Dig My Grave Deep Page 10

  “For display? So it looks like one happy family?”

  “Do me the favor, Dan. AH of downtown will be there, both parties. And some of the Capitol men.”

  “How come I didn't know about this?”

  “Bellamy called me himself.”

  “Arranged from the top down. And plenty of press coverage at the last minute.”

  “How would I look, Danny, if you aren't along?”

  A few days, so Stoker could look good in public, so Bellamy wouldn't smell the rift. It made sense, and Port thought of the delay as the last installment on paying a sick man.

  “I'll be there,” he said, and hung up before Stoker could thank him.

  His impatience didn't catch up with him until he got out of the booth. The few days' delay suddenly became like a sentence. Port lit a cigarette, dragged too hard, felt the smoke tear a raw scratch down his throat. He coughed, making it worse. Nothing had shown while he had been busy. He had done his work with practiced speed, doing it well because Stoker needed it. He had taken Stoker's machine and for a few days of concentrated maneuvering had made it turn tricks. For Stoker, and for himself. For Stoker so he could keep his machine, for himself so he could get rid of it.

  And now he was out. Nobody else might think so, but Port wanted to—except for a few, loose-end days in a town he didn't like, with faces he didn't want to see, and with a past riding his shoulder as long as he stayed. Maybe longer, except that once he was out it wouldn't be staring at him from quite so close.

  Port walked to the parking lot and felt worse than he had in a long time. It upset him to find himself at the end but without the feel of conclusiveness. Stoker's damn party; Fries' damn threats; Shelly's damn attitude—Port got into his car, overtipped the attendant, and drove off too fast.

  What if he were leaving today—what about Shelly? It occurred to him that he had never really thought of it, either because he had been too busy, or because— He yanked the car through a curve and then noticed where he was heading. A ten-minute drive and he'd be there. Then a few days with nothing to do but to concentrate. Shelly took concentration. With anyone else he might have thought of it like a sport, but not this time. This was a necessity.

  He pulled up near the club, because most likely Shelly would be working the counter in the corner store.

  She wasn't there. The grocer was working the counter himself and he didn't know where Shelly might be. Shelly had quit.

  When Port got to the apartment nobody was there. He knocked, he tried the door, but nothing happened. He went downstairs again, reminding himself that there were after all, several days left.

  He walked half a block to the club, more out of habit than purpose, and stood in the archway to the room with the easy chairs. He watched the two guys tossing their ball back and forth and then Lantek dropped by. “There was a call for you. Maybe an hour ago.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I don't know. Said she'd call again.” Lantek looked at the clock in the hall. “At two. Ten minutes from now.”

  “You don't know who it was?”

  “She didn't say. Sounded like a secretary.”

  Port couldn't place it, but then Lantek wouldn't know what a secretary sounded like.

  “And the mailman was here,” said Lantek. “He wrote something down and left it in the office.”

  Port frowned, because he had forgotten about the mail-man. He didn't need him any more, but he shouldn't have forgotten.

  They stood watching the ball go back and forth a few times and then Lantek said, “You seen Katie around?”

  “No,” said Port.

  “We been kinda looking for her. She mostly don't stay away this long.”

  “Maybe she hit the jackpot someplace.”

  Lantek said, “Ha,” and Port laughed too, but for a different reason.

  He went to the office off the hall and got his letter out of the box. The mailman had listed three calls. One by Bellamy to McFarlane, urging the city solicitor to reverse his slum ruling. The answer was no, what was done was done. To that Bellamy had answered he'd take the matter as far as the Capitol—to the Supreme Court, if need be. McFarlane had answered that was perfectly proper and if Bellamy needed legal advice McFarlane's personal efforts would be at his disposal.

  The next call had been to Stoker, inviting him to the good-will dinner next week. Port knew about that one. And the last call had been to Landis, with the same request, except Landis's answer had been mat he would not be part of any more political farces. Bellamy hadn't been very active that night. Only three calls. He had started at nine and had finished at nine-thirty.

  When Port tore up the paper to throw it into the waste-basket the phone rang. He didn't get there till the man assigned to the office had lifted the receiver and said, “Neighborhoodsocialclubwardnine.” He listened for a moment and handed the phone to Port. “A very nice voice,” he said and started to grin, but stopped it abruptly. Port nodded at him to blow and put the phone to his ear. “Port, speaking.”

  “One moment, Mr. Port. I have Mr. Bellamy on the line for you.”

  Shewas a secretary.

  “Is that you, Dan?”

  Port held the phone away from his ear.

  “Yes, I can hear you.”

  “Look, boy, if you got a minute or so would you mind running out to my place? Just a talk, you and me. What do you say, boy?”

  “You think you'll get any further than George and Kirby did?”

  Bellamy roared with laughter and then said, “They didn't half try!”

  “Bellamy, let me...”

  “No, seriously, boy. Just you and me, for good all around. The good of the community, if you know what I mean. Now I'm at the office and could pick you up on my way out, except I don't think it would look right, me stopping over at your club. What do you say, boy? Half an hour?”

  Port was quite certain Shelly wouldn't show up until evening. Job-hunting, probably, or working someplace else...

  “I'll be there,” said Port.

  The place was as expansive as Bellamy himself. Port stopped on the rotunda in front of the house and tried to decide whether to go in at the Tudor entrance, the French Provincial one, or the screen door with the aluminum bird. A butler decided for him, showing up on the Italian terrace. Port followed him. Before leaving the terrace he saw Ramon in the distance. Ramon was raking a gravel walk that wound far across the side of a hill.

  Bellamy was waiting beside a small frame to which a hooked rug was pinned. It was only half finished and Bellamy was fingering the needle. In his other hand he was holding a snifter half full of whisky, with a piece of ice in it.

  “Sit down, boy, sit down!” He came across the Persian rug. Port and Bellamy shook hands, and Port wondered why some people insisted on trying to crush a man's hand, as if that proved something or other.

  “Bollwick, bring Mr. Port—what'll you have, Port?”

  “Rye.”

  “Bring him rye, Bollwick. Port, I see you are looking at my daughter's hooked rug. Amazing, isn't it?”

  Port nodded and wondered why Bellamy put out all the energy; there was enough noise from the bright pepper and salt suit, the green tartan vest, and—of course—argyle socks. Bellamy was big and whatever he wore showed a lot.

  “Here's the rye,” said Bellamy. He watched Port take a sip and stroked the thin yellow hairs over his scalp.

  Port said, “What do you want?”

  First Bellamy had to give a big laugh again, and then he leaned forward. “What are your plans, Danny?”

  “I'm right now planning to hear you out. Very good rye.”

  “I thought you were leaving Stoker,” said Bellamy.

  “That's hearsay.”

  “Not that you're acting like it.” Bellamy took a large swig and swallowed noisily. “What with all the snooping and swooping you been doing the last couple days.”

  Port grinned. “Pretty clever of me, huh?”

  Bellamy closed his eyes and said wit
h a voice that sounded oratorial, “I have only the greatest admiration for you, Daniel.”

  “You said that beautifully.”

  “I mean it. You're hot stuff.”

  Fart nodded and sipped his drink.

  “So how come you're hanging around a broken-down, outfit like Stoker's?” Bellamy wanted to know.

  “Because Stoker is a friend of mine.”

  “Oh, brother!” said Bellamy and took a big drink. Then he said, “Don't you like me, Daniel?”

  “I think you stink.”

  Port was sorry he had said that because now came the laugh again. It lasted until Port thought Bellamy had an affliction. It turned into a terrible cough which made Bellamy's scalp red.

  “Oh, brother!” said Bellamy again, and then he got up. “Come along, Danny. I want to show you something.”

  Port followed Bellamy through several rooms, through a hall, down some stairs, and after passing a Ping-pong table they walked around the furnace. Bellamy went through a door and waited for Port by the bed in the room.

  “You know where it is?” said Bellamy.

  “Huh?”

  “Maybe you don't.” Bellamy pushed the bed out of the way, kicked at the floorboard, and watched the earphone fall out. The wire attached to it was just long enough to reach up to a man lying on the bed.

  “Oh, that,” said Port. “I know about that.”

  “So do I.”

  “Since when?”

  “Ever since you sent your bogus electrician to put it in.”

  Port leaned against the wall of the room and put his hands in his pockets. “You're lying, Bellamy. You didn't know till last night.”

  Bellamy sat down on the bed and made the ice cube spin in his glass. “How do you figure I'm lying?”

  “Because of what you said on the phone during the last few days. And because yesterday you suddenly stopped.”

  “You're right. I'm lying.”

  “Now tell me something, Bellamy. How did you find out?”

  Bellamy laughed and got up. “It's a funny story. Let's go back upstairs.” They went back upstairs and Bellamy kept chuckling and talking, because it was the kind of story he would tell at the club. For many years he intended to tell that story at the club.

  He'd been up there phoning, in his study, when he decided he might as well have some coffee. So he rang the house phone to the kitchen and told the girl there to bring it up. The maid came in after a while and when she put down the tray on his desk Bellamy thought, What the hell, this is for me. Direct type that he is, he makes a grab for the girl, and she wouldn't stand for it. She knocked his hand out of the way and tried to walk out. Not to be put upon, Bellamy jumped up fast as he could, and all in clean fun, you understand, tried a new tackle. She held still just long enough to grab for the phone, gave him the knee, and then threw the instrument at him. “Believe me,” said Bellamy, “I let her go.”

  They sat down in the room where the half-finished rug was on the frame and Bellamy went on. “So I figure, the hell with her, or at least, the hell with her right now and pick up the phone. There's nothing wrong with it, except the wire is torn out of the wall box. And there was that other one, that thin little wire that went right down to the basement. Some story, huh?”

  “Some maid,” said Port. “How come she sticks around here?”

  “She's my daughter's maid, mostly, and she hasn't been here too long.”

  “She won't be much longer, the way you described it.”

  Bellamy laughed himself out of the easy chair and went to the door. He opened it and yelled, “Bollwick, send in that new one!” He came back with a bottle from the small liquor cabinet and poured some into Port's glass. “Wait till you see her, Danny. Some girl.”

  The door opened and Shelly came in.

  Port thought his collar was going to strangle him, and it seemed that the moment was never going to pass. She stood in the door, unable to move, because she didn't know what to do. Then Port got up, slowly, and solved it for her.

  “How in hell did you get here?” he yelled.

  “I don't have to tell you a thing!” She sounded just as loud as Port did.

  After that came a silence. Bellamy clinked his ice back and forth. Then he said, “You two know each other?”

  They both looked at him as if he didn't belong there, and Port stopped close to him on his way toward Shelly. “You son of a bitch,” he said, but didn't wait for an answer. He took Shelly's arm and gave her a shake.

  “Don't you know enough to...”

  “Let go of my arm.”

  “And you get that damn uniform off and wait for me out in front.”

  “You'd like that, wouldn't you!”

  “A damn sight better than that operetta outfit you're busting out of!”

  “Daniel,” said Bellamy. “You're talking to my help.”

  It distracted him. Port turned around, hoping that Bellamy would say just one more wrong thing.

  “This isn't slave labor, you know. And my daughter did the hiring.”

  “She's unhired.” He saw Shelly make a small move and snapped at her, “You shut up.”

  “The fact is,” said Bellamy, “you better take her. I didn't know about her brother being your man, when she got hired.”

  “She's not in on this, said Port.

  “How do I know? Her brother recommended the girl when we needed a maid.”

  “Why in hell did you come here?” Port looked at Shelly. But she was too mad to answer.

  “I'm sure,” said Bellamy, “her brother had reasons, what with the neighborhood where she's been living. And not too far from that Neighborhood Frolic Club you run in that ward.”

  “Are you going to get out of that uniform, Shelly, or do I...”

  “You better,” said Bellamy, and because it hadn't been Port who had told her she walked out of the room without any more ado.

  As soon as she was gone things were different. Port got his bearings back, he picked up his glass, and drank what was left there. Then he nodded at Bellamy and went to the door.

  “Wait a minute, Daniel. We're not through yet.”

  Port waited.

  “You didn't answer me, Daniel. I want you to switch over.”

  “You shoulda laughed right after that one,” said Port, and opened the door.

  “You come over and I won't touch your man,” said Bellamy. “The gardener. Or did you think I was going to keep him on?”

  “Go ahead and fire him.”

  “How do you think it's going to be between you and the girl friend, Daniel, when it turns out he doesn't show up any more. You make me mad enough, Port, and I sink him. She's going to like you for that?”

  “What does he mean?” Shelly came running across the hall. She dropped her suitcase on the way and again said, “What does he mean?”

  Port stopped her at the door and then looked at Bellamy.“He said he'd kill your brother, didn't you, Bellamy?”

  The girl gasped and Bellamy's face got dark red with anger.

  “She heard you, Bellamy. One witness too many.”

  Shelly yanked her arm to get free of Port. “You stand here and say that? You stand here and calmly discuss...”

  “Yes!” Port was shouting. “He says it the same way you've learned to do it, the way you talked, that night in the kitchen. Remember? Like talking about some kind of merchandise,” and he started walking across the hall, holding her arm.

  “I can't leave,” she tried to say, but Port cut her short. He kept pulling her.

  “And he wouldn't do it any more than you would have, in the kitchen. Come on!”

  On the way out he grabbed up her suitcase.

  Chapter Fifteen

  He got her into the car by force and slammed the door shut behind her. She sat there, not moving. Port thought she might try to get out again, but she didn't move. He got in at his side and drove off with a fast jolt. She said nothing till they shot out through Bellamy's gate. Then she turned on him.


  “You swine, stop this car!”

  “And pick up Nino?”

  “Yes, and pick up Nino!”

  “Because you've raised him and he needs you all the time? That's how good a job of raising you've done? That what you mean?”

  The car gathered speed and went down the highway, away from the city. The wind made a furious racket along the shut windows. It matched the mood inside the car.

  “Your clever mind,” she hissed at him. “I hate it!” And then, “Where are you going?”

  “I'm driving.”

  “Not with me!” and her hand shot out for the keys on the dashboard.

  He slapped it out of the way.

  “Sit still.”

  “I want Nino!”

  “Aha! That's a different sound altogether. Now you've said it loud and clear. You'd feel better with Nino around, wouldn't you?”

  “I said...”

  “Safe and prim as hell, right? What is it, Shelly, afraid I'm going to rape you?”

  “You know you can't! You know...”

  “No. As long as there's you and Nino I wouldn't think of it. You're not even here! And all you ever feel is sisterly love, isn't it?”

  She sat still, and Port started to think she was going to let it pass, when she suddenly swung out her arm and cracked the back of her hand into his face.

  He jammed on the brake. At first he thought he was going to laugh but then felt himself getting furious.

  “Stop the car,” she said. She sat crouched in the seat, and she had one of her shoes in her hand, holding it so the heel made a hammer. Then she said again, “Stop the car and let me out!”

  Port made a fast turn into a dirt lane and stopped the car. He was out before Shelly had found her balance.

  The air was rainy and cool, with a strong leaf odor out of the woods next to the road, and while Port stood there, breathing it, he wondered whether she'd ever come out. Her teeth showed like an animal's, and when she stood in the road she stopped to kick off the other shoe and then didn't wait any longer. She didn't wait for him to move, but came at him.

  He hadn't figured she was very strong or as determined as she turned out to be, but before he got the shoe out of her hand she had clipped him hard over the ear, had tried to knee him, and then bit his neck. He had to let go of her to get a good grip, and that's when he stopped fighting her off. He got a hold on her that changed the whole thing, except that Shelly wouldn't give in.