The Death Instinct (28 page)

    Fall took a long time before answering: 'You turn my stomach, Brighton. Know that? I ain't for sale. The Republican Party ain't for sale. The US army ain't for sale. I'm not going to let Harding get bogged down in Mexico, and I'm not going to use the army to take care of your business.'

    'You won't help Americans in Mexico?' asked Brighton.

    'They're your employees,' replied Fall. 'You help them.'

    Brighton looked confused, at a loss. 'Is that all?'

    'You bet that's all. Now git.' Fall took Brighton by the arm and ushered him into the other room, from which Littlemore heard Brighton asking if anyone knew where Samuels was.

    'I'll be going too, Mr Fall,' said Littlemore when the Senator returned.

    'I asked you a question, Littlemore,' replied Fall. 'Will you show me your evidence if you tie the bombing to the Russians?'

    'I can't promise that, Mr Senator. But I'll think about what you said.'

    On the steps of the Senate Office Building, Mrs Cross - seeing Littlemore out - said, 'Well, didn't you charm the Senator?'

    'Is that right?' asked Littlemore.

    'That's right. You stood up to him. He likes that. You could go far in this town. If you learned how to dress.'

    'Something wrong with how I'm dressed?'

    She reached out and fixed his jacket collar, one wing of which was saluting rather than lying down flat. 'What party are you, Agent Littlemore?' she asked. 'Are you a Democrat, like Secretary Houston? Or a Republican, like Senator Fall?'

    'I don't belong to any party, ma'am.'

    'No? Well, who do you like, Cox or Harding?'

    'Haven't decided. My wife likes Debs.'

    'How interesting,' said Mrs Cross. 'I wouldn't mention that again, if I were you.'

    'Which - that I have a wife, or that she's for Debs?'

    'That depends on whether you're talking to a woman or a man. Goodbye, New York. 'The well-heeled Mrs Cross walked in what might have been described as a businesslike sashay, the graceful motions of which, when viewed from behind, defied any man, even a married man, to turn away. Littlemore watched her disappear liltingly into the Senate Office Building.

    No sooner had Mrs Cross sashayed out of sight than a man's voice called out, 'Detective Littlemore, is that you? Samuels was out here all along, waiting for me.' It was Brighton, standing next to a luxurious car with a closed passenger compartment and a roof that stuck out over the driver. Brighton seemed to consider his private secretary's whereabouts a cause of public concern. 'Why would he a do a thing like that?'

    'I'm guessing it's because you told him to, Mr Brighton,' said Littlemore, descending the steps.

    'Really?' Brighton stuck his head below the protruding roof. When he reemerged, he said, 'By Jove, you're right. I did ask him to. How did you know?'

    'Wild guess.'

    'It's so fortunate I ran into you. Samuels reminded me what I wanted to thank you for. It was for Samuels himself. Your report cleared him of wrongdoing after that unfortunate shooting of the mad girl. You saved me no end of trouble. I couldn't manage without Samuels, you know - not for a day.'

    'Just doing my job, Mr Brighton,' said Littlemore. 'The girl had a knife. The witnesses said she attacked first. Your man acted lawfully.'

    'How is she?'

    'Still in the hospital. Been there ever since she was shot.'

    'Not her,' said Brighton. 'I meant Miss Rousseau. Such a lovely girl. I nearly fainted when that madwoman assaulted her.'

    'Miss Colette's fine, so far as I know.'

    'Is she poor?'

    'Poor?' asked Littlemore.

    'I'm not like you, Detective. No woman will ever fall in love with me for my personal qualities. My father told me so many years ago, after I took over the business. I'm looking for a girl who will marry me for my money.'

    'I know a couple hundred girls like that.'

    'Really?' Brighton blinked as if he couldn't believe the detective's good luck. 'You couldn't introduce me to them, could you?'

    'Sure. My wife loves to match-make.'

    'How strange,' Brighton reflected. 'The only girl I can think of at present is Miss Rousseau. So comely. Do you know where she went? She promised to come to Washington with me, but Mrs Meloney says she simply vanished.'

    'Couldn't tell you.' This was doubly true. Littlemore neither knew where Colette was, nor would he have told Brighton if he did.

    'That other creature - the madwoman.' Brighton shuddered. 'I've never seen anything so hideous. Did she tell anyone what's wrong with her?'

    'No. She's been unconscious since the shooting.'

    'How can I thank you for Samuels? What about five thousand dollars?'

    'I'm sorry?'

    'His freedom is worth much more than that to me, I promise you.'

    'You can't give me money in exchange for police work,' said Littlemore.

    'I don't see the logic in that,' replied Brighton, removing a thick wallet from his breast pocket and withdrawing a single large-sized Federal Reserve note with a blue seal and a picture of James Madison on it. 'Where's the incentive to do good work if a man can't be rewarded for it? Surely you could use five thousand dollars.'

    Littlemore took a deep breath through his nostrils, thinking of his daughter Lily. 'I can't take it, Mr Brighton. I can't take a dime.'

    'How absurd. Well, what about a ride? At least I can offer you a ride. I'm on my way to the train station. Can I take you somewhere?'

    Littlemore, who was going to the station himself, accepted. When Brighton discovered that Littlemore too was destined for New York that evening, he beamed and insisted they travel together.

    Samuels pulled the limousine up at a loading dock in the rear of Union Station. Brighton explained that this was the only way to get the automobile onto the train.

    'They let you bring your car onto the train?' asked Littlemore as they stepped out of the vehicle.

    'I can bring anything I like,' answered Brighton. 'It's my train. I have a parlor car, a bedroom car, a billiards car, a kitchen car, and a car car - hah, hah - a car car, isn't that good? We'll have great fun, Detective. No one ever rides with me.'

    'Afraid I can't, Mr Brighton.'

    'What? Why not?'

    'If I ride your private train,' said Littlemore, 'I'm accepting a pretty fancy service from you. It's like you're buying something for me.'

    'But what good is my money if I'm not allowed to buy things with it?'

    'Some things you can't.'

    'That's ludicrous,' said Brighton. 'The Commissioner of Police, Mr Enright, has taken my train. The Attorney General has taken it. Senator Harding rode it three weeks ago.'

    'That's different.'

    'Why?'

    'Because -' Littlemore began before interrupting himself. 'I don't know why, to tell you the truth. But that's the way it is.'

    'I have an idea. You could you do extra work for me - you know, when you're off-duty. That can't possibly be against the law, can it?'

    'No,' Littlemore acknowledged reluctantly. 'A lot of the men moonlight.'

    'There we are then! You'll do something useful for me, and I'll pay you five thousand dollars for it. What do you say? The ride to New York will be your interview. We'll figure out what service you can render me. I'm not sure what; Samuels is so good at everything. He used to be a Pinkerton man, you know. But there must be some valuable service you can perform.'

    Littlemore watched Samuels steer the limousine up a wide ramp. 'I guess I might be able to do something,' said the detective.

    'What about my people in Mexico?' asked Brighton. 'You know it was quite true what I told Senator Fall. I own hundreds of thousands of very productive acres in Mexico, and their government is trying to take it all away from me.'

    'I don't doubt it, Mr Brighton.'

    'Didn't I hear Senator Fall say you work for the federal government now? Perhaps you can help me with Mexico. Confiscation is theft, you know - outright theft. Could you send some federal policemen in?'

    'Listen, Mr Brighton. First of all, I got no jurisdiction over Mexico. Second, whatever I do for you, it can't have anything to do with my government work. Third, I'm not taking any money today I'll just ride up to New York with you, and we'll see if we can figure out something you need that I could do for you. Okay?'

    'I know: Let's play billiards,' declared Brighton. 'Come on - it's only good when the train's at rest. Samuels is bunk at billiards. I could pay you for being my billiards partner!'

    The Sixth Avenue Elevated rattled by a half block away, shaking the floors and the bed in which Littlemore and his wife were lying.

    'What's the matter?' asked Betty, seeing her husband's open eyes.

    'Nothing.'

    'It's after two, Jimmy.'

    'I feel like I took my first bribe.'

    'You mean because you rode in Mr Brighton's train? You're the only policeman in New York who would think there was anything wrong with that.'

    'He offered me five thousand dollars. Enough for Lily. He put it in my hand.'

    'Did you take it?'

    'No.'

    The noise of the train receded into the distance. The bedroom was completely silent.

    'What did he want you to do?' asked Betty at last.

    'Nothing. He wanted to pay me for something I already did.'

    'He offered you five thousand dollars for nothing?'

    'It was for police work,' said Littlemore. 'I'm sorry, Betty. I couldn't take it.'

    'You listen to me, James Littlemore,' said Betty, sitting up. 'Don't you take any dirty money. Not for me, not for Lily, not for anything.'

    Littlemore shut his eyes. 'Thanks,' he said.

    Betty lay down again. A long while passed.

    'Did I make enough of myself, Betty?' asked Littlemore.

    'Enough? Nobody works harder than you. You put food on our table every day. You got us an apartment on Fourteenth Street.'

    'Mayor Mitchel was mayor of New York City at thirty-four,' said Littlemore. 'Teddy Roosevelt was Police Commissioner at thirty-eight. I can't even afford to fix my own daughter's hearing.'

    'They had famous fathers, Jimmy. Your father -' Betty hesitated - 'well, you did everything on your own.'

    Littlemore didn't speak.

    'And you're still going places,' said Betty. 'Look at this new job of yours. None of the girls have a husband like mine. You should see the looks in their eyes. You're like a god. Captain Littlemore of the New York Police Department. Special Agent Littlemore of the United States Treasury.'

    'Like a god,' said Littlemore, smiling, wiping his eyes in the darkness. 'That's me all right.'

    The morning papers confirmed Brighton's complaints. The President-elect of Mexico, General Alvaro Obregon, had ordered troops into American-owned silver mines. He was threatening to do the same with the much more lucrative oil wells, claiming that Americans had bought their subsoil rights through illegal, corrupt transactions with the pre-revolutionary regime.

    The American Society for Psychical Research had a perfectly unspiritual office on East Twenty-third Street in Manhattan, lined with scientific publications, most prominently its own. No signs of the occult were anywhere in evidence. Dr Walter Franklin Prince, the acting director, was equally mundane in appearance. He was a large- faced, affable man of about sixty with a receding hairline, and he smoked a pipe with an unusually large bowl.

    'Thanks for making time, Dr Prince,' said Littlemore the next morning, shaking Prince's hand. 'Friend of mine told me you were the outfit to talk to about supernatural stuff.'

    'Delighted to assist,' replied Prince. 'My secretary, Miss Tubby, tells me you doubt whether Mr Edwin Fischer really could have seen into the future.'

    'That's right, but I'm listening.'

    'Certainly he could have. Premonitions of disaster are commonplace.

    In 1902, I myself dreamed in precise detail of a train wreck four hours before it occurred. In 1912, Mr J. C. Middleton, having purchased tickets for the maiden voyage of the
Titanic
, dreamed two nights in a row of the ship's foundering and of its passengers drowning in the cold sea. He refused to travel and lived.'

    'Didn't happen to tell anybody about his dreams before the ship went down, did he?'

    'I wouldn't mention it otherwise. I have no truck with after-the-fact clairvoyants. Mr Middleton was so alarmed that he immediately told his wife and several friends. Their affidavits are in my drawer. I've been looking into the Fischer case myself, and based on the evidence, I'm convinced his premonition was authentic.'