19 Purchase Street (65 page)

He was, indeed, blessed.

Should celebrate himself.

Decided he would.

He waited until dinner was brought, placed on the table near his window. He was hungry, but when the servant was gone he did not touch the food. Turned the night lock on the door.

Assured of privacy, he undressed. He pulled a silk-covered comforter from the bed. So light and plumped it practically floated to the floor. He spread it, neatened its corners almost ritualistically before sitting on it. Its texture seemed to appreciate his ass.

He had no fantasies, required none. Any image outside himself, just as any other hands, would have spoiled it. For a long while he teased and hardened his cock, all the more by not touching it.

T
HE
following morning when Hine went down to breakfast he was disappointed to learn that Horridge had departed for Boston at about seven-thirty. On the Gulfstream III from Westchester Airport. Word was that he would return by midafternoon.

Hine and his surprise would have to wait.

To counter his impatience, Hine attended to his normal daily responsibilities. He would never be the lax and too easily distracted Custodian that Darrow had been, he told himself. Darrow's downfall was his, Hine's lesson. Nor would he allow himself to get stuck in this dangerous notch the way Darrow had. After four, perhaps only three, years of his efficiency Boston would be putting the next safer rung under his foot. There was a limit to his ambition, of course. It wasn't realistic to hope for High Board, but no reason why he couldn't reach the echelon close up next to it. The Pickering level would satisfy him, Hine thought.

He went up to The Balance Room, saw that the collators were hard at it, perched on their high stools, their counting fingers a blur. Hine had a cordial good morning for them while thinking he would somehow put a stop to each of them getting away with a hundred dollar bill every day.

He noticed two green trashbags off to the side. Those would be the brings of the groundkeepers and the garbagemen. The loose-money bin was full. It would be a busy day. He stepped into the inventory area. The gasoline fumes from the recovered money seemed only slightly less. He called security control to make sure the ventilating system was circulating outside air. It was. Was it on full force? It was. Oh well, they'd just have to live with it for a while.

The head collator handed him a piece of notepaper. Hine took it with him down to the study and placed it on the desk beside a ledger sheet. He would be the absolutely best Custodian they ever had, he thought, as he pulled up the leather chair with the seat cushion conformed to ten years of Darrow's sitting.

He went over the flow.

How much had been brought yesterday.

How much had been carried yesterday.

Six million, eight hundred thousand brought.

Twelve million carried.

Good, Hine thought, he'd keep ahead of them. He'd improve every phase of this operation, increase the number of carriers, interview and cull the prospects himself. Keep them scared and in line. Gainer was an example of how remarkably effective fear could be.

The ledgers on the desk were Hine's personal accounting of The Balance.

It was a pleasure for him to make the entry of 1,038,000,000 and then add it. Making the bottom line total 3,105,000,000.

Three billion, one hundred five million.

The Balance.

Horridge returned at three o'clock. He had scarcely put down his attaché case before Hine was leading him to The Balance Room.

“What is that ungodly odor?” Horridge wanted to know.

“Gasoline.”

“Is something wrong up here?”

“Quite the contrary, the—”

“What is it I'm here to see?”

“The Balance.”

“I don't enjoy looking at money.”

“The Balance is now three billion, one hundred five million,” Hine said with understated pride.

“Really?” Horridge said, as though informed that he had three apples rather than two.

“Yesterday we managed to recover almost all of what was stolen. One billion, thirty-eight million of it, to be exact.”

“How much of a ruckus did you cause doing that?” Horridge inquired casually.

“None.”

“Are you positive?”

“Not a stir.”

They went downstairs. Horridge told Hine to wait outside the closed door of the study while he made a call. It took only a few minutes.

Horridge invited Hine in and told him: “It has been decided that you should be assigned as permanent Custodian.”

Hine managed to keep his face as straight as Horridge's.

“However, you are to understand and to accept the responsibilities that traditionally go with the job.”

“I understand.”

“I'm sure you are aware of the advantages, but what of the penalty that will be imposed for any consequential blunder?”

“I am aware of the penalty.”

“And you accept?”

“I accept.”

“The Balance is in your hands.”

Horridge went upstairs for a warm bath and a nap.

Hine remained in the study. Within a minute or two after he had been made Custodian he put to use the prerogative of the position. He called Intelco's New York office, asked to speak to Donald Hunsicker.

The Distributor.

Hunsicker's secretary said he was out of town, would not be back until the next day, Wednesday.

Was he reachable?

Hunsicker was in California staying at the Bel Air.

Hine direct-dialed the hotel. Hunsicker had to be paged. When he came on, Hine told him he had an important order.

Hunsicker said he was not aware Hine was qualified to issue orders. Hine assured him that he was now.

In that case, Hunsicker said, he would meet with Hine at Number 19 on Monday morning next.

Not good enough, Hine told him. Tomorrow, when Hunsicker got in he should come directly from Kennedy.

That urgent an order?

Yes.

Hine clicked off and thought what a pleasure it was going to be for him to put Gainer's name in Hunsicker's ears.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“R
EMEMBER
the movie,
The Champ
?” Leslie asked.

“Yeah.”

“The part where the champ, at the sacrifice of his own feelings, tells the kid he doesn't want him around?”

“That's not how this is,” Gainer said.

“You didn't really mean it just now when you said I was too old for you.”

“I meant it.”

“Like hell. Say you didn't.”

“You were only a phase, Leslie. What I've got eyes for now is inexperience.”

“Stop breaking your own heart.”

They were in Leslie's Rolls Corniche, parked on Barnes Lane just off Purchase Street. Leslie had turned and stopped there because they were approaching Number 19 and the matter wasn't settled.

Gainer suggested: “Why not wait in the car and have a chat with Lady Caroline?”

“Are you ridiculing me?”

“Yes.”

“Any other time I'd punch you out for that.”

“You're unreasonable.”

“Uh huh.”

“You're selfish and reckless.”

“Right.”

“You're a lousy lay.”

“Whatever you say, champ.”

“Leslie, for the last time, here's what's going to happen: I'm going to get out and walk up to Number 19. You're going to stay here and wait. If I don't come back in an hour, you go home.”

“No deal. Here, take some Rescue.” She fumbled around in her handbag and came out with the little brown bottle, undid the cap and squeezed some up into the dropper. Gainer wouldn't cooperate, kept his head turned away so she couldn't get to his mouth.

She squirted it in his ear.

He whirled around angry, knocked the dropper cap from her hand. It flew into the back seat.

“I couldn't resist,” she said. “You were being so obvious.” She got to her knees and felt around in the back for the dropper cap.

Gainer let go, let his cheek press her hip. “Oh, Leslie,” he murmured. He hugged her left thigh.

She had found the dropper cap but remained as she was, allowing Gainer to work it out.

“It's just that I love you so much,” he said.

“I know, lover, I know,” she said. On the glint of the rear window everything they'd had together reflected in an instant for her. That might not be a positive omen, she thought. She turned and sat. They kissed. Not as well as either wanted, an awkward front-seat kiss. Then Leslie snapped on the car's lights, raced the motor because she couldn't remember if it was on, put the car in gear and went left on Purchase Street. Every commonplace action seemed significant.

After a short ways she turned in at Number 19 and drove the vertical chrome-slatted grill of the Corniche up to within inches of the outer gate. She gave the headlights several impatient blinks.

A security man came from the gatehouse. Rather than have him shine a light in on them, Leslie clicked on the interior light. The security man was one of those who had survived the battle of Ellis Island. His expression almost betrayed his surprise. He asked their names as a matter of course. Were they expected? When told they were not, he excused himself and went back inside the gatehouse. He checked the allowed list, saw neither of their names on it.

Gainer saw the security man inside the gatehouse on the telephone. Day before yesterday, there they were being chased all over Ellis Island and New York Harbor with intent to kill, and now, Gainer thought, here they were driving in like a couple of friends come unexpectedly to call. Well, not exactly.

The gates swung open.

The security man hunched down to the car window and smiled. “Mr. Hine said to say he's glad you dropped by.”

Leslie proceeded slowly up the drive. When she parked near the front of the house the main entrance door was already open and two security men were waiting. There was nothing subtle about their frisks this time. One of the security men thoroughly patted Gainer from shoes to collar. The other ran his hands over Leslie in an efficient manner. A .25 caliber automatic was found in the zipper pocket of Leslie's handbag. It was a Baby Browning identical to the one Ponsard had in Monet's garden.

“Oh damn,” she said working her eyelashes, “I forgot that was there. This must have been the handbag I carried last time I was out at night with some of my jewels on.”

A reproachful glance from Gainer.

Contrite eyebrows from her.

He had told her absolutely no weapons.

The tiny automatic was confiscated.

“I want that back later,” Leslie said.

One of the security men led the way, the other followed, with Gainer and Leslie between. Down the hall, past the portraits of Bostonian saints, pink-fleshed and stern. When they came to the little library, Leslie was told to wait there. She complied, had no other choice, actually, as one of the security men used his bulk to press her into that room.

Gainer was taken further down the hall to the study. He was left there with Hine. Just he and Hine and the door closed. Gainer had expected at least one security man would be within grabbing distance of him at all times. Maybe, he thought, the boisserie paneling on the walls had a hole through which a gun was kept on him. One wrong move by him or a certain signal from Hine and
phutt
.

Hine was reading
Barrons
, the financial weekly. He had his jacket, vest and tie off. The cuffs of his white silk shirt were rolled twice up and the front of it was unbuttoned four down. He closed the paper, folded it once and tossed it into the brass wastebasket beside the desk. “Sit if you like,” he said instead of hello.

Gainer sat.

“The money …” Hine began.

Gainer wanted to play his number and leave, not have to listen to a lot of whiteshoe wailing. But he listened.

“… was a sight for my skeptical eyes.”

Gainer's chin and attention went abruptly up.

“For a while there I thought you might be letting down on your end,” Hine told him.

Gainer, trying to recover, said “never” with a shake of his head.

“You came through. That's all that matters.”

What the hell was Hine talking about, “came through”? “Where's the money now?” Gainer asked, offhand.

“Upstairs, all put away.” Hine seemed to enjoy saying it.

“Don't I get a receipt?”

Hine only smiled.

“But the money was all there?”

“Except that you held back for yourself.”

“Fifty million.”

“Is that how much you kept?”

“That was our deal.”

“You counted the fifty, I presume.”

“Twice.”

Hine's eyes clouded. “The amount that was thrown away in the park was from your end.”

“No. I considered it an expense.” Gainer was improvising, doing his best to keep it going to learn as much as he could … Evidently the money was back and he was getting credit for it. Translated, that meant Chapin had somehow managed to return it without giving himself away. The scheming little bastard no doubt figured it was how he could turn off the heat and have the fifty.

Wait a second … It occurred to Gainer that he hadn't told Chapin about the extra ten million Hine had volunteered in the graveyard after Darrow's funeral. In fact he hadn't seen Chapin since then. Which meant Chapin had sliced out only forty million and that was what Hine was now hitting on. Hine had gotten back more than expected. Gainer thought: If only he hadn't said he'd counted it
twice
. What he should have said was a silly little oversight had caused ten million to be returned with the bulk. Then when this meeting was over, maybe Hine would have gone upstairs and bundled up that ten for him, But now Hine must be upset. He, Gainer, had just said that without question he'd held back the fifty million, he hadn't made a mistake in his count as Hine must have assumed. Which to Hine meant
his
calculation of the total Balance was incorrect.