“The man who pays my rent.”
“Some,” I admitted.
She kept her eyes on me until I grew uncomfortable. “Maybe you’re the one who needs protection?”
“I don’t do so good with mothers.” I kept talking through my discomfort. “I never thought Fran was getting any real harassment, just bothered by her guilt.”
“That’s what she says.”
“You don’t believe it?”
“No I don’t. I’m not saying there’s no connection, only that guilt about affairs isn’t causing this amount of panic.”
I wondered whether her certainty had more to do with herself than Fran. “How can you be so sure?”
“Intuition.”
“Well, we’ll see. If I’m right we may have to question your intuition.”
“Don’t patronize. My intuition has been plenty right about our relationship.”
I smiled and raised my arms in mock surrender. “Okay, okay.” I began to gather the social debris strewn on the table. “Are you going to help with the license plate?”
She stood and looked at me with surprise. “Don’t worry, I’ll get your information.”
I rose and left plenty of money to cover a revised bill and tip, followed her through the thinning crowd to the door, and stepped outside. I was surprised to see it was dark into the evening.
We stood outside the doorway and talked. “Since I opened a possibility in Simon’s mind, I want to close it down. Also, at this point I’m curious.”
She took my hand and walked toward the trains. “It’s nice to hear about your curiosity.”
I shrugged and matched her pace. “You don’t need to take the train, I’ll drive you home.”
“No thanks. Was it your curiosity that got you beaten up?” We were standing at the top of the subway station steps.
“Not mine, my client’s. Why won’t you let me take you home?” I paused. “A friend thing.”
She started down the stairs and I watched as she turned back toward me and held the rail as a train shook the station below. She had a wide grin stretched across her face and she had to shout to make herself heard above the sound. “If I stay with you for another ten minutes I’ll want to be best friends and neither of us is ready for that.”
She blew me a kiss which I caught. I stood watching until she disappeared into the station. I lit a cigarette and strolled back to my car relaxed and pleasantly hungry. Relaxed, that is, until I saw my windshield. I couldn’t believe it. I pulled the red ticket out from under the wiper to decipher the coded violation and a small scrap of paper fell onto the hood. I picked it up, read it, then stuffed it and the ticket into my pocket. I opened the car, got in, and started home. I didn’t even feel angry. Just deflated. The note read, “For the hell of it.”
I had originally planned to see Julie when I got home, but convinced myself I was too hungry to spare the time. After I unloaded the groceries I was too lethargic to cook. There was no going back outside, which left corn chips, dope, nicotine, and alcohol for supper; the day had taken more out of me than I realized.
The last thing I remember watching was Honeymooner reruns. What I really remember was how frightened I became when I awoke to someone picking the lock. A legacy from the beating. I jumped to remember where I had left my gun, while part of my head told me to relax, it was probably Julie. Another part urged me to off the white noise coming from the TV. Instead, my body just protested the position I had slept in and the speed which which I had yanked it vertical. When the door opened I was sitting back down expecting the worst. I was able to reach the remote control, but Julius was inside before I used it. Quick-draw Jacob.
Julie looked slowly around the room, then moved to the chair across from me. I nodded toward the smorgasbord on the coffee table.
“No thanks.” He made a face at my dinner. “You eating like a drugged-out Rockford.” He motioned toward the test pattern, “If you’re watching that, then you’re watching too much television.”
“Thanks for the advice, Dad.” I touched the switch on the remote and the light and white noise disappeared. We were left sitting in the dark. I put the tube back on and hit the mute. “What time is it?”
“Three-thirty.”
I rubbed my eyes and pulled at my twisted tee shirt. “What the hell do you do this time of night? The damn town closes at two and you’re not a night watchman.”
“What you see is what you get, Sonny.”
“I don’t see anything. That’s why I’m asking.”
He just grunted and reached across for my pack of cigarettes. After he finished lighting his, I lit one for myself. I had a little trouble lining up the flame with the end of the cigarette. I hadn’t fully digested dinner.
Julius watched quietly until I finished my act. “Sometimes you are a sad case. You be smart to stop using your head for a toilet.”
I waited for more lecture, but he just sat there smoking. I grew impatient, he hadn’t broken in to hand out gratuitous advice. “You found something out?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Yes.”
“You going to tell me?”
“Rather not.”
I waited for my usual knots of foreboding but there were none. My system was working too hard to stay awake to have room for much else. I suppose I should have been grateful. “You didn’t truck in here to bum a smoke.”
“Slumlord, you are involved with a pair of very big balls. The Irish one could be any one of a hundred, but the black works for the Man.”
“What’s new? I figured they were cops.”
“The black’s name is Washington Clifford and he works on the Commissioner’s Squad. That’s different than working for the police.” He sat deeper in the chair.
I felt confused. “What do you mean ‘Commissioner’s Squad’? I never heard of it. Is it a special unit?”
“Nothing official. Just a few very special Blues who work for the Chief. Won’t find it written anywhere. Especially official.”
Michael Devlin had been Police Chief for as far back as I could remember. Like they say, “Men live and die, but institutions try to last forever.” About Devlin it was said with equal amounts of affection and hate. But ties go to the incumbent and no recent mayor had the clout to remove him.
“I’m in the shit with this unofficial posse that works for Devlin? What’s he need them for?”
“Don’t know who you are in trouble with. I only know that Clifford was the man who slapped you around and he works for the Chief. The Man has ‘em to help him stay the Man.”
“The whole idea of a secret squad seems pretty amazing.”
He heard my disbelief because he sat forward, opened his eyes and let them glitter for a moment before he lowered his lids down to their usual half-mast. “You best believe, slumlord. All cities have their version. If you doubt me ask your father-in-law about the Red Squad in Chitown.”
“How do you know about Chicago?”
“I did some time there.”
I knew better than to ask what kind of time. “What else should I know?”
Julius was almost out the door before he answered, “You should know enough to close down your operation.”
I was left sitting on the couch watching a soundless test pattern. Questions swarmed in my mind but I wasn’t coherent enough to clarify them. I thought about flicking the remote to see what was on, but Julie was right about watching too much television. I turned it off and lay back down on the couch. Supper was still working so sleep returned, only this time it wasn’t the sleep of the dead, it was the sleep of the anxious.
I was relieved as my eyes opened to scraps of morning light. The feeling passed quickly, however, when I remembered Julie’s visit. I couldn’t imagine why the Commissioner or his office might be interested in the burglaries or in me. Of course Clifford might be freelancing. Somehow that idea made me feel better.
Despite my body’s protests I tried to get organized. I had poured more inebriants into the infra
structure than I had realized, and three aspirin didn’t even rip the cotton in my head. I took two more and hoped for the best. I didn’t want to spend the day rewiring.
The pills helped and the coffee helped. I considered working out but that thought didn’t help. I rolled a slim joint instead. At least it cured some of the trembling. I decided to find out more about Washington Clifford, so I looked up Alex Hirsh’s office number and smoked and read the paper until I could call. When I did I was surprised to be put through without a third degree.
“Matthew, Alex here. What can I do for you?” His voice seemed friendly, if a little distant.
“I’m sorry to disturb you but I have a big favor to ask.”
“No disturbance at all. What’s the request?”
“There were robberies in Fran’s doctor’s building and I’ve been trying to tie something together.”
“How did you become involved with that?”
“It’s a long story, but I thought since there was a loose connection to Fran you might be willing to help.”
“Quite a loose connection, Matthew. What can I do to help?”
“There is a rumor that the Police Commissioner has an unofficial unit working just for him. Supposedly one of the guys who paid me an unfriendly visit is on it. I want to find out what’s going on and I know that you know the Chief so I thought …”
“That I could speak to him about it.”
“Something like that.”
“I heard about your beating from Simon. I wondered about the sunglasses the other night. I hope it wasn’t too serious. However, the rumor about a private unit is unfounded. It’s terribly difficult for people to imagine that someone could be as powerful as Michael, for so many years, without some nefarious method. These rumors have been around for a long while. I can assure you the information is totally inaccurate.”
I didn’t know if it was stubbornness or loyalty but, despite Alex’s assurances, I still believed Julie. Alex was sincere, just wrong. That is, probably wrong.
“I’m sure you’re right, Alex, but I wonder if I might ask you the favor anyway. I have a name to go with the animal who visited me and I hoped you might set up a meeting between me and Devlin to ask about him.”
“What’s the name that you have?”
I didn’t think there was any harm in telling him. “Washington Clifford.”
“I never heard of him.”
“I didn’t think you had. That’s why I want to talk to Devlin.”
There was a long pause. “I don’t think he’ll meet with you, Matthew. Certainly not to talk about a working policeman.”
“Couldn’t try, huh?”
“This beating is what you are interested in?”
“Very. I also want to know why the police, or at least this Clifford, want to protect whoever keeps breaking into that building.”
“This is very confusing. What makes you think it was the police?”
“Sources.”
There was another long pause. “Sources?” Alex sounded dubious. “I’ll need more information than that if I’m going to talk to Michael.”
I understood his dilemma but I wasn’t going to compromise Julie. I didn’t care if Alex and Devlin slept together, I didn’t trust any cop with a name.
“Alex, I understand your position and appreciate your willingness to go out of your way, but I can’t do that. If I start naming names, I won’t get another case.”
He chuckled. “Protecting your sources, eh? Perhaps you’ve been watching too much television. I thought you were a researcher, not a detective.”
“Right now I don’t know what I am; I just want information about the beating.” I remembered last night and smiled to myself. “My friends have warned me about TV, you can join the line.”
“Perhaps you should listen to your friends.” He sounded grim. “Well, Matthew, if I have an opportunity to approach Michael informally and do find anything out, I will let you know. You have no idea why this Clifford beat you up?”
“Only what he said. He wants me to stay away from the burglaries I told you about.”
“And you don’t want to?”
“I don’t now.”
“I see.”
There was more silence as he thought about what I said. Just when it seemed like he was no longer there his voice boomed into my ear, “I thought you were going to end Simon’s suspicions about that kid with the car. When I last spoke to him he was still hanging on to your story.” He emphasized his last two words.
“To tell you the truth, I was going to, only I caught another glimpse of him and he might have been following Fran. I thought I’d check for the hell of it.”
“Why are you still following Fran? I thought we both agreed it was a waste of time?” He was starting to sound angry and I didn’t want to give it an opportunity to gain momentum.
“Wait a second, Alex. I was closing out the job, that’s all. I actually believe her nightmares are about to end.”
“Why is that, Matthew?” He had regained his composure.
“She’s stopped seeing her friend.”
“So why are you still chasing that young man?”
You would think he might have shown some relief about my information. I suppose he shared Boots’ opinion. “I’m not, he just bothers me.”
“You seem to grow obsessed when things bother you.”
His words annoyed me. Maybe because they were true. “I wouldn’t exactly call it an obsession, Alex. You seem more concerned about Simon’s hopes than Fran’s nightmares.”
“I think it’s time to get Simon’s feet back on the ground, don’t you? If I offended you by the use of the word ‘obsession,’ I apologize.” His voice held out an olive branch.
I was still riled but took it. “You’re right. I was out of line, I’m sorry.”
“No apology is necessary. We are both under considerable stress. I am concerned about my daughter, Matthew, but her demons reside in a world I can’t influence. I deal in reality and the reality is that Simon has to stop chasing a dream. He must be prepared to come to grips with the situation. To take over my work. His marriage needs attention, and he’s not going to face that by hiring you.”
I realized it was too late for Alex to groom anyone else. That meant going with Simon, whether he was a son-in-law or not. Alex wanted to be spared the “or not.” I’d bet rent he knew something about their marriage I didn’t. I thought about asking, then came to my senses. My nosing around in Simon and Fran’s marriage was over. Almost.
“I think you’re right, Alex, and I will shut the door.”
“Thank you, Matthew. If there is some information that might be helpful in regard to the other situation I will let you know, but please keep in mind what I said earlier. This has no connection to Fran, and I know the information about Michael’s private police is false.”
“Maybe so, Alex, maybe so, but I appreciate the help.”
I poured myself more coffee and lit a cigarette. Everyone watched their own goddamn ass. Alex was a father who seemed more concerned about his successor than his daughter’s mental health. I wondered whether mortality made that inevitable and, in a perverse way, was almost glad my own daughter hadn’t lived long enough for me to find out.
But Alex didn’t deal in reality, he dealt in deals. Somehow, he and I had just cut another one. The unspoken sense of commitment that lingered after a conversation with him must work pretty well with honorable men; me, I was impatient for Boots’ call so I could track the damn kid down.
I shook myself out of the kitchen and upstairs to Mrs. S. Cold coffee wasn’t making it; maybe tea would help my hangover and impatience.
It did, at least for a while. Charles joined us, catching me up on news of the house. Although they questioned me thoroughly, little remained of my prior hero status. I got the distinct impression they thought there were no real cases. If I hadn’t a few leftover aches and pains I might have thought the same. As it was, by the time I wrote some checks, t
he cotton returned, only this time with a thrasher; I needed more grass.
I stayed clear of the couch and settled into the easy chair. That lasted long enough to roll a joint. I smoked and prowled around the apartment. Meeting with Charles and Mrs. Sullivan had been unsettling. Not them, actually; more my disinterest with the building and its goings-on. A couple of weeks ago it had been my entire life.
The dope changed the rhythm of my pacing, but was no help settling me down. It had been a long time since I’d waited for a call.
Somewhere between the walking and the ring of the telephone I had fallen asleep. I jolted awake, fought off a chocolate lust, and lunged for the phone. Praise the lord for machine memory.
“I’m here. Don’t hang up, please.” Where were my fucking cigarettes?
“Who is this?” A hoarse, scratchy man’s voice parted my hair.
“Matt Jacob. Who is this?”
“The wrong goddamn number.”
I couldn’t put the phone down. I pulled the dead receiver into the kitchen where I retrieved my cigarettes, and looked through the drawer until I found Boots’ card.
“Elizabeth Stuart. Who’s calling?”
“How is it that a VIP answers her own phone? I forgot to ask you yesterday.”
She chuckled. “Something everybody asks and always remembers. Did you call to learn about my meteoric rise to the top or is there some ulterior motive behind your newfound initiative?”
“Funny lady. Is this Ma Bell’s new advertising campaign? A happy worker is a productive worker? Or does your office use nitrous oxide,” I glanced at the clock and read 2 P.M., “for a mid-afternoon break?”
“Actually, I’m happy you called. Are you home?”
“Yes.”
“Well sit tight and I’ll call you back in a couple of minutes.”
What choice? “Okay.” I must have sounded disappointed.
“I’ll explain when I call.”
By the time she called she didn’t need to explain. “Are you in a pay phone?”
“Yes.”
“So it’s a little like, ‘Who’s making love to your old lady while you’re out making love?’ ”
The Complete Matt Jacob Series Page 18
