional assassin."

  "Unless he's freelancing."

  "That's possible, I suppose," Agenrood said. "In any case, he knows a lot about me. I don't know how, but he's got my private telephone number at home."

  "He called you?"

  "Yes."

  "When?"

  "Last night."

  "What did he say?"

  "Nothing. Nothing at all. I could hear him breathing on the other end of the line, and then he hung up."

  "How do you know it was him?"

  "It was him," Agenrood said.

  "You haven't talked to the police, have you?"

  "I'm not a fool, Len."

  "I didn't mean to imply that," the distinguished man, Len, said.

  "I've put Reilly and Pordenza on it. They're good men."

  "Sure."

  "They learned that a dark blue sedan was abandoned in the Mission District some time Wednesday night. It had been stolen earlier in the evening from a downtown parking lot. First three letters on the plate were DRD. It looks like that was the one he used."

  "That bases him in San Francisco," Agenrood said. "The envelope this note came in was postmarked there."

  Len nodded.

  Agenrood said, "Did Reilly and Pordenza learn anything else?"

  "No."

  "Well, whoever he is, he's got to be known to the National Office," Agenrood said. "Only somebody within the Circle could find out as much about me as he seems to know."

  Len rubbed his nose with an index finger. "Can you think of anybody who has a grudge against you? Anybody you pushed, no matter how lightly, at one time or another?"

  "None that would try anything like this."

  "Give me their names anyway."

  Agenrood wrote several names on a sheet of paper from his desk and gave the list to Len. He glanced at it briefly and tucked it into the pocket of his olive silk suit. "Are you staying home this weekend?"

  "What else can I do?"

  "I can put a couple of men on your house in case he tries something."

  "No, Len," Agenrood said. "How would that look?"

  Len nodded slowly. "Yes, I see what you mean."

  "I don't think he'll do anything until after he talks to me," Agenrood said. "I'll be all right."

  "If he calls, you let me know right away."

  "I will."

  Len stood. "Try not to worry, will you? We'll find him before long."

  Agenrood did not speak. The two men went to the door. When Len had gone, Agenrood closed the door and stood looking at it for a long moment.

  "I hope so," he said finally, in a whispering voice. "I sincerely hope so."

  On Saturday night, shortly past eight, Cain left the Graceling Hotel for the first time since Thursday evening. There was an icy wind off the bay, blowing ethereal wisps of fog overhead; he walked quickly. On Pine Street, near Powell, he entered a quiet, dark cocktail lounge. He ordered a draft beer from the red-vested barman, and then carried it with him into the rear of the lounge to where a public telephone booth stood between the rest room doors. Inside the booth, Cain set the glass on the little shelf beneath the phone and dialed the same number that he had on Thursday night.

  Presently, there was a soft click and a man's voice said guardedly,

  "Yes?"

  "Agenrood?"

  A brief pause. "Yes?"

  "Did you get my note?"

  Another pause, longer this time. Then, "I received it."

  "Did you understand it?"

  "I think I did."

  "Good," Cain said. "I thought you would."

  "Just who are you?"

  "You don't really expect me to tell you that, do you?"

  "All right, then. How much do you want?"

  "Two hundred thousand dollars."

  Cain heard Agenrood suck in his breath.

  "Did you hear me, Agenrood?"

  "I heard you."

  "Well?"

  "I don't keep that kind of money."

  "But you can get it readily enough."

  "Suppose I don't agree?"

  "What do you think?"

  "You're making a large mistake," Agenrood said. "I represent—"

  "I know who you represent."

  "Then you're a fool."

  "Two hundred thousand dollars," Cain said.

  "If I pay it, you won't live to spend it."

  "If you don't," Cain said, "you won't live. Period."

  There was a long silence.

  "Well. Agenrood?"

  "I'll have to think it over."

  Cain smiled. "You do that."

  "How can I get in touch with you?"

  Cain continued to smile. "Stay by your phone, Agenrood," he said, and replaced the receiver.

  James Agenrood paced the wine-colored carpet in his study nervously. He said, "He called about eight tonight, Len."

  The distinguished man stood holding a snifter of brandy by Agenrood's desk. His features were grim. "And?"

  "He wants two hundred thousand dollars."

  Len said, "My God!"

  "He's deadly serious. It was plain in his voice."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I don't know," Agenrood said. "That's why I asked you to come by."

  Len rolled the brandy snifter between his hands. "If you pay him," he said slowly, "it won't be the last time. If he knows you're worried, worried enough to come up with the money once, he'll be back. Again and again."

  "Yes. I was thinking the same thing."

  "I'd like to say Reilly and Pordenza have something further," Len said. "Or that somebody on that list you gave
me checks out as possible."

  "But there's nothing, is there?"

  "Nothing at all."

  "Then I've got to pay him," Agenrood said. "Either that, or—"

  He left it there, moistening his lips.

  Len walked across to the wine-colored drapes covering a large picture window. He stood with his back to Agenrood. After a time he said, "That would be very dangerous, Jim."

  "I know."

  "You're established now, both here and with the National Office. And you're important to us, Jim. Very important. I think you realize what I mean. If something went wrong . . ."

  "I know that, too," Agenrood said.

  Len turned and met Agenrood's eyes. "I don't advise that alternative," he said.

  "Do you think I like the idea of it any better? But it doesn't look like I have much choice, does it?"

  Len did not say anything.

  "Will you help me, Len?" Agenrood asked.

  "I don't know."

  "I've never asked you for a favor before."

  "No, you haven't."

  "I want two men, that's all."

  The distinguished man worried his lower lip. "How do you know he'll leave himself open? He's done the rest of it very shrewdly."

  "If he doesn't, I can arrange it."

  "Are you sure?"

  "No," Agenrood said. "I'm not sure."

  "When is he supposed to contact you again?"

  "He didn't say. I don't think it will be too long, though."

  "I see."

  The two men stood quietly for several minutes. Agenrood said then, "More brandy, Len?"

  "Yes."

  Agenrood poured more brandy for each of them. They stood drinking in silence. Finally, Len said, "All right, Jim. If you can arrange a quiet place, out of the way. If you can do that."

  Agenrood inclined his head and, wordlessly, they continued to stand drinking their brandy in the dark study.

  The telephone booth in the lobby of the San Francisco Hilton Hotel smelled of lime-scented after-shave lotion. Cain did not like the smell, but he kept the door shut nonetheless. He said into the receiver, "What's your decision, Agenrood?"

  "All right," Agenrood said. "I don't have any other alternative, do I?"

  "You're a wise man," Cain told him. "When can you have the money?"

  "By Tuesday."

  "Fine."

  "How do you want to pick it up?"

  "You bring it to me. Personally."

  "There's no need for that."

  "There's a need for it," Cain said.

  There was a long silence, and then Agenrood said, "Whatever you say."

  "If you don't come yourself, I'll know it."

  "I'll come myself."

  Cain nodded in the booth.

  Agenrood said, "Where do I go?"

  "Are you familiar with the Coast Highway, just south of Rockaway Beach?"

  "Yes."

  "There's a Standard station on the highway there that has gone out of business," Cain said. "Loy Brophy's is the name of it. Park in there, by the pumps, at midnight Tuesday. When you see headlights swing in off the highway, and they blink off and then back on again, follow the car. Have you got all that, Agenrood?"

  "Yes. Is that all?"

  "Just one more thing."

  "Yes?"

  "Make sure you're alone."

  Cain left the Hilton Hotel. A block away, he hailed a taxicab and told the driver where he wanted to go. The driver looked at him curiously for a moment, and then shrugged and edged out into the light Sunday afternoon traffic. Cain settled back against the rear seat, lit a cigarette, and thought out carefully what he was going to say when he arrived at his destination.

  James Agenrood said, "That's all of it, Len. Just as he told it to me on the telephone."

  The distinguished man shifted in his chair. He took the briar pipe from his suit pocket and looked at it for a moment. "It sounds like he's covering himself from all angles."

  "Not quite."

  "No," Len agreed. "Not quite."

  "He won't be able to see inside my car unless he pulls right up next to me at the pumps. And even if he does that, it will be dark enough in the back seat to hide anybody down on the floorboards. He'd have to get out and walk right up to the car, and he's not going to do that, not there on the highway. He's got some other place in mind."

  "Suppose that other place is one that's well-lighted, with a lot of people around?"

  "I don't think so, Len," Agenrood said. "If that was his idea, he wouldn't have set it up for Rockaway Beach; that's a pretty dark and sparsely populated area. And he wouldn't go through all that business about blinking his headlights off and on, and then leaving with me following him."

  Len nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe you're right."

  "I think I am."

  "Why do you suppose he wants you to bring the money personally? You'll see his face that way."

  "I don't know," Agenrood admitted. "He has to be a little crazy to try something like this in the first place, and there's no way of telling what could be going through his mind. Maybe it's just a precaution against a trap and he's covering himself the way you said."

  "Maybe," Len said. "And maybe he intends, once he has the money, to finish what he started Wednesday night."

  "Yes," Agenrood said, taking a breath. "But it doesn't really matter, does it? If that's what he plans to do, he won't have the chance."

  "I don't like it. It's damned risky."

  "No riskier than turning him down, and then having to look over my shoulder every time I go out for a package of cigarettes until you locate him. If you locate him."

  Len filled his pipe. When he had gotten it lighted, he said, "Reilly and Pordenza?"

  "I know Pordenza. He's very capable."

  "So is Reilly."

  "All right, then."

  "He told you he'd know if you didn't come yourself?"

  "That's what he said."

  "He might plan on watching your house, then."

  "I thought of that."

  "But we can't do anything there."

  "No."

  "How do we get Reilly and Pordenza into your car?"

  "They can come across the rear of my property and slip in through the back entrance to the garage. I'll have the garage door closed, and if he's out on the street somewhere he won't be able to see inside. They can get in and out of sight before I come out."

  "That sounds okay."

  "I guess that's it, then."

  "Yes, that's it. But listen, Jim, I don't want to lose you, and neither does the National Office. Go easy Tuesday night."

  "I plan on doing just that," Agenrood said. "Everything is going to turn out just fine."

  "I hope so. Because if there's any trouble, I can't help you, Jim. As much as the National Office likes you, they won't go to bat for you if there's a foul-up."

  "I'm aware of that."

  "Good luck, then."

  Agenrood smiled faintly. "And good hunting?"

  "Yes," Len said. "And good hunting."

  At twenty minutes past nine on Tuesday night, Cam left the Graceling Hotel and walked to the corner of Taylor and Eddy streets. There, he entered a gray stone building; over the building's entrance was a yellow-and-black sign that read: RIGHT-WAY RENT-A-CAR—$25 PER DAY, .50 PER MILE.

  It was five minutes till ten when he emerged from an adjacent parking facility, driving a new, light brown, two-door hardtop. He had had no difficulties.

  The luminescent dial of Cain's wristwatch read ten-forty when he parked the hardtop less than half a block beyond James Agenrood's red brick home on Devaney Way in Hillsborough. He eased his body down on the seat, remaining beneath the wheel; he adjusted the rearview mirror until he could see clearly Agenrood's garage, and the pale light that burned above its electronic door. He was not worried about being seen there, or of anything happening to him so near Agenrood's home; but he kept his right hand on the automatic in the pocket of his overcoat just the same.
/>   Agenrood came out at eleven-thirteen; Cain saw his face clearly in the garage light. He was alone. He disappeared into the garage, and moments later the cream-colored Cadillac began to glide backward to the street. Headlights washed over the hardtop, but Cain was low enough on the seat so that he was sure Agenrood could not see him. The Cadillac swept past, and through the windshield now he watched it turn the corner at the first intersection and then vanish from sight.

  Cain remained where he was for five minutes, timing it by his watch. Then he straightened on the seat, started the hardtop, and drove off in the direction Agenrood had taken.

  Cain turned off Sharp Park Road, south onto the Coast Highway, at twenty minutes before twelve. He drove through Pacifica and Rockaway Beach; the Pacific Ocean lay smooth and hushed and cold on his right, like a great limitless pool of quicksilver in the shine from the three-quarter moon overhead.

  He began to slow down when he saw the black-shadowed shape of the closed Standard station ahead of him. He came parallel to it and then made a left-hand turn across the highway and swung up onto the square of asphalt in front of the station. The cream-colored Cadillac sat dark and silent by the forward pumps. Cain touched the headlight switch, shutting the beams off; immediately, he flicked them back on again. He drove across to the opposite side of the asphalt square, waited there to allow a large truck to pass, and then swung out onto the Coast Highway again, resuming a southerly direction.

  He looked up into his rearview mirror and saw Agenrood come out of the Standard station and fall in behind him.

  Inside the cream-colored Cadillac, one of the two men hunched down on the floor of the back seat—Pordenza—said, "Where do you think he's heading?"

  James Agenrood's hands were slick on the steering wheel. "I don't know," he answered.

  "Well, I hope he gets there damned quick," Pordenza said. "I've got a charley horse in my leg."

  "Just stay out of sight."

  "Don't worry, Mr. Agenrood."

  "We know what we're doing," Reilly put in quietly.

  Agenrood watched the crimson lights two hundred yards ahead of him. A fine sheen of perspiration beaded his wide forehead. They continued for another mile, and then the left directional signal on the hardtop winked on; the car began to reduce its speed.

  Agenrood said, "He's going to turn."

  "Where?" Pordenza asked.

  "There's a narrow dirt road up ahead. It winds up into the hills, to some private homes scattered across the tops."