The Bind

by Stanley Ellin

  The pool, when he pulled off the trunks and slipped into it, turned out to be as warm as the bay. He lazily swam its scant length back and forth a few times, then hauled himself out. Nera was waiting there for him with a terry-cloth bath sheet. He wrapped himself in it and stood peering through the darkness in the direction of his own back yard.

  “What is it?” Nera said. “Expecting company?”

  “No, just wondering how you kept track of me through those hedges. You said you were watching from beside the pool here, but it’s like trying to see through a brick wall.”

  “Not if you’re over by that opening where the drain pump is.” She nudged his knee with hers. “You think I was lying about it? Come see for yourself.”

  He did, and saw that the narrow opening in the hedge allowed a fine view along the bayside by the bulb suspended over Milt Webb’s lawn. But its light did not quite extend as far as the Thorens’ dock. It was impossible to make out the outline of the sailboat moored there.

  “You see?” Nera said. “I like you very much, chino. I don’t lie to people I like very much.” She led him back to the lounges. “That towel must be soaked by now. You’ll be better off without it.”

  He tossed the damp towel aside and stretched out on a lounge hands clasped behind his head, eyes closed. Nera sat down beside him. “You going to sleep, mister?”

  “It depends. If you’re warming up to that wild story about Walter Thoren’s death you threatened to tell me, I might.” He patted the adjoining lounge. “How about moving over here? Save Walter for your analyst. I’ve got better things in mind for us.”

  “After I tell you about Walter. Look, I am not psycho on the subject, darling, and I will not have you going around thinking I am and being terribly kind to me about it. Now open your eyes.”

  “I listen with my ears.”

  “Then make sure you’re listening. Jake, I’m serious. This thing about Walter is not funny. It’s frightening.”

  He opened his eyes. “Why?”

  “Because it’s very likely Walter’s car was deliberately fixed so it would crash. Next week—tomorrow—it could be Fons. It could be any one of a dozen people close to Fons.”

  “Including you?”

  “Including me.”

  “So you must have told the police all about it. And since they know—”

  “They don’t know. We didn’t go to them. It would be very awkward if we did. They’d find out who certain people are and what they’re doing, and it’s not altogether legal. It has to do with Fidel. With the movement against him here.”

  “Castro?”

  “Naturally Castro,” Nera said impatiently. “How many Fidels do you know?”

  Jake pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Let me get this straight. You mean Thoren was somehow tied in with the anti-Castro movement? That he was working for the CIA or something?”

  “Not the CIA. Avispa. And he wasn’t working for it. He just helped it as an advisor.”

  “Avispa? What the hell is Avispa?”

  “An organization of Cuban freedom fighters. The most vital one really. Not like those others that go around collecting money and using it just to make a big noise here in Miami. It’s front line. It does all kinds of sabotage in Cuba. Sugar refineries, oil plants, factories, anything. It wasn’t too effective at the start, but after Fons got Walter involved in it, it really made Fidel sweat. Between the army experience Walter had at that kind of thing and the sort of brain power he had anyhow, he was brilliant at it.”

  Jake said dryly: “I see. So brilliant that some of Castro’s boys decided he had to go.”

  “Yes, whether you believe it or not. Oh, you make me furious. And you’re a writer, too. But if something out of the ordinary—”

  “Hold it, beautiful. I’m not saying things out of the ordinary can’t happen. I’m just saying this thing couldn’t. There’s way too much stacked against it.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as we both know Fons and Thoren hadn’t had anything to do with each other the last few years. So if Fons was his contact with it, Thoren didn’t have anything to do with this Avispa outfit for the last few years. Why would Castro’s boys take the risk of killing him now when he hasn’t been doing any damage to them all this time?”

  “Because he was doing damage to them all this time. Do you think he’d put aside his idealism just because he had a quarrel with Fons? Last year alone, he met with leaders of Avispa at least three or four times to go over their plans. And Fons never had anything to do with that part of it. His job is only to help raise money and buy materials. He has no head at all for stuff like machinery and explosives. But Walter knew everything about them. What explosives to use, where to plant them, everything.”

  “But he wasn’t involved in the actual operations, was he? All he did was the planning.”

  “All he did.” Nera’s voice was scornful. “You make it sound like nothing. But if you had any idea how much his plans cost Fidel—”

  “Hell, I’m not trying to take any credit away from Thoren. But you just said he was outside the organization and only had contact with its leaders. So who sold him out to the Reds? One of those leaders?”

  Nera said despairingly: “I don’t know. All I know is it’s been ruinous for us since Walter died. Everyone in the leadership is afraid to meet with the others now. They all wonder if one of them isn’t a Communist agent. Or it could be someone Walter knew outside of Avispa. Some Judas he should never have taken into his confidence.”

  “From what I’ve heard about him, he was not a man to take anyone into his confidence about anything.”

  “That’s true in a way. But he might have made one little slip, and that’s all that’s needed. Look at me right this minute. Look at the way I’m telling you all this. Do I really know you well enough for that?”

  Jake said solemnly: “No. All you know about me is that I’m a spy sent by some insurance company to investigate Walter Thoren’s death.”

  Nera put a warm, lotion-scented hand over his mouth. “Don’t make fun of me. I told you I was sorry about that, didn’t I? But now I think you can see how I got such ideas in my head. Blame them on what happened to Walter.”

  He pushed the hand aside. “Sweetheart, I still say your theory about him is all wet. And the only one I blame for anything is Fons. Where did he come off letting you in on this Avispa thing anyhow? If he had kept it to himself—”

  “Fons? Let me in on it?” Nera snorted. “Angel, I happen to be the one who involved Fons in it. I am the one whose property in Havana and Cienfuegos and Camaguey was stolen by the Reds. Half of everything I owned in the world, not even counting the rents they brought in. Fons has no blood in him. He’s a gentleman. An aristocrat. That’s why Papa bought him for me. So he could have aristocratic little grandchildren who would be invited to join the most exclusive clubs in Havana. After all, what more could a big, tough cop from out of the provinces want than aristocratic little grandchildren? Except that my husband was never man enough to make them. Involve me in Avispa? That fuñío? When Fidel showed what a thief and murderer he really was, all my precious husband wanted to do was sit and look sad.”

  “But not you.”

  “No, not me. Why? Do you dislike me for having some guts?”

  “What do you think?”

  Nera’s hand moved over his shoulder to the nape of his neck, gripped it painfully hard for a moment, and then released it. “If you must know, I think it’s damn lucky you and I married the people we did. We’re too much alike, chino. If we’d ever married each other, there would have been a couple of heavenly days to start with, and all the rest would have been hell on earth.”

  “I’m not so sure. And I’m still not so sure you have the right slant on Thoren’s death.”

  “Now you’re just being stubborn.”

  “Because there’s still too much about it I don’t understand. Like, how come Thoren let himself get involved with Avispa at all? Did he ha
ve investments in Cuba too?”

  “Mother of God, does it always have to be money? The only money that came into it was what he gave Fons for Avispa when it was started. He always gave generously to the movement. Then one time he asked exactly what Avispa was doing, what its function was—at that time it was sending small planes over the cane fields to destroy the crops—and when he found out what the operation was he was very much affected. You know what a cold man he was, but Fons told me you could see him light up with interest. He told Fons in strictest confidence that he himself had been a demolitions expert in the army during the war in Europe and believed his experience might be valuable to the movement. So at a party here one night, Fons took the chance and introduced him to some of the Avispa leadership. It worked out fantastically well. They’d get him the plans of whatever refineries and plants were to be destroyed, and the instructions he gave them paid off again and again. Now, how much do you think it would be worth to Fidel to get rid of someone like that?”

  “Plenty,” Jake admitted. He rubbed his jaw reflectively. “But an army man? Are you sure? Somehow, I had the impression he had served in the navy. The way he was about boats and sailing, he was a natural for sea duty.”

  “Well, he said it was the army. But that hardly—”

  “And he saw combat in Europe?”

  “He said he did. But what difference does any of that make? Can’t you keep your mind on the important thing? He was a danger to the Reds and they killed him. That’s the important thing.”

  Jake said: “How about what’s-his-name, your late partner, Patty Tucker’s husband? Was he involved with the movement too?”

  “Stewart? No. He contributed sympathy, that’s all. He was very tight with his money.”

  “And Patty?”

  “The same. And if you’re wondering if one of them betrayed Walter, I can tell you neither had the least idea he was working with Avispa.”

  “All right then, how about Mrs. Thoren? Did she know what her husband was up to?”

  “Charlotte? Well, she never gave any signs of it, but she probably did. Walter had complete faith in her.”

  “So there is a chance that without realizing it she was the one who—”

  “Without realizing it?” Nera’s voice was rich with meaning. “That would be stupidity. Whatever else that woman is, darling, she is not stupid.”

  “Hell, are you trying to tell me she deliberately connived at her husband’s death?”

  “No, I am not. I am only saying Charlotte is not stupid. Far from it. She is exceptionally clever and calculating.”

  “And rich, too, when she collects the insurance. How much did you say it amounted to?”

  “Half a million. At least, that’s what Patty thinks. But Charlotte is hardly what you’d call a pauper now, even without the insurance.”

  Jake said: “All the same, if she soured on her husband for some reason, she had nothing to lose and a lot to gain by turning him in to Castro’s hatchetmen. And according to your friend Patty, she has been acting pretty strangely nowadays. How about that business of suddenly taking off and disappearing this morning? When someone’s played Judas—”

  “Darling, please. Don’t even talk about it.”

  Jake said sympathetically: “I know. But face the facts, Nera. The woman’s running away and hiding is a bad sign. And it shows her up as a lot less rational than you’d like to believe, suddenly picking some place at random to hole up in. Clever and calculating people don’t behave like that.”

  “And neither did Charlotte. Take my word for it.”

  “You mean she’d head straight for some special destination? She knew where she was going before she started?”

  “Yes. Don’t forget, darling, Fons and I were close to her and Walter for a long time. I can read her like a book. As soon as I heard about it, I could guess where she went. What’s even more interesting is that it’s a place Walter detested. I was there for a week with her—oh—ten or twelve years ago.”

  “Some hotel?”

  “No, a little house her father left her outside Belle Glade. A vacation cabin on the lake there and disgustingly primitive. The Spragues came from around there originally, and Charlotte had terribly sentimental memories of it. Walter was furious at her going there with me that week. He hated the Everglades.”

  “Hated it? That’s putting it pretty strong, isn’t it?”

  “If you’d known Walter, you wouldn’t think so. He wouldn’t even drive through it on the Trail to the west coast. Whenever we went holidaying to Naples or Tampa with him and Charlotte we’d have to take one of those little planes that are always cracking up in the swamps. I guess he felt about the Everglades the way I feel about snakes. He never went to the cabin that I know of.”

  “But she did, now and then?”

  “Once with me, two or three times by herself. She told me it was like a refuge to her, but I suppose it was hardly worth a scene with Walter. So whatever she has on her mind, she’s probably there right now.”

  “Sounds logical, the way you put it.”

  “And what about the rest?” Nera said. “About what happened to Walter? Doesn’t that also sound logical now?”

  “I guess it does.”

  Nera leaned toward him. “And I’m not psycho about it, chino? I was not making up wild stories?”

  “No, you aren’t. And weren’t. But you have put me on the spot, lady. Now that I know all this, what am I supposed to do about it?”

  “Nothing, for God’s sake. Just keep it to yourself. But I am alone a lot, and if I need help for any reason, it’s good to know you’re right next door and I can call on you for it. It’s very comforting to have a big brute like you next door.” She patted his belly. “Very.”

  “In that case—” Jake said, and put an arm around her waist.

  “Wait,” Nera said. She got up, walked around to the other lounge, and lay down on it on her back, robe thrown open. “Now,” she said firmly, “make love to me the way you did the other night. Slowly. Then I’ll do it to you. There’s no need to hurry, is there, darling?”

  “None at all,” said Jake.

  38

  It was after four when he made his way back to the house. The desk lamp in the study was lit, and on the desk was a note that said J. Maniscalco called. Very woried. He shredded the note into small pieces and dropped the pieces into the wastepaper can. Then he sat down at the desk and dialed Magnes’ number.

  Magnes answered the phone in a hoarse whisper. “Don’t tell me who it is, sonny, because I already guessed. You know you’re killing me with your kind of hours?”

  “Well, hang on a little while longer, grandpa, because I have a lead on Mrs. Thoren. I want a couple of men put on it right now. And I mean as soon as I hang up.”

  “Take it easy, it’ll be right now. Where’s the place?”

  “A cabin on the lake at Belle Glade. What lake is that? Where’s Belle Glade anyhow?”

  “Upstate, maybe seventy, eighty miles. Lake Okeechobee. A big one. Like an ocean.”

  “All right, just get it straight that this time I want two men on the job. They’ll start back to back at the lakefront close to town and move out along the lake in opposite directions. And remember to give them the license number of that Mercedes. If and when they spot the woman, I want them to stay there out of sight and keep an eye on her.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Both of them,” Jake said ominously.

  Magnes sighed. “Ten thousand dollars, but the way manpower costs today, I’ll be owing money before this tzimmis is over and done with. All right, they’ll be up there before it’s light. Oh yeah, and you can forget about those Meloy people you wanted me to look up. They’re clean. Very respectable citizens. They couldn’t be who Thoren meant in those notes.”

  “Then keep looking,” Jake said. “And I want to see you tomorrow about those notes. Two o’clock at Wolfie’s.”

  He went into the bedroom and switched on the lamp on th
e night table. Elinor was sleeping sprawled on her back, her arms flung wide, the blanket tucked under her chin and exposing her feet. She was snoring softly. With each exhalation a strand of hair which had fallen over her open mouth stirred and fluttered.

  He patted the sole of her foot until the snoring broke off with a gurgle and gasp and her eyes opened.

  “What did Maniscalco call about?” he asked, and Elinor said faintly, “Nothing from Denmark about Thoren.” She cleared her throat. “They checked all the records they could. Nothing.”

  “Is that what Maniscalco is worried about?”

  “Not just that. He said to tell you he was very worried about the whole situation. He sounded like it.”

  “Hell, he always does.” Jake got out of the swimming trunks and into pajama pants. “He’d sound like that if he won the Irish Sweepstakes. And there are two r’s in worried.”

  “I thought it looked kind of funny,” Elinor said. She pushed herself upright with one hand. With the other, she held the blanket modestly clutched to her chest. “How did you make out with Nera? I mean, what did she have to say?”

  “Plenty. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”

  “After you got me all awake like this? You might as well tell it to me now.”

  He seated himself on the foot of the bed and told it to her.

  Elinor said skeptically: “She sounds like somebody on a bad trip. You believe any of that stuff?”

  “Some. We know from the papers that outfits like this Avispa have been hitting Cuba where it hurts, so there’s no reason to doubt that much of what she said. Or about Thoren having been a demolitions expert and giving them advice. But I also know for a fact that Thoren committed suicide, and it didn’t have anything to do with helping burn down some sugar refineries in Cuba.”

  “Jake, if you think the rest of it is true, maybe that’s what the blackmailer had on him.”

  “Baby, what the blackmailer had on him happened about thirty years ago, before there was any Castro. And even if I’m all wrong about it, and Thoren was threatened with exposure as a guy who helped plan sabotage in Cuba, it wouldn’t have bothered him nohow. He’d figure to be voted a medal for it by Congress, not indicted.”