I Come as a Theif (18 page)

But he had been thinking of Susie at St. John's. And of Dr. Redding. For that was what he and Susie had noticed together: the way Dr. Redding prayed. He used to close his eyes tight, really tight, squeezing and crumpling his lids, and then he would shake his head heavily back and forth so that the loud rich quavery voice became more quavery, like water from a shaken garden hose. He seemed to be entering into some ecstatic private communion with God that made him forget the very service he was conducting.

"Isn't it wonderful?" Susie would whisper to Max. "You can see how real it all is to him."

Ah, yes, that was it. Susie had tried to give all the real things in life to her beloved boy by selling perfume, by modeling dresses, by arranging flowers at debuts. And seeing Dr. Redding wrestle with the God inside him had been a real thing. The idea would never have entered Susie's pretty head that there could be any relationship between Dr. Redding's God and Susie Leonard, or even between that presumably awful deity and little Max. But that was beside the point. The point was that if one wanted the real things—a good education, attractive friends and manners, a certain dash and style, and a vision of the idealism and religiosity of good teachers, or at least of headmasters—one had to pay for them. Of course, Dr. Redding was totally sincere in his convictions. He had to be. That was why his school was first class, why it cost so much.

But Tony. Was that what Tony was doing? Shaking his head, making his voice quaver, taking on the role of Dr. Redding? What damn cheek! Max strode back to him.

"How long will you give me before you go to the U.S. Attorney?"

"How long do you want?"

"Ill let you know. I'll call you."

"Max!" Tony called, for Max was already hurrying away.

"Screw you, brother." He did not turn, for he did not want to see Tony's smile.

***

Max stood in the small, bare, paneled reception room of Shea, Collins & Bogardus, specialists in tax law, and glared at the stubborn girl behind the desk.

"Mr. Bogardus never sees anyone before lunch," she insisted. "All his appointments are between two and four."

"Hell see
me.
Just tell him I've come on a matter concerning his son-in-law."

She looked doubtful. "Can't you come later?"

"Call him, will you?"

When she did this, and Mr. Bogardus's secretary came right out to take him in, he made a little face at the receptionist, and she smiled. For all his troubles he had not lost his way with women.

He did not have to ask Mr. Bogardus to close his door. The secretary did that, anyway. Tony's father-in-law, tall, strongly built, almost comically distinguished with his side ring of gray hair and gleaming high forehead, stood splendidly before him with a broad, ingratiating smile.

"And now, my dear Max, what can I do for you?" Grandly, Mr. Bogardus pointed to a chair, and both sat. "It's a long time since I've had the pleasure of seeing you."

"Tony tells me you know everything," Max blurted out. "Including his plan to confess."

The fine red lips of his host slowly retracted into an almost straight line. The large kindly eyes, blue-gray, became inscrutable. But when he spoke, his voice was gentle. "We are agreed, I hope, that it is the plan of a lunatic?"

"Entirely."

"Who must be stopped."

"Ah, but how?"

"Surely, Max, you have great influence with him?"

"No more. He was adamant. I've begged. I've argued. It's hopeless."

Mr. Bogardus looked down at his long, pink, clean fingernails as he took this in. "But Tony is very fond of you, surely. Even if he is willing to destroy himself and his family—for some unfathomable reason of his own—must it follow that you and your family share his fate? How does he square that with his bizarre conscience?"

"He thinks he can make a deal with the U.S. Attorney that will leave me out."

"And do
you
think he can do that?"

"I don't know. He might."

"And he might not," Mr. Bogardus retorted in a harder tone that seemed to smack of something like satisfaction. "But even if he does, have you thought of where that leaves you? The U.S. Attorney, of course, is a Republican. An ambitious Republican. He will want the greatest possible publicity. Think of it from his point of view. A rising Democratic politician, whom a Republican president has been induced to consider for an assistant-secretaryship of the Treasury at the urgent persuasion of Democratic bigwigs, walks into his office, confesses to a scandalous crime and offers to collaborate in prosecuting the Mafia. What a bonanza! You can count on the U.S. Attorney to make it the case of the year and to bag as many major crooks as he can while at the same time discrediting his political opponents."

Max listened, fascinated. He saw the conclusion which Mr. Bogardus was approaching, but he could not even bring a mutter from his dry mouth.

"And where, my dear Max, I repeat, does that leave you? Even if your name is kept out of the trial, you can hardly expect that it will be unknown to a vengeful Mafia, stung to frenzy by Tony's disclosures."

"I know, I know!" Max cried with a little yelp of panic.

"So you see, my friend, you've got to stop Tony."

"How? How?"

"Can you really think of nothing?"

"Nothing. He's crazy, I tell you. There's no talking to him." Max stared at the grave blank face before him. He felt that this strange man must know a solution, but that he would not articulate it until he had drained Max dry. "I suppose I could go to Lassatta—that's the guy who started it all—and tell him what Tony's going to do," he continued desperately. "But I don't suppose we want to go that far, do we?"

"Hardly. We don't want to add murder to the list of your peccadillos." Bogardus now removed the mask and allowed his visitor to view his contempt. "No, as I see it, there's only one thing you can do to save your neck. Go to the U.S. Attorney and confess
ahead
of Tony. Demand full police protection. You'll get it. They'll do anything for you when they hear your tale. They'll even protect you permanently. They'll give you a new name, a new country, if you want. And they won't be the least interested in putting you in jail, either, because
you
weren't a public official. Mark my words, Max, you can make any deal you propose."

Max swallowed and sucked his lips for moisture. "But couldn't I do that
with
Tony?"

"You'll make a better deal if you do it on your own. Then they'll think they owe you something. Otherwise, Tony will be the one they concentrate on. And the one they'll primarily protect."

As Max took this in, he felt a gradual easing of his apprehension. Bogardus now seemed like a nurse, a very stiff and starched but wholly dependable and quite comfortable nurse, who was turning down the corner of a spotless bed and telling him to take off his clothes, his worries, his fears, to get in and sleep the sleep of reassurance and peace. A dull reassurance, a dull peace, perhaps, but no less desirable for being that. And Max, closing his eyes, knowing that the nurse would understand his silence, allowed himself to assess just how weary he was. He thought of Elaine and her spitefulness, of his daughters and their jeeriness; he thought of Tony and his hideous betrayal; he thought of Lassatta and death. Bogardus was right. There had to be an end to running. Yet when he spoke, it was not immediately to accept the plan.

"What's there in it for you?" he demanded bluntly. "Tony still goes to jail. As a matter of fact, it's worse for him. He loses his chance to make a deal for himself."

"Exactly." For the first time there was the hint of a glitter in those kindly eyes. "And that is what there's in it for me. You can imagine what a father-in-law must think of a son-in-law like Tony. All I want to do is rescue my daughter and her children. If he makes a public confession and traps some big criminals, he may become a kind of hero. I know Lee. It will appeal to the romantic in her. But if he's trapped himself by your confession, he's just another rat. It's harder for her to glamorize it."

Max shrugged. "She still may."

"Oh, I know. But it gives me a chance."

Max laughed nastily. "Come on, Bogardus. Admit it. It gives
you
a chance. To deprive Tony of his big moment. Because you hate his guts!"

Bogardus rose and nodded his head toward the door. "I guess our interview is over, Mr. Leonard."

Central Park had come to be for Tony a symbol of release from his tensions. He walked there in the early morning when he couldn't sleep and again in the late afternoon, before coming home. It was early spring and damp, and the city that formed the concrete oblong frame to this blessed patch of green might have been all the sins of the universe pressed about a single soul. But here, in the middle of that frame, strolling in the Mall, sitting on a bench by a lake, he could breathe.

Each day of the week that he had decided to give Max to make up his mind had been tenser than the one before. The state of euphoria into which he and Lee had entered, the burst of their first enthusiasm, had not lasted. He was still convinced that he had to do what he was going to do, but Lee had become the prey of inevitable doubts. Her nervousness was now pitiable. They had agreed not to discuss the matter, but as no other topic was possible, their evenings had been full of wretched silences. Lee would stare at the children with eyes of painful doubt and apprehension, so that even Isabel had begun to ask her what was wrong. Tony yearned to have it all over. He was afraid of giving in to Lee's implied appeal. He was afraid of going back to the old state.

On Thursday morning, walking in the Mall, just as he was beginning to convince himself that he was not bound to Max by his own unilateral decision to wait a full week, he became conscious of a man on a bench who was looking at him. He was a young man, in a light suit with a pink tie, and very thick blond hair. He got up now and walked beside Tony.

"Keep walking," he muttered. "Lassatta sent me."

Tony stopped immediately and faced him. "I don't care to keep walking," he said coldly. "If you have something to tell me, tell me."

The man's eyes moved from side to side.

"Your pal Leonard's gone to the police. He's blabbed his story and asked for protection. They got him hid away already."

"How do you know?"

"
I
don't know. Lassatta knows. It happened last night. The word to you is keep cool. Deny everything. They can't prove anything through Leonard. The meetings, the money, they were all part of a political deal."

"Why were they secret then?"

"You couldn't afford to be connected with Lassatta. It fits like a glove."

Tony frowned. It did fit. For what could the government prove about Menzies, Lippard? To do nothing was what he had been bribed to do, and nothing was exactly what he had done. It was Max's word against his, and he knew which would be the better witness.

"I see," he said. "It fits."

"I can tell Lassatta you'll go along?"

Tony shook his head. "You can tell Lassatta I shall do precisely as I think best."

The man's face quickly lost all expression. "Better be careful, pal."

"I
shall
be careful."

"You could get hurt. Very hurt."

"So could others."

"You got two kids. Just remember that."

Tony felt the tips of his fingers tingle. He had a vision of his hands moving, independently of himself, like two flying things, two bats, and fixing themselves murderously around this little man's pudgy neck. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply to push away the image. It would be such ecstasy to kill.

"Scram," he muttered.

"Just remember what I say, pal. Just remember those kids. Nobody's asking you to do anything but save your goddam neck."

"You can tell Lassatta you have delivered your message," Tony said and, turning abruptly, he walked away. He wondered, almost without interest, if the man would shoot.

He decided to go back to the apartment. Lee would be startled, thinking he had gone downtown. He paused before his front door to look at his watch. Eight-thirty. The children would have left for school. From inside he could hear the sound of the vacuum cleaner. He rang the bell, and it stopped. Lee opened the door and stared in astonishment.

"Did you forget your key?" she asked. "What are you home for?" When he did not answer, she took in what must have been his ghastly pallor for she cried out: "Oh, Tony, something's wrong!"

"Perhaps. I'm not exactly sure." He came in quickly and closed the door. "Max has gone to the police. Or the U.S. Attorney. He's told everything."

Lee's eyes closed. "Oh, God," she whispered. "Why?"

"He's scared to death. He wants to be protected."

"From whom?"

"From the bad guys."

"And you? How does it leave you?"

"Presumably I'll be arrested."

"Oh, Tony, how sordid!" She gave a little groan. "And the other way would have been so
fine.
"

They sat in the living room, and he told her of his talk in the park, everything but the threat to the children. She followed him intently, with great, worried eyes.

"But this puts an entirely different complexion on things!" she exclaimed.

"I don't see why."

"That man in the park is perfectly right. You must deny everything. You can't let that sniveling little Max get away with this. Now you'll have to admit I was right about him. Let's leave him with his horrid little lie smeared all over his nasty face."

"Lie?"

"Well, it
will
be a lie, the way he'll tell it. Because nobody will ever give you the credit of having meant to confess. You'll appear not only guilty but stupid. Oh, darling, I can't stand it! We'll have the rest of our lives to be good in, but don't let Max smear you with this. It's your
duty
to fight it. Your duty to Eric and Isabel."

"My duty to give perjured testimony?"

"Oh, don't use legal terms on me. We're beyond that. Think of the effect on Eric. You and I agreed that the only way to get him through this thing was to convince him you'd redeemed yourself by going to the authorities and coming clean. We thought he might even come to admire you for it. But
this
way! Oh, no, Tony. It won't do."