Slacks and sweater emphasized her figure. He had almost forgotten how good it was. When she sprang from the couch and into his arms he found himself kissing her without really having intended to.
"Oh, God, Bob," she whispered. "You came. Hold me close, kiss me again, I need it."
Her nails dug into his flesh, painfully, and her lips were tense against his. And yet it was but little a sexual passion, he realized; she was altogether forlorn.
The phone rang. She left it alone; the bell had been turned down. "Most likely someone else panting to pry," she said.
"How—oh, yes," said Kintyre. "The burglary would put them on to it. Or just asking around. You didn't really think your connection with Bruce would escape discovery forever?"
"It'll be smeared4 over every newsstand in the area. Big black mouth-licking headlines." She raised reddened eyes. "I was at the service this morning. It was all so calm and—I don't know—so right. Even for him." She pulled herself away, picked up a handkerchief and blew her nose. "Excuse me. I can't help it. That was the only sane5 part of the day. His parents were there, of course, that decent old couple. I didn't have the nerve to talk to them. And now they'll see! They'll know that every moron6 in town knows their son they were so proud of was, was, with me!"
Kintyre said: "After all, pony8, it's no crime in this state. Nor is it a very black sin in the Church. I wouldn't be at all surprised if the Lombardis got in touch with you in the friendliest way. If you loved Bruce too—"
"Did I?" She didn't look at him. "I liked him, yes, but love? Not in the usual sense of the word."
"Which is a pretty neurotic9 sense anyway, if you're past adolescence," said Kintyre in his driest voice.
She had regained10 her balance. She reached for a compact and began repairing her makeup11. "Bob," she said, "for an intelligent man you can make some of the stupidest remarks on record."
Kintyre smiled. "At least I riled you out of a tailspin." He wandered across the room to the coffee table. An empty cup and an ashtray12 overflowing13 with lipsticked butts14 rested by the long cardboard boxes where Bruce had kept his letters. They were open, and one of the sheets lay out.
Margery came over and took his arm. "I was going through it," she said, suddenly anxious for the everyday. "Mostly it was business correspondence, official papers, that sort of thing. But there's one file in Italian. Maybe you can tell me what it means." The phone buzzed. "Shut up, God damn it!"
Kintyre sat down, taking out a cigarette for himself. He did not quite like reading a dead man's mail. But doubtless it had to be done. "I'll make some more coffee," said Margery. She went out to the kitchen; his eyes shifted in her direction and he felt the animal pleasure of watching her walk. It was possible—once more, after a decent interval15?
Then he realized that the lilt within him was because he would be seeing Corinna.
He bent16 his attention to the file. Sloppy17 in many other respects, Bruce had been meticulous18 here. If it was likely to have any future value at all, he typed his own letter, making a carbon for himself, and kept the reply, folded. The section indexed Luigi Lombardi held at least a year's worth of mail.
Luigi. Oh, yes, the uncle in the secret service, amateur scholar—hoy, there! L. L., of course. Kintyre felt chagrined19. So much for that mystery. Bruce had only been noting those sections where he would be making an acknowledgment of his uncle's help.
Kintyre began leafing through. No point in reading every word about Aunt Sofia's arthritis20 or Cousin Giovanni's marriage. But there were pages, where Luigi described exactly what he had looked into for Bruce, that had not yet been transcribed21. Those should be preserved, they were essential to the completion of the thesis.
Nothing else had occurred to Kintyre than that it would be finished and published, under Bruce's name.
Yes. Here was that reference to the Milanese archives. It concluded: "... would like to look through the libraries and store-rooms of the older aristocratic homes in this neighborhood. Quite possibly a contemporary reference exists, in a letter or diary. But the time and the introductions are not available to a poor policeman. Why do you not ask your rich American friend Clayton to have it done?"
Bruce's reply was grateful, but forebore to answer that faintly sarcastic22 question. Uncle Luigi took it up next time. Kintyre remembered the man, how he tried hard to be fair but was unable to refrain from cracks about Americans. It was only natural, if you were the patriot23 of a poor country: a form of self-defense.
"... Not another Medici. Do you seriously believe he cares about these old books? It is his particular camouflage24, to get him among people of breeding who can be useful. His real friends are a coarser sort, if indeed he has any friends except his bank accounts."
Bruce protested: "... He had to make his own way in a world of fists. I think he has done very well, not only as a financier but as a human being. You cannot safely compare him with your own postwar newly-rich. From what I hear, many of them are crasser25 than any American parvenu26 ever dared to be. But let us not exchange ritual insults."
Uncle Luigi answered a query27 about the Sicilian terrain28 and twisted it around to his particular obsession29: "... if you believe his standardized30 success story. Use your reason, my nephew. Clayton was an Army officer in this country during the last two years of the war. After his discharge, he came right back here. It is uncertain what he did in the next couple of years. Out of a slightly malicious31 curiosity I checked with the appropriate bureau, and he was registered only as a visitor, who went in and out of our borders. Then suddenly, in 1949, he applied33 for his business permits. He had obtained the American agency for that new line of motor scooters. Since then, his rise has been somewhat swifter than can be accounted for merely by pyramiding profits. What follows from this, Bruce? (And again I ask why your father had to become so American that he visited that name upon you.) Why, since he had only his military pay during the war, and on his civilian35 return had no source of income within Italy for two years—he must have been drawing on a considerable capital in America! Our records show him obtaining most of his lire for Swiss francs. Evidently he deposits his dollars in Switzerland, which you know has a free money market, converts them to other currencies as needed, buys goods, and ships those to America to earn more dollars. Therefore all this story he has told you (what is your phrase, from rags to Algernon?) is so much pretentious36 hokum. Clayton started as a rich man."
Margery came in with coffee. "What are you finding out?" she asked.
"Oh, I remember that. It was several months ago." She sat down on the couch beside him. "Bruce was furious. He thought the world of Clayton. He wrote to Indianapolis and Des Moines and so on. It took him weeks to check everything, through local newspaper offices, old friends, that kind of reference. It's perfectly37 true, though. I doubt if Clayton had a thousand dollars left to his name when he joined the Army.
"Bruce hadn't gotten around to it yet, but he was going to assemble the facts, with clippings and personal correspondence, and send it all to Luigi in one devastating38 package. Especially after the last couple of letters he got. Luigi said there was no evidence Clayton had floated a loan to get his start, and wondered if he mightn't have done some currency black marketing39. Bruce really blew his top at that."
"Oh?" said Kintyre. He should be on his way soon, he thought, and use the short time until then to be good to Margery. But a certain sense of the chase was on him. Trained to scan reading matter, he found the passage he wanted in a few minutes. Bruce's anger spoke40 through a cage of civilized41 words:
"... I am not one of our radical42 rightists, but I too resent this eternal meddling43 which is the modern idea of government. It would not surprise me if Clayton profited originally on the free exchange, when the postwar official rates were so ludicrously unreal. Who didn't, in those days? But if so, I say he did you all a service! I swear you could double your production over there simply by abolishing those medieval frontiers and restrictions44, and putting the customs men to useful jobs!"
Luigi, after the inevitable45 reference to American tariffs46, wrote: "The problem is more serious and urgent than you understand. One hears less about it than about your similar troubles, but we in the old countries are having our own postwar crime wave. And some of these syndicates are—not mere34 black markets, not mere smugglers of an occasional perfume bottle—but dealers48 in narcotics49, prostitution, gun-running, extortion, blackmail51, counterfeiting52, corruption53, and murder.
"Yes, I blame your government in part. We watch the criminals they deport54 to us, but we cannot forbid everyone to come talk to them. There is influence, there is advice. From the Communists these syndicates have also learned much, including the cell type of organization. We can arrest a man here and a man there, but he can only lead us to a few others. Sometimes we think we have identified an organizing brain, but it does not always follow that he can be seized. Not even in this country, where the police have a latitude55 that I am sure your Anglo-Saxon mind would be shocked by. I name no names, but now and again something rises to the surface, a scandal, the corpse of a young woman who belonged to a proud family, a member of the parliament seen in dubious56 places—and nothing comes of it. The newspapers are forbidden to follow the story to its end; everywhere protecting hands are reached out.
"Give us time, we will settle with these latter-day condottieri. Meanwhile, I could wish your Clayton were more circumspect57 in his choice of friends. He associates somewhat (not very much, to be sure, and there are business reasons) with a dealer47 named Dolce. And Dolce is a hard man from the slums of Naples. One of his associates is the deported58 Italian-American criminal chief named—"
Bruce's reply to this was a single explosive line: "And you used to wring59 your hands at me about Senator McCarthy!"
Kintyre put the box aside. He had been translating as he read, in a rapid mutter. "That's the end," he said. "Bruce wrote that two weeks ago, and I guess the uncle hasn't replied yet."
"Clayton," said Margery on a note of horror. "Do you think maybe—?"
"That he's a crook60? No. I don't know much about it, but I should certainly imagine that anybody who wanted to keep an import license61 would have to keep his nose pretty clean. If Clayton started hanging around with, oh, say Chicago gunmen, the FBI would be on his tail in a matter of weeks."
"But couldn't he—"
"Forget Clayton. He's alibied for every minute of that weekend. As for hiring professionals, look, pony, suppose you wanted such a job done. How would you find the pros50?"
"Why—" She hesitated, lifting a small hand to her chin. "I don't know."
"You're a law-abiding citizen, so you don't know. Clayton is also reasonably law-abiding. He's got to be. The Italian police might conceivably not be aware of it if Clayton were doing something illicit62. Over there, he could operate internationally. But the United States is another proposition. We talk about our free enterprise, but the plain fact is that an American businessman is required to operate in a goldfish bowl, under innumerable petti-fogging regulations. So, I repeat, Clayton must be more or less straight. Even if the US government was unable to indict63 him for anything, they could rescind64 his various licenses65, virtually by fiat66.
"How, then, would he get in touch with an assassin? Walk into a tough bar and ask? Large laugh." Kintyre threw away his cigarette stub. "Oh, sure, given enough time, you or I or anyone could locate a murderer. But this job must have been done on short notice. There was nothing in Bruce's previous life to bring it on. You know how burblesome he was; could he have kept from you, for weeks, the fact that he knew something big? Of course not. Nor from me, or any of his associates. Ergo, it was something he blundered onto lately, probably without even realizing its significance. The person who was threatened by this had to react fast: find his killers67 and get them here, or do the job himself, within days. That lets Clayton out."
Margery nodded, a trifle overwhelmed. "I'm glad," she said. "I like him, the little I've seen."
"Yeh." Kintyre thought a couple of hours back. "Me too."
She smiled. "But there's still something that he isn't telling. I'm curious to know what."
"You may have your chance to find out tonight," said Kintyre. "I saw him and he mentioned he would call up and ask for a dinner date."
"Oh!" She looked at him, round-eyed. "And I haven't been answering!"
She shook her head. The blue eyes darkened with pain. "Only so I could say no in a nice way."
"Huh?"
"I'm not interested. Not yet." For an instant, there was a brightening across her face. "Unless you, Bob—"
"Sorry, kid. I'm tied up tonight." He checked his watch. "In fact, I should have left already."
"Oh," she said listlessly.
"Look here," he said. He took her by the shoulders and forced her to turn around and meet his gaze. "This can only go on so long, then they put you in the foundry. Bruce is dead. We're still alive. Start acting69 like it."
"It's only been—two days? Three?" She twisted away from him. "Give me time to get used to it."
"You never will, at this rate. I know you."
"Castoff, hellfire! We terminated an association which—"
"Yes, yes. I've heard that line too. You warned me and so on. Go ahead, call yourself a gentleman."
"Maròn!" He sprang to his feet and paced the floor. She leaned back and watched him, breathing hard.
Eventually his temper cooled. "Margery," he said, "I think I know what Bruce meant to you. Besides being someone you cared for, I mean. He was your chance at emotional security, wasn't he? A home, children. Why don't you admit it, you'll always be the little girl from Ohio, and what's wrong with that? The average man will breed the unaverage one again, someday when the human race gets back its health. He has before. But these hipster types are a biological and cultural dead end.
"I can't build your house in Ohio for you. Forget me. Bruce was not your last chance, but if you sit on your tocus feeling sorry for yourself, he will have been. Get the devil out of this hole!"
"Thanks for the counsel," she said. It fell flatly on his ears. The rising fury tinted71 her and tensed her; she spoke through jaws72 held stiff. "So much cheaper than help, isn't it? But it happens I choose to stay home tonight. Alone. Starting at once."
Kintyre stopped in midstride. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not sure what I did wrong just now, but I'm sorry."
She slumped73. "Please go away," she said without tone. "Call me tomorrow if you want, but please go away now."
"All right," he said.
She didn't stir as he went out the door.
He walked fast, being late. Anger changed to concern, and then that faded too, when he had Corinna to think about. Margery would be feeling better tomorrow, he could make friends again. At the moment, he needed a bath and a shave and a change of clothes.
Headlines on a news rack caught his eye, an extra edition. Peter and Eugene Michaelis had been arrested on suspicion of murder.
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1
acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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moron
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| n.极蠢之人，低能儿 | |
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petulance
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| n.发脾气，生气，易怒，暴躁，性急 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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neurotic
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| adj.神经病的，神经过敏的；n.神经过敏者，神经病患者 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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makeup
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| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
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ashtray
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| n.烟灰缸 | |
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overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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meticulous
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| adj.极其仔细的，一丝不苟的 | |
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chagrined
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| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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arthritis
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| n.关节炎 | |
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transcribed
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| （用不同的录音手段）转录( transcribe的过去式和过去分词 )； 改编（乐曲）（以适应他种乐器或声部）； 抄写； 用音标标出（声音） | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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camouflage
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| n./v.掩饰，伪装 | |
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crasser
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| adj.愚笨的，粗鲁的，全然不顾他人的( crass的比较级 ) | |
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parvenu
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| n.暴发户，新贵 | |
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query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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terrain
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| n.地面，地形，地图 | |
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obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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standardized
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| adj.标准化的 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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gist
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| n.要旨；梗概 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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pretentious
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| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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marketing
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| n.行销，在市场的买卖，买东西 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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restrictions
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| 约束( restriction的名词复数 )； 管制； 制约因素； 带限制性的条件（或规则） | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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tariffs
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| 关税制度； 关税( tariff的名词复数 )； 关税表； （旅馆或饭店等的）收费表； 量刑标准 | |
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47
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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narcotics
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| n.麻醉药( narcotic的名词复数 )；毒品；毒 | |
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50
pros
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| abbr.prosecuting 起诉；prosecutor 起诉人；professionals 自由职业者；proscenium （舞台）前部n.赞成的意见( pro的名词复数 )；赞成的理由；抵偿物；交换物 | |
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51
blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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52
counterfeiting
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| n.伪造v.仿制，造假( counterfeit的现在分词 ) | |
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53
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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54
deport
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| vt.驱逐出境 | |
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latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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56
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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circumspect
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| adj.慎重的，谨慎的 | |
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58
deported
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| v.将…驱逐出境( deport的过去式和过去分词 )；举止 | |
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59
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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61
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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indict
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| v.起诉，控告，指控 | |
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64
rescind
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| v.废除，取消 | |
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licenses
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| n.执照( license的名词复数 )v.批准，许可，颁发执照( license的第三人称单数 ) | |
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66
fiat
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| n.命令，法令，批准；vt.批准，颁布 | |
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67
killers
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| 凶手( killer的名词复数 )； 消灭…者； 致命物； 极难的事 | |
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68
gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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69
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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70
flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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71
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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72
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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73
slumped
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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