(1982) The Almighty (12 page)

all, that you are not in the public service business. You are in the dog-eat-dog newspaper business. Your first - your only duty - is to me, to me and to this newspaper. You had an exclusive story for us, one we had considerable difficulty arranging. You got a good story. Your instinct should have made you come directly here and write it. We might have had a second beat - and you would have had a by-line. Yes, a second beat. A natural. I can see the headline: “Escaped Murderer Vows to Kill D.A. Van Dusen.” That would have hiked our circulation even higher. Once Yinger was dead, your story was pointless, and Yinger’s death was everyone’s story, not ours, and it became routine news. You had your priorities wrong. Do you understand what I am saying, Victoria?’

‘I think I do, Mr. Armstead. I’m sorry.’ ‘You may get a medal from the district attorney. But you won’t get one from Edward Armstead - until you realize that the paper always comes first. Next time you have a big story, see that you deliver it to the Record. Then you’ll get the right kind of medal.’ He saw that she was unstrung, and he did not want to unravel her completely. ‘Okay, you’ve learned your lesson. You’ll do better from now on.’

As she left, he wondered if he had been unduly harsh. He decided that he had not. He had, indeed, taught her a lesson. From now on she would be a perfect reporter, and a good member of a winning team.

Armstead was determined to have a winning team, a newspaper that was the constant leader.

In pursuit of this goal, he had spent the next hour going through the latest editions of all the New York papers, and the Washington and Chicago papers as well. He had riffled through the future folder, the file folder of potential news stories that might develop in the days ahead.

He wanted another Yinger. More of the same.

A thought had materialized, and he had asked McAllister to locate Nick Ramsey.

He had Nick Ramsey on his phone now. ‘Nick, this is Armstead.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Do you remember that last Special Project we conceived, the one I had you research abroad - the one my father turned down?’

‘Certainly. It was the terrorist thing, the series we were going to call “The Time of the Terrorist.”’

‘That’s the one, the series. As I recall, you did quite a bit of background work on it. Do you still have your notes?’

‘Every note in mint condition.’

‘Good. Leave them with my secretary. I want to read them again. We just may want to reactivate the series.’

‘Great idea. It could be a scorcher.’

‘We’ll see. Let me have a look. I’ll let you know.’

As he put the receiver down, Armstead heard Estelle’s voice and had to pick it up again.

‘Gus Pagano is here for his appointment.’

Armstead had quite forgotten. ‘Send him in,’ he said.

Seconds later Gus Pagano came into the room, twirling his hat in his hand.

Inside the office, he halted and surveyed the space. ‘Quite a layout,’ said Pagano, impressed. ‘Lots of elbowroom.’

Armstead presumed that his visitor meant the office was more habitable than a cell in Green Haven prison. He motioned Pagano to a chair across from him. Armstead had never met the informant before. What surprised him was that Pagano looked like what he was supposed to be, as if type-cast for a small-time racketeer or gangster. The jet-black curly hair, hooked nose, swarthy complexion, pinstriped suit -perfect, except there were no bulges that might indicate a weapon.

Pagano had made himself comfortable and was shaking a cigarette loose from his pack. ‘Do you mind?’ He lit the cigarette without waiting for an answer.

‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Pagano,’ Armstead-said.

‘Likewise,’ said Pagano.

Armstead wasted no time. ‘Your tip about the prison tunnel - that was pretty good.’

‘You used it.’

‘You bet I did.’

‘You weren’t supposed to,’ said Pagano. He wasn’t angry at all. Just a flat statement. ‘It was secret.’

‘Mr. Pagano, once a secret is revealed to another, it is no longer a secret. That should be evident.’

‘I told her it was not for publication.’

‘It wasn’t published,’ said Armstead simply. ‘It wasn’t published until Yinger’s escape revealed its existence.’

‘Okay, if you want to be technical.’

‘Mr. Pagano, hear me out. I have a business proposition for you. But before presenting it, let me state my policy unequivocally - I believe that there is nothing in the world not for publication once it has been given to the Record. Everything on earth is for publication. If I know it, it is for publication. What did you get paid for talking to our reporter about Yinger and the cell?’

‘Two hundred and fifty bucks.’

‘Not enough,’ said Armstead. ‘For services rendered, you deserve better. I’m making that payment a thousand dollars for the tip. And I’m offering you a proposition. How’d you like to be on my payroll at a thousand a week?’

Pagano sat up, his beady eyes brightening. But he was hesitant. ‘For doing what?’

‘For doing what comes naturally. I don’t want a thousand dollars a week to make you go straight. I want you to stay where you are - underground. Give me more leads like the Yinger one.’

‘They don’t happen often.’

‘You need come through only once in a while. Look, I know a little about you. You like to live well. You’re always short of money. This would give you enough to live on, and to live well. At the same time, I don’t want you to lose your contacts. I just don’t want you involved in armed robbery anymore. Hang around with your regular friends, but take no risks. Keep your ears open.’

‘And let you know what I hear.’

‘If it might be a lead to a news story, yes. Just give us a little more.’

‘I wouldn’t want to get my friends in trouble.’

‘You don’t have to. What you report doesn’t have to involve them exactly.’

Pagano stubbed out his cigarette thoughtfully. ‘It’s still a dangerous scam,’ he said. ‘My friends wouldn’t like it if they learned they had a stool pigeon around.’

‘You won’t be a stool pigeon. You’ll listen a lot. You won’t hurt anybody. You’ll be selective, tell us what you can tell us.’

‘Yeah.’

‘A grand a week, Gus. Maybe some bonuses down the line for special services.’

‘Yeah.’

Armstead stood up. ‘What do you say, Gus?’

Gus Pagano came to his feet. He stuck out his hand. ‘You got a deal, Mr. Armstead.’

Armstead shook his hand heartily. Releasing it, Armstead came around the desk. He was beaming again. This was a good day. Things were falling into place. He joined Pagano and took his arm. ‘Come on. You need to talk to Harry Dietz. He is now my assistant, and he’ll be the one you keep in touch with. I want you two to work out a modus operandi. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

Armstead was about to leave his office when the telephone call had come from his wife Hannah.

She had wanted to know if he would be coming back for dinner, because she had something she wanted to discuss with him.

T can’t be home for dinner,’ he had told her, ‘but as a matter of fact I will be coming by right now, just for a few minutes. I’ve got several appointments lined up, and I want to change clothes before going out again. I’ll be by in a little bit. We can talk then.’

Now, in his bedroom of their penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park, Armstead had finished his dressing. He had three appointments ahead of him, and it was for his second appointment - date, really, a date with Kim Nesbit - that he had come back to change from a staid business suit into a younger and sportier outfit, lively cashmere sports jacket and Savile Row slacks. Inspecting himself in the full-length mirror, he was pleased. He hadn’t looked better in years.

He realized that time was closing in, he would have to be on his way shortly. He had better leave five minutes for Hannah, who was still waiting for him in the living room. He wondered what she wanted to talk about when he was so busy. He had already told her all about the Yinger beat at breakfast this

morning. What more was there to discuss? If it was something Hannah had on her mind, it couldn’t be good. He hoped it would be nothing to mar his perfect day.

He went through the corridor into the living room. Hannah, he was pleased to note, was not in her usual wheelchair, the constant invalid. She was seated, instead, in the armchair near the television set. She even had color in her face. Going toward her, he wondered if he should sit briefly, but decided against it. Relaxing might invite a prolonged conversation. He decided to remain on his feet.

‘Meant to tell you,’ he said, ‘we passed the New York Times today, beat them out all the way. How’s that?’

‘Congratulations, Ed. I’m pleased for you.’

‘I knew I could do it, and I’ve done it,’ he said, extracting a cigar from his sports jacket and unpeeling it. Snipping off one end, he brought out his pocket lighter and lit up. ‘Okay, Hannah, now what can I do for you? You wanted to talk about something.’

‘About our son Roger,’ she said.

‘What about Roger?’

‘I had a call from him a little while ago, from a hospital in Green Bay, Wisconsin.’

‘A hospital? What do you mean? What’s wrong? Is it anything serious - no, it couldn’t be or he wouldn’t have been able to call you, and you’d have told me on the phone.’

‘It’s not serious,’ said Hannah, ‘but it is still the hospital. Roger was climbing a mountain, and slipped and fell -‘

‘Climbing a mountain? There are no mountains around Green Bay.’

‘A hill, then,’ she said. ‘Maybe I heard it wrong. Anyway, he took a fall and injured himself. A friend, climbing with him, got him to the nearest hospital. Roger sustained two leg fractures. Not serious, but incapacitating. It’ll keep him laid up a little while.’

For some reason, hearing about this outdoors nonsense irritated Armstead. ‘What in the hell was he doing climbing?’

‘It had something to do with his job.’

‘Idiotic,’ Armstead muttered. ‘Serves him right.’ He couldn’t think of another Armstead in the family who had ever climbed anything, except into bed. The thought amused him, and he said more cheerfully, ‘Well, as long as he’s all

right. Let me know how he’s coming along. Is this it - what you wanted to talk to me about?’

‘Not completely,’ said Hannah. ‘Ed, I wanted to ask you to come to Green Bay with me for the weekend.’

Armstead scowled. ‘To do what? Hold his hand? God, Hannah, he’s not a child anymore. Besides, he’s got a doctor, plenty of friends there.’

‘It’s not the same as family, Ed. He’s flat on his back. You know how he hates to be confined. I’m sure he’d like more company, be happy to see his parents. It would be comforting.’

Armstead waved his cigar in disgust. ‘Hannah, you know better than that. I’ve just taken over. I’ve just made my mark. I’m up to my ass in business, in the very middle of everything, with a million plans in progress -‘

‘Can’t you put it aside for just one weekend?’

‘Hannah, for chrissakes, I can’t spare the time. Look, if you feel Roger needs company, then go to Wisconsin yourself and see him for the weekend. I’ll arrange for a nurse to accompany you. How’s that?’

With effort, Hannah said, ‘I think he wanted so very much to see you, Ed. He told me on the phone he’d read about your Yinger exclusive in the local newspaper up there. He said to tell you it was fantastic. He was very proud of what you’d done.’

Armstead was both surprised and pleased. ‘Well, now, the boy has at least some sense.’ He searched for the time. ‘Tell you what, I’ve got to rush out now or I’ll be late. But leave Roger’s telephone number out for me. I should be back not too much after dinner. A short victory celebration with Dietz and Harmston. When I get back I’ll give Roger a call myself. You go up and see him for the weekend. I’ll miss you, but he needs you more. Now I’d better hurry.’

Once Armstead had left the apartment and stood waiting for the elevator, an odd thought occurred to him.

It occurred to him that he himself had been a son so long, he’d never had time to be a father.

Well, he told himself, maybe his own sonhood was coming to an end. Life would belong to him alone (and Roger - of course Roger). He’d have to get into it in today’s session with the shrink.

Edward Armstead had sunk into the worn brown leather chair in Dr. Carl Scharf s office, and he had been talking for forty minutes, forcing the psychiatrist to listen. It had been a test of strength, and Armstead had enjoyed it.

Now he ceased talking and shifted his weight in the leather chair. Then he said, ‘Carl, when are you going to get a new chair or have this one fixed? Christ, the springs are practically coming out. I have a sore ass every time I leave you.’

‘It’s to remind the idle rich of the Spartan life. To remind you life is real, life is earnest, and it is also a pain in the ass.’

‘If I have to, I’ll buy you a new chair for Christmas/

Armstead knew that Dr. Scharf would use the last ten or fifteen minutes to do a sum-up of their session. It was his pattern. It was all right. It always allowed Armstead - and other patients, too, he supposed - to leave with a clear picture of where he stood and where he should be going. Emotionally, that is.

Waiting for the sum-up, he kept his eyes on the psychiatrist. Momentarily Dr. Scharf had taken on a resemblance to a beach ball. He was very globular this afternoon. His protruding curved belly hung over a narrow belt. He was as untidy as ever in the turtleneck sweater and wrinkled slacks. Dr. Scharf was busily adjusting his feet on the footstool.

Armstead waited for wisdom. Or at least support for his own good cheer.

‘Well, I must say, that was quite a scoop you pulled off, Edward,’ said Dr. Carl Scharf.

‘We don’t call them scoops anymore,’ said Armstead. ‘We call them beats.’

‘Your scoop was on the television news,’ Dr. Scharf said. ‘That’s where I heard about Yinger’s escaping.’

‘You didn’t read it in my paper? You know that paper is my life.’

‘I bought three copies, just to keep you affluent,’ said Dr. Scharf. ‘I wondered, how did you get that story so fast, and exclusive yet?’

‘Professional secret.’