On the Other Hand, Death - Stevenson Richard - Страница 27

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13 The bar at the new downtown Albany

Hilton was a million-dollar flying fortress of mirrors, Swedish ivy, chrome, rosewood, spider plants, bamboo, rubber trees, cut glass, and ferns, as if Hugh Carey's jet had crashed in the jungle.

Dale Overdorf was away on his second trip to the men's room, and I signaled the barman. "Another Coors for the gentleman and a double iced coffee for me."

I checked my watch. Seven-twelve. Overdorf hadn't shown up until after six, and in an hour I'd bought him six homophobic bottles of beer and found out next to nothing. During Overdorfs first men's room break I'd phoned Dot's house and learned that there had been no further contact with the kidnappers—and no message from Timmy. Bowman told me a tap and trace had been put on Dot's phone by the authorities, and if I stayed on the line another ninety seconds he could tell me where I was calling from. I said I was at the Hilton bar.

"You people taking that place over too?"

"Yep. The Fort Orange Club is next. The name'll be changed to Orangie's Pub."

Click.

Overdorf, bulllike and sweating, his gold chains ting-a-linging, wobbled back toward me. Negotiating the stairs up from the lobby, he seemed to be attempting to impersonate a third-rate comedian imitating a drunk.

"Sh-sure is hot in here. Goddamn, it's hot."

The temperature inside the Hilton had been set at a defiant 35 degrees.

"You were telling me, Dale, about the way Millpond security operates. The 'special projects' stuff. 'Outreach.'"

He slid onto his stool and partook of the pale liquid. "Who'd you say you worked for, Life-raft—or whatever your goddamn name is?"

"Lovecraft. H. P. Lovecraft professionally, but you can just call me Archie. I run Cover-U.S. Security Systems, Ink, in Elmira. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, Lyle said you were goddamn private. Like me now."

"Right."

"Uh-huh. So, how you like Albany, Archie? Some

dead town, huh? Not much action here. You want action, you gotta go over to goddamn Troy. That's where all the action is. Troy."

"I didn't know that."

"Oh, yeah. Action's in Troy."

"Just like Elmira. You want action, you gotta go over to Corning."

"Yeah. Know what yer sayin'."

"Same everywhere. You want action, gotta go someplace else."

"Dead town. Goddamn dead town."

I slapped a five on the bar. "Another Coors for the gentleman s'il vous plait."

The barkeep gave me a look but produced the bottle. I told him to keep the change.

"You were telling me, Dale, about the kind of stuff you do in shopping mall security, which I've never handled but I might want to get into out my way. Shoplifters, dope peddlers in the bathrooms, all that. You said there was some special stuff that comes up once in a while. Kind of rough, you said. You mean like holdups, or hostage situations, or what?"

"Heh-heh."

"I mean, I'm just trying to find out what I can look forward to. What are the dangers, the risks?"

He leaned close. "Lemme tell you, Life-raft. Just lemme goddamn tell you. It gets heavy sometimes. Heavy, heavy stuff. Crane Trefusis is a real hard-ass son of a bitch. I'm telling you, you do not wanna fuck with ol' Crane."

"Sounds like the kind of guy I wouldn't mind working for. Doesn't take any shit."

"Ho-ho. Take shit? Take shit? Ehn-ehn." He made his blurry eyes get big and ran a large finger across his throat.

"Jeez, Dale, what kind of shit would anybody try to

pull on a guy like that? People'd have to be nuts."

"You'd be surprised. Lotta dumb-ass people in this world. You'd be surprised."

"You ever take anybody out for Crane?"

He glanced around the bar, then leaned toward me again. He said beerily, "No. But I busted a guy's collarbone once."

"No shit. Recently?"

" 'Bout a year ago. Goddamn asshole was tryin' to hold Millpond up for a quarter of a million for a zoning approval out around Syracuse. Crane has me play a tape of a certain conversation for this shit-ass. I give him five grand, and then I knock him around a little to remind him he isn't dealing with goddamn Fanny Farmer. He got the point. Oh, he got the point."

"I guess a class outfit has to do business that way sometimes if it's going to stay on top. Stay in the big time."

"You better believe it. Competition'll eat ya alive. Gotta goddamn push."

Overdorf made a pushing motion with his thighlike forearm. The bartender glanced our way, but I shook my head.

"Any action like that lately, Dale? I hear Trefusis is getting a lot of grief from some old broad in west Albany who's holding up his new project. Some crazy old lez."

"Nah. The word is Crane's handling that one himself. The only rough stuff I've had lately was back in June when Crane had me do a favor for one of the Millpond owners, a building supply guy who found out some goddamn smartass who worked for him had his hand in the till. I persuaded the gentleman to start making rinston-too-shun. Reston-too-shun."

"Why didn't they just bring in the cops?"

"Dipped if I know. Doing the guy a favor, I s'pose. I

was nice about it though. But not too nice. Just nice enough. When I was done, it didn't show. Much. 'Nother collarbone job. Hey—hey, Life-raft, what time you got?"

"Ten to eight."

"Yeah. Early. Too soon to head over to goddamn Troy. Albany's a . . . dead town."

"You over there last night, Dale? Over to Troy for the action? Or were you stuck on a goddamn job last night?"

"Yeah, I was over. Not much action though. This one chick—I was in Bill Kerwin's place about twelve o'clock— and this one chick, built like Polly Parton, this one chick comes over and says, 'Hey—hey, you wanna bite a real cute chick's neck?' And I says, 'Yeah, sure, and that's not all.' And she says, 'Okay, here,' and she hands me this goddamn chicken neck. Shit. Fuck. Real cute. She was cute, all right. But she wasn't so goddamn cute afterwards. Uhn-uhn."

"This was just last night? Jeez, I was all alone in my room watching the Carson show, having no fun at all."

"Yeah, but tonight I'll score. I mean, goddamn Troy on a Saturday night? You better believe it, Life-raft. You can't find some action in Troy on Saturday night, you may's well go back to Cobleskill. That's where I grew up, out in Cobleskill. Now, there is a goddamn dead town. Hey, you wanna tag along over to Troy? I don't make promises, but— Hey, I'll bet you're a real cocksman, huh? Look like the type. Real pussy chaser. Get it comin' and goin'."

"H-yeah. Gotta admit it. Comin' and goin'. But I'll pass on tonight, Dale. I've made other arrangements."

"That so? Don't leave nothin' to goddamn chance, huh? Well, drop one for me, pal. Case there's no action in Troy."

"No action in Troy? Dale, I find that hard to believe."

"Nyaah. These towns around here are all the same.

Dead! Goddamn dead towns. They all suck."

"Even Schenectady?"

"Especially Schenectady."

"Guess I'm lucky I'm heading back to Elmira tomorrow. "

"Someday I'm just gonna pick up and go where the action is. Get the goddamn fuck out of these . . . dead towns."

"Where would you go, Dale?"

"Rochester. You want action, you gotta go to Rochester. Listen, Life-raft, lemme tell you about goddamn Rochester. ..."

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