by James Burke
"Anything else on the ladies?"
"Not that I can think of - or read from my notes."
"Okay. How about the ubiquitous Mr. Conners? How'd you do on him? I know the time's been short."
"We had some fun and some luck. Interesting case."
"So give."
"Well, Conners is an anomaly. He just doesn't fit the mold any way you tum it. Guess I'll begin at the beginning."
"That would be nice."
"Born 1954 in Cincinnati, only son of Leon and Magda Kanarsky. Baptized David Carl Konarsky. Father was a butcher - is still - with a local food chain. Salt of the earth, middle-class type; church goer, faithful voter, volunteered for naval duty in World War Two, that kind of good citizen, you know. Police, credit, everything clean. There was one other child, I lona Jean, born 1958, now divorced and living in Chicago, under the name Ivy Retsinger."
"Don't tell me Delaware Ave."
"Okay, I won't, but it's not too far away. North side. Near Loyola. I'm trying to get a picture of her. Should have it shortly. Maybe she's Felicia Martin."
"I was thinking the same thing: Conners brings younger sister to keep tabs on the lovely Kelly. Hmm. Could be. Keep trying on the picture. Now tell me about young David."
"David was the epitome of the all-American boy. Went to a tough private high school in Cincinnati, graduated number one in his class, 1961, starring in basketball and track. Had some collegiate offers for his athletic ability, but passed them up to take a merit scholarship at the state university. David rolled right along, straight A's and a list of student honors and clubs as long as your arm, graduated and was accepted at the number-one law school in the country." (Terry didn't elaborate; he didn’t need to. He'd gone to that law school himself and was always quick to award it that "number one" status.)
"David ate'em up in the big leagues just like he'd done at home, and was leading his class when he suddenly quit law school in November 1976. I was intrigued, so I overstepped your restrictions just a bit by calling an old friend of mine and asking her to give my man the details on Kanarsky's legal demise. My friend happens to be the dean's secretary, and she's the soul of old New England discretion. My man gave her an appropriately cloudy cover story, fed her a ridiculously expensive lunch, and got the whole story.
"The lady remembered the incident well even though it was more than a decade ago, because she knew and liked Kanarsky and because it was 'that kind' of an incident. It seems David had a good friend, very rich, very well-placed, a 'Brahmin' so to speak, and they played together on those rare occasions when David took his nose out of the law library long enough to play. Oh yes, this 'Brahmin's' family was not only dough, prestige, background, and all that, but they were one of the principal factors in the university's perennially successful endowment drives.
"One autumn night, after a football game, there happened to be a party, kind of unplanned and casual, but with lots of drinking and pairing off. David and his friend happened to happen upon this soiree and proceeded to join in the fun. They met a couple of college girls and offered to take them home, and since David didn't drink often or much, his friend asked him to drive and to take his own date home first, so the Brahmin would have more time to assault the defenses of his young lady. They dropped off David's date, then proceeded to the other girl's house. The Brahmin had brought a flask with him and by this time both he and the girl were pretty well oiled.
"David waited while his friend took the girl in. Fifteen or twenty minutes went by, then all at once there was a lot of commotion inside the house-lights went on, doors slammed, and neighbors started peering out. Then the girl came to the door and staggered out, her dress in tatters about her waist, a cut and swollen place on the side of her face, and blood smears across her cheek, chin, and naked chest. She was screaming hysterically. David got out of the car and went to help her, but she screamed and beat on him, getting him mussed and bloody, just as the cops arrived.
"Now, Pat, I've gone into detail on this 'cause I think this incident and its aftermath give you a good idea of the kind of man this Conners is. I got a feeling he's important in whatever it is you're involved in. This is no run-of-the-mill-type.
"The cops came, saw the scene, and ran David off to jail on a rape charge. You see, the hysterical girl didn't know, or at least couldn't tell, what had happened. David's 'friend' left him in the lurch. David got out on bail, but on Monday he was expelled from law school despite his protestations of innocence. The 'friend' was hustled out of town by his family, and the young girl, who was not yet eighteen, stuck to her identification of David as the culprit. Finally David got a smart young lawyer who stirred up enough newspaper trouble to get the muzzles off the police force, and of course, the young victim reversed her story under pressure and cleared David. The law school offered to reinstate him, but not until the next semester when the scandal would have blown over. The dean's lady told my man that David suggested to the dean that he perform a physically impossible but vulgarly correct feat with his law school, and that was it.
"David went back to Cincinnati, sold cars for a while, and then went into the army. He got a commission and was assigned to the Criminal Investigations Division in the Far East. He had a superb army record, made captain, and was recommended for a regular commission, but he finished his tour and left. We next picked him up in Las Vegas - routine finger printing for employment in one of the casinos. Vegas police records say no arrests, no problems while he was there, almost two years. Then, he graduates to the big time. The Corporation makes him an offer he could refuse, but doesn't. Young David Kanarsky, now known as Dennis Conners, arrives in Chicago a couple years ago, sorta the new boy in the Corporation town, and inside two years he's moved along to the point where rumor has him in the running as Matthewson's replacement. How's that for a success story?"
"Then you figure if he's around anyplace, say here for instance, he'd be in charge of the show?"
"Oh yeah. And I'm sure he's working out of the hip pocket of that old fart, Mr. Henry, who runs it all, ultimately, from that castle in Jersey."
"Hmmm, I see. Wonder what they're up to?"
"Yeah. I'll bet you do."
"Anything else?"
"Where does Conners live in Chicago?"
"North side. Yeah, yeah, not too far from Delaware."
"That figures. And Terry, you did take care of those materials with our mutual friend, like I asked?"
"Yeah, reluctantly, but yeah."
''Thanks, pal.''
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"Gimme a call tomorrow or the next day if you have any problems."
"Yeah, Ter, but maybe it'll be long distance, real long distance."
"Oh, I see. Yeah. Well lemme know when you can. Good luck."
"Thanks. I'll be seeing you."
When Morley opened the apartment door, the aromas were mouth-watering. She didn't say anything about his having had to go to Carolina to get those cigarettes, but just hurried him to the table. The breakfast truly deserved the appellation of "he man number one." Afterwards they sat with their last cups of coffee, talking and laughing. She thought to herself that she could get to like this lazy life. She had quit commenting about Morley's soft job - after all, she didn't even have one any more, and at least he did go over to the office once in a while, even if it was just for show.
She hit the table lightly with a spoon. "What's on the docket today, your honor?"
Morley looked out the window. "Oh, I think it looks like a Miami day. Let's drive down there for lunch."
"Sounds fun."
"Why not? Then after lunch we'll get you a passport."
"A passport!" She was all attention.
"A passport. What for? Where are we going? What should we bring? You cad. Just like that! Where? You have a tour to guide or something? When do we leave? What's the weather like there?"
"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! One at a time. I just thought it'd be fun to take a trip, a surprise trip, and may
be you'll need a passport.''
"You love. What a nice surprise. But I've got to know what to bring."
"Okay. It'll be warm. Like a South Sea island." She looked at him, unbelieving. "You mean it?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Oh. Oh. I can't believe it. When?"
"About a week, maybe a little sooner. Okay?"
"Okay? You bet it's okay! Anytime!"
"How about your job in Chi?"
"You joke, mister. I resigned by phone; collect yet, when I left the Inn. Didn't I tell you?"
"You mentioned something about it at one of those strategic moments women use to float certain things, when men's attention is centered elsewhere; I didn't know you'd cut the cord. Oh, well, the man is always the last to know."
"Poor baby. How long will we be gone?"
"I dunno. It's up to us. However long we want to."
"C'mon. Really?"
"I mean it. Whatever we - really, you - decide."
"And where?"
"Same deal."
"You're not kidding, are you?"
"No, sweetheart, I'm not."
"You really know how to get a girl's attention."
"Well there is that other way - y'know - start by whacking them on the head a couple of times."
"Okay, okay. You've got mine. Now let's get with it. What next?"
"Let's leave about eleven. I'll run over to the office for a few minutes. You know, scare 'em by pretending I'm coming to work today."
"Yeah, everybody fears the unusual."
''Funneee.''
He drove to the office for a heart-to-heart with Roger, telling him he'd be taking some time off and not to count on him for a month or so. Roger was disappointed but not surprised, and said he'd be welcome whenever he returned. Roger did ask him point-blank if he was "serious" with Dana. Morley responded affirmatively and Roger looked pleased. Morley had brought Dana over a few days before and the three of them had lunched at Roger's "place." Roger had been totally captivated by Dana, and being a true friend, his commercial disappointment was outweighed by his delight with Morley's good luck. He had seen enough of Morley during those dark months after Monica's death, when he had to argue against Morley's conviction that somehow he'd been responsible for the tragedy, and he had actually feared for the man's mind. Now, at last, he seemed recovered, so Roger was not about to question the prescription. Morley needed a woman and this was some woman; lucky for him!
Before he left, Morley asked for a favor. "Hey, Rog, you know that rental car outfit you do business with at West Palm Airport.''
"Sure."
"Would you give them a call for me?"
"Sure."
"Thanks. Now this is what I'd like them to do. . . ."
On the way back home Morley stopped at the post office and signed for a registered letter from a Mr. A. Parsons in Los Angeles, obviously Terry's "good man." He went out to his car and opened it. There was a short note clipped to two pictures, identifying them by numbers placed on the back of the respective prints, and initialed "A.P." Then Morley looked at the pictures and the numbers and thought to himself that even "good" men made occasional mistakes. He turned the pictures to the light and looked closer, studied a while, and decided A.P. was a good man after all. He drove home with a thoughtful expression on his face. It was real. He had a lot to think about.
Dana was ready when he got back. He asked if he'd had any calls and she said no. As he was changing his shirt in the bedroom he checked that phone. The tiny piece of thread was still exactly in place. He did the same to the living room phone. Also in place. It made him feel good.
Morley went down 1-95 all the way to the end, beyond downtown Miami. He was erratic in his speeds, sliding from forty-five to seventy and sitting for various periods at most of the in-between numbers; he kept a close watch in the rearview mirrors without swiveling his head. He even left the interstate at Pompano, slowed for a nearby gas station, made a U-turn, and got back on the big road again, heading south. Dana noticed all this, of course, but stayed silent. At the end of the highway Morley made a fast exit and continued south for a couple of blocks, then he made two quick right turns, drove a block, made a left, another block, two more rights, and pulled into a drugstore parking lot, putting the car far back behind the building. They went inside the store and watched out the front window for a few minutes. Finally satisfied, he led the still silent but obviously amused Dana back to the car, and proceeded, again by a roundabout route, to a small photography shop in a block-long shopping area amidst an otherwise residential neighborhood. Again, Morley found a parking place where his car was shielded from the street.
Once inside the shop, Morley asked to see "Mr. Alvera" and was led through a door into the back of the store where there was a lot of drying and printing equipment and a small, non-private office area. There was a thin, dark man sitting on a stool in front of a table with stacks and rolls of prints and a film cutter on it. He came over and shook hands with Morley, then bowed low to Dana. "Señor Morley, it is good of you to come, and this lovely señorita - she is in need of a passport?"
"Yes, Mr. Alvera."
"And your time, Señor?"
"Soon as possible, please."
"May we get started then? This way, Señorita."
The whole thing only took about twenty minutes, posing, signing, and so forth. Mr. Alvera was fast and fluid. He knew his business well. They thanked him and were on their way.
They drove up to Ft. Lauderdale, and being starved by this time, stopped at a small restaurant on U.S. 1. They ate like vultures and then settled back over a leisurely second cup of coffee. Dana, an amused look in her eyes and a smile playing around the corners of her mouth, pushed the cup away, captured Morley's gaze, and said, "And now Mr. Pettybone, if you please. "
Morley smiled in spite of himself. He knew better than to pretend he didn't understand. "It's a long story."
"Time I got plenty of."
"Okay." He got serious. "I saw your friend Conners -"
''Ex-friend.''
"Right. Sorry, love. Anyway I saw this soldier Conners in Palm Beach two days ago. He passed by the office in a car. I just happened to be at the window, and I just happened to look up and out at exactly the right time."
"Oh God, Pat, please!"
"Not that, honey, not that. I know it's nothing to do with you. But I am afraid Mr. Conners has not given up the idea that I'm his man. He's given up on you helping him, but he's sure not convinced I’m clean. That’s why I did all that Mickey Mouse stuff on the way to see Mr. Alvera."
"I was afraid it was something like that. But there wasn't anybody, was there?"
"I don't think so. They'd have had to be awfully good - or have us bugged, and I know that's not so."
"I won't ask how."
"Good."
"And Conners, you still think he's a syndicate hit man."
"Honey, I'm sure of it." Her face started to cloud. "But I believe he works under cover of being a broker of sorts, and there's no way you could have known differently."
"Thank you. I mean that."
"You're welcome. I mean that."
"And Conners, he’s doing all this chasing around? Maybe?"
"Him and his men."
"His men!"
"Oh sure, he's got at least two, maybe more, with him."
"All for a lousy embezzler?"
"You just answered that one with your own question."
"Yeah, I see. So what does he want? You, or that something he thinks you've got?"
"Exactly. Only, as I said, I haven't got it. I think I know why they think so, and what it is, but I still haven't got it."
"So why don't you go up to him and explain? Put an end to it"
"It doesn't work that way, sweetheart. That's just in the make-believe world. In real life it has a reverse effect: he becomes sure I do have it. You know, 'methinks he doth protest too much.' "
"I see. So what can we do?"
"You just made it all worth
while."
"I did? How?"
"With that 'we.' "
"Well, it is 'us,' isn't it?"
"All the way."
"So we run? That's what Mr. Alvera was all about?"
"Uh-huh. But don't act so sad about it. I prefer to think of it as a hard-earned vacation for both sides, with us out of town and them cooling off."
"And, all this secrecy and phony name stuff I signed and those credit cards - all those papers and things Mr. Alvera had - that's so they can't follow us?"
"Right on, lover."
"And you just expected me to sign on the dotted lines, ask no questions, and tag along?"
He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "So you just flunked your blind obedience test. But you passed the one on smarts. No, my dear, I'd've been worried if you hadn't asked."
"Aha. Me comprende. You're one smart travel agent, with some very odd connections and friends."
"I wasn’t always a travel agent."
"I know. You were also a soldier and a pen pusher. Sure, I imagine you pushed a pen about like you sell plane tickets."
"So I met some nice people who taught me some nice things."
"And some not so nice, I'll bet."
"Perhaps."
"Like your friendly neighborhood document maker, Mr. Alvera?"
"He's a gem, love. A real gem. Actually he's a friend of a friend, to be honest."
"Hey, that's good. Keep it up. Be honest." But she tempered her blast with a smile. "And so all this stuff is just in case - in case we want to leave quietly and stay lost?"
