I was, of course, overjoyed. I was so proud my little girl had managed to look after herself sensibly for the years we had been separated. In my elation I scarcely considered Harry’s news about Callahan. Mayn froy. Sie fährt morgen! I showed the letter to Mrs Cornelius. She read it carefully, first with pursed lips and a frown, then with a peculiar smile. Naturally I had completely failed to realise how ordinary female jealousy can distort the most objective information. Mrs Cornelius was typical in this respect. She spoke with flat significance. ‘Ya gonna send ‘er ther cash, then, are yer, Ivan?’
‘That’s the problem. I haven’t anything like the amount she needs. And I’d have trouble getting more. Of course she must have a first-class ticket.’
‘Better write an’ let ‘er know yer carn’t afford it, then, ‘adn’t yer?’
‘I can’t do that, Mrs Cornelius.’ I was surprised at her. ‘Esmé is my betrothed. We intend to be married. I left her behind only because she had no passport.’
‘Got one easy enough nar, ain’t she.’
‘Italian. Not French. Can you imagine what she must have gone through? She hardly mentions it. She can’t bear to. I knew Kolya wouldn’t let her down. It was that bourgeois Anäis. I always found her a snob. The wicked bitch! Thank God, though, for Annibale’s generosity. I owe him a great deal. He’s been a true friend to us both.’
‘I’m sure.’ Her rivalry was patent. ‘An’ she’s bin a perfec’ lady, a bleedin’ nun. Keepin’ ‘erself by the sweat of ‘er brow while stayin’ pure an’ untouched fer ‘er ‘usband ter be. Makes yer weep.’ She was pitying. ‘Yore ther softest touch on earf, Ive, for orl yer ‘orrible ways. If y’ve got an ounce o’ sense y’ll tear that bleedin’ letter up an’ ‘ave done wiv it.’
Of course I ignored her. She meant well, as she had in Constantinople. But she had not met Esmé. Once I introduced my girl, everything would become clear. I became obsessed with the problem of raising the money. Mrs Cornelius pulled herself together. I think she realised what profound forces were at work. She offered no more negative advice. It was, she admitted, my own life. All she asked was that I spend my own, not the company’s money. She should not have feared. I possessed my usual means of earning honest cash. What I had to find quickly was a backer for my patents. Happily I was in the perfect area. Los Angeles and San Francisco, not to mention the five hundred miles between, had attracted several newer fortunes, such as Hughes’ and Davenport’s; many big industries were based in the State. But I had no idea whom to approach, nor how best to begin. My circumstances meant I could not contact Washington or any old Klan associates and Harry Galiano’s news of Callahan alarmed me. I did not dare cash a further check. I had to be more than usually circumspect about anyone whose financial assistance I sought. The patents were in my own name. I required a sympathetic ear and absolute discretion as well as an enthusiastic chequebook.
I had to offer my patents, therefore, to someone willing to keep a secret until I cleared my name and became officially resident in the USA. Harry Galiano evidently was not yet interested in industrial expansion. He might, however, have friends who were. Similarly most film people were notoriously wary of investing in anything speculative, save movies. I went on stage in a daze, my lines and gestures performed completely automatically. I considered a mental list of firms: Gilmore, Curtiss, Lockheed, Douglas, Studebaker, Martin and so on. Most were exploring some field of aviation. For the moment I had no faith in dirigibles or aeroplanes and did not particularly want to be associated with them. They had brought me too much ill-fortune. Oil was my next thought. I had detailed specifications prepared of my gas-powered car, a machine designed to make use of oil well by-products or even sewage waste. It would be cheaper to run than a conventional petrol-fuelled vehicle. The only serious technical problem lay in the storing and accurate valving of the gas. It was less stable than petroleum. To counter this I had invented a new type of cylinder (and, incidentally, the method of safety ignition still used today). Everyone knew the expense of refining Californian crude oil and realised it must eventually run out. Gas was cheaper to process. Unlike petrol it could be artificially manufactured. It seemed inevitable that my gas car, even perhaps my dynamite car, must in time replace the conventional automobile. Together with these designs I had a suction pumping method and a rapid refining process both of which would radically reduce well maintenance costs and produce a million barrels a day for every current thousand. By the time we finished that evening’s performance, I was certain I should soon possess more than enough money.
I went from the theatre to the nearest Western Union office and cabled Esmé: I had received her letter, noted the contents and a ticket would shortly follow. I returned to our digs, having celebrated thoroughly in a low-priced gin joint I knew, at about three in the morning. I was staying at Mulvaney’s Apartments on Jones Street, not very far from the theatre. It had a fancy glass door, reinforced with wire mesh; the desk was in the vestibule between this and a similar door some five feet further along. As I picked up my key from the Japanese night porter, he whispered something to me. I thought he was asking if I wanted a woman (it is a standard question from night porters at that time in the morning). I told him no. On the other side of the second glass door a slender figure was rising from where it had been sitting on the stairs. I grew alarmed at first, thinking it must be Brodmann. But this man was much taller. I went through the second door and turned up the gas in the hall. Smiling uncertainly, his hands deep in the pockets of his raincoat, Officer Callahan seemed apologetic. I did not care why. With Esmé so close, it now appeared I was to be locked away from her. I had no visa, false papers. I would spend time in a Federal jail, then be deported. It was about the best I could hope for.
‘I suppose I’m speaking to Mr Pallenberg,’ said Callahan.
I did not reply. I stood staring at him, almost tempted to kill him. I was desperate. I could not be separated any longer from my girl; it would be an outrage.
‘Well,’ Callahan looked away from me, ‘where do you care to do this, sir?’
I took him up the flight of stairs and unlocked the door to my room. He waited for me to enter, then he followed me in. After I lit the globe I glanced quickly around to make sure I had left none of my cocaine in view. It was hidden, but if he decided to search my luggage he would find it easily. I wiped my moist forehead.
’You know your money’s frozen, do you, sir?’ The Irishman lowered his eyes towards the bed. It was unmade. He reached down and pulled the threadbare coverlet up, then seated himself, unbuttoning his raincoat and drawing out the same notebook he had used on the train. ‘We noticed you haven’t used the account. Besides that one check.’
‘I suppose it was my only mistake,’ I said.
‘Maybe. You didn’t do yourself much good blowing Walker without paying your hotel bill.’
I was not sure how much I should tell him. In a similar situation, with the Cheka in Russia, I had learned all information is worth hoarding. I waited to see if he would reveal anything else.
‘That was a pointless, petty crime,’ he said. ‘Up until then you’d kept your nose clean, at least as far as we had evidence. You could be charged for it.’
When I still remained silent, he went on: ‘And now you’ve changed your name, plainly to remain here illegally, since you’ve made no attempt to renew your visa.’
‘Is that it?’
He sighed. ‘A good lawyer could keep you in the country for a few months, maybe longer. Plainly you prefer it here. Is there something in Europe you’d maybe like to forget?’ He looked up at me from ambiguous, Catholic eyes. Suddenly I realised he was very probably a failed priest.
‘Can you help me?’ I said. My mouth was dry. I was trembling. Deliberately I let him see how nervous I was.
‘Help’s what I wanted to offer last year.’ I watched him grow slowly into his role. ‘We’re not ghouls. And we don’t always go by the book. What happened?’
‘I was frightened, Mr
Callahan.’ Seating myself on the other side of the bed, I did not look at him directly. I tried to imagine a confessional grille between us. ‘My life was threatened.’
‘Who by?’ His voice grew softer. ‘Can you say?’
‘I had no clear idea what the Ku Klux Klan was when I arrived. I love America. They offered me a speaking circuit. It seemed an ideal means of earning a living while I toured your country. I never planned to stay here forever. By the time I realised what the Klan actually was, I was deeply enmeshed. Nothing specific, but I knew it would be unwise to anger them.’
‘I guessed as much.’ He sighed. ‘Go on.’
I had no choice but to encourage this mockery of religious ritual, to paint him a picture of my terror, of Klan threats, of my attempts to get out and finally, after I had talked to him on the train, my decision to refuse any further lecture engagements. Whereupon Mrs Mawgan had turned me over to the organisation’s bully-boys. They had beaten me, left me for dead. It was the Klan, not the Justice Department, I had hidden from. Certainly I had no wish to return to Europe. I had done nothing wrong. I had fought the Bolsheviks in Russia. I had been instrumental in getting hundreds, possibly thousands, to safety through Odessa. The Chekist Commissar Brodmann had been specifically commissioned to hunt me down. I got up to open the closet containing my clothes. One of my Russian uniforms hung there. ‘Those decorations were honourably won,’ I told him. I explained how I had flown against the Reds, how I had crashed and almost drowned. Yet Brodmann had searched me out until I was forced to flee Odessa, returning to France, my birthplace. There I had been the victim of a Chekist conspiracy. I had come to America hoping I might eventually be forgotten. If I went back now I would probably be going to my death. I had worked for the Klan because I thought they were anti-Bolshevik. I had not realised their own revolutionary ambitions.
Now Callahan was nodding rapidly, still making his notes. His ‘Go on’ was automatic. He was a monument of pious sympathy. ‘That’s it, Mr Callahan. There’s no more, save a few details. I believe the Klan and the Cheka are still hunting me. If you succeeded, then they too must soon find me. I suppose I’m as good as dead.’
He shook his head adamantly. ‘Only the Justice Department could investigate your bank accounts. You should bear in mind it’s our job to protect people, as well. Why didn’t you come to me? I had a notion you were innocent. I gave you my card.’
‘I thought you had finished your enquiry. I could not believe I had done anything criminal. But Bessy said you’d jail me.’
‘Mr Whiskers wasn’t interested in you. He wanted to get the dope on Bessy Mawgan, enough to send her down for a long stretch. We’re pretty sure she was the Klan fronter for half a dozen side rackets.’ He paused. ‘Including narcotics,’ he said. ‘Prostitution. You name it. She and Clarke and that other woman, Tyler, moved in on a fairly small-time gyp. They turned the Klan into big bucks. But Mawgan had the weight as well as the pedigree. Her old man went to the chair for a double burn down in Toledo. We were pretty certain he was her fall guy. Did you have any idea of that?’
‘None.’
‘That was my hunch. You, I could get through to. You were an amateur. But she was an old campaigner. She was spreading the slush money. She was delivering the chippies and practically anything else, from gazoonies to moonshine, to darned near every official and politician in the country willing to take a squeeze. So, we need to have the goods on her if we want her to sing.’ He paused. ‘That’s why I’m willing to do a deal with you, Mr Pallenberg.’
‘You want information from me?’ I had none worth the name. Mrs Mawgan had always kept her other business affairs secret. He took my hesitation for fear, or possibly loyalty.
‘She put you on the spot. Why shouldn’t you tip her up? It you’re worried about recriminations, I’ll guarantee you’ll never have to take the stand. We’ll cover you all ways. And you can go on doing whatever it is you’re doing now. Anything you like, once you’ve whistled the whole tune and put your signature at the bottom.’
I saw a chance of immediately saving Esmé. ‘What about the money in my banks?’ I asked. ‘Will you release that?’
‘Can’t. On account of the order we used. It’s recorded as suspected criminal profits. When Mrs Mawgan takes a fall, or better still when all the crooks she was slipping the squeeze to are in the slammer, we’ll be able to do something about that. Meanwhile we prefer to know where you are. As our secret witness, we don’t want you leaving the country. You get an automatic “indefinite stay”. All you have to do is finger the floozy who put the spot on you. If you won’t, it’s hello Russia.’
I was convinced. It seemed I could gain my freedom, but disappointingly still had to find money for Esme’s fare. I decided, in the interests of justice and for the sake of those I loved, to make a statement. I felt like a rat, but I had no choice. I talked into the night, dearly wishing I could get to my cocaine to keep my thoughts in order. I mentioned every name which came back to me. I made it clear that Major Sinclair was an idealist. Prompted by my Confessor I invented orgies, murders, perversion and pay-offs. Some I did not know by name, I said, but I gathered they were big wheels in Washington. I excelled myself as an inventor. George Callahan was almost crooning with joy by the time I took the fountain pen from his hand and signed myself Max Peterson on the last page. ‘That’s peachy,’ he murmured in his strange Irish accent. ‘That’s peachy, Mr Peterson.’ He closed the book. ‘Now, so long as you haven’t pattered me, we’re in business. All we have to do is locate Mrs Mawgan, get her lagged and tagged on the strength of this little brief and we can start going against the politicians we’re really after. I’m much obliged. You might not understand, or care, but you’ve performed an important public service this night.’ He was virtually rubbing his hands.
‘I do realise it, Mr Callahan. I’ve no desire to associate with criminals. Had I been a degree more au fait with your country I should not be in this position.’
’For my part, Mr Peterson, I’m mighty grateful.’ There was a gleeful smirk on his thin, monkish face which he could not quite erase. As he left, he handed me a fresh card. ‘If you’re in any sort of a scrape, call that number and ask for George Callahan.’
‘Will the Klan be out for blood now, Mr Callahan?’ I knew I had sacrificed a great deal in order to be united with my Esmé. The beating outside Walker would be nothing to the ferocious tortures for which the Klan were famous. A good friend, but an implacable enemy, as Eddy Clarke had said. At least he was in jail, though he did not deserve to be. He would have understood my position. Indeed, if he had not been betrayed, I should not have been troubled by the Justice Department, Brodmann or this urgent need to raise money for Esmé’s ticket. Mrs Mawgan, on the other hand, had earned whatever came to her. No one would ever accuse me of betraying her. She had fled Walker, leaving me to the renegade Klansmen. Even then, given a choice, I would not have brought witness against her. But any rational person would agree that if a woman had to be sacrificed it should rightly be Mrs Mawgan. Esmé was in need of help. My innocent sister, my daughter, my love! Oh, how I would pile roses on her bed. Schönen roten rosen for meyn freydik froy! Moja siostra rózy. Meyn gelihte! She will save me from this groylik gadles! She will restore the truth. With her beside me, my cities shall take to the air again. No enemies shall I fear. Die Freunde sink gekommen und die Feinde entkommen!
Mrs Cornelius sitzt am Steuer. She could see I had not slept. Though she hated driving, feeling she somehow lost face by doing so, she took over when we left town next morning, bound for Hollister. She was an inexpert, if lordly, motorist, with her fringed green satin up to her thighs and her powerful muscles flexing as she manipulated the van towards the highway, cursing continuously. She paused long enough to ask me, almost sympathetically, if I had been frightened by something. Then I told her of my visit from the Federal officer. ‘Blimey,’ she said, ‘we c’d orl be in jug. Me an’ the free girls’re illegal too, ain’t we?’
The Laughter of Carthage: The Second Volume of the Colonel Pyat Quartet (Colonel Pyat Quartet Series Book 2) Page 67
