The Death Instinct (48 page)

    'That's good,' said Younger.

    'You wanted to talk to me?' asked Littlemore.

    'Who told you that?'

    'The Miss.'

    'Ridiculous,' said Younger. His teeth began to rattle again.

    'I'm lighting you that cigarette,' said Littlemore. He did so, fingers not as steady as they usually were. 'There you go.'

    'Thanks.' Younger smoked; it settled his clattering teeth. 'You realize there's a silver lining.'

    'Oh, yeah - what?'

    'If I die fast enough, you'll be in the clear at my hearing tomorrow. They can't make you pay a man's bail bond posthumously.'

    'I already talked to the DA,' said Littlemore. 'He dropped the charges against you.'

    'Ah. Excellent. Then my death will be completely pointless.'

    There was a long pause.

    'Good thing I'm not a believer,' said Younger, smoke curling into his eyes.

    Another silence.

    'Not even to my own family,' said Younger.

    'What's that?' asked Littlemore.

    'Nothing,' said Younger. 'Ash?'

    Littlemore took the cigarette, tamped it into an ashtray, and returned it to Younger's mouth.

    'I wasn't kind, Jim,' said Younger quietly.

    'What are you talking about?'

    'I was never kind. Not to one person. Not even to my family.'

    'Sure you were,' said Littlemore. 'You took care of your mom when she got sick. I remember.'

    'No, I didn't,' said Younger. 'And my father. All he ever wanted from me was a show of respect. That's all. Never gave it to him.' He laughed through the smoke. 'Funny thing was I did respect him. I wasn't like you. You visit your father every weekend. You make him part of your life. You talk about Washington.'

    'My dad?' said Littlemore.

    'Yes.'

    'My dad?'

    Younger looked at him.

    'My dad's a drunk,' said Littlemore. 'He's been a drunk his whole life. He cheated. And he was crooked. Got kicked off the force for taking bribes. They took his badge, took his gun. Everything I ever said about him was a lie.'

    'I know.'

    'I know you know,' said Littlemore. 'But you let me tell my lies.'

    Neither spoke.

    'That was kind,' added Littlemore.

    Younger grimaced. His head jerked back; his teeth clenched. The cigarette broke off, and the lit end flew in a little arc like a miniature rocket, bouncing off the sheet near his chin, then falling to the floor. At the same time, the door to the room opened.

    'I'll get that,' said Colette, hurrying in, brushing a hot red ember off the sheet and cleaning up the floor. She placed her palm wordlessly below Younger's lips. From his mouth, he let slip the unsmoked butt end of the cigarette, which fell into her hand. He began to shake again and sweat.

    No one said anything.

    At last Littlemore asked, 'You in a lot of pain, Doc?'

    'I never understood it,' said Younger.

    'What?' asked Littlemore.

    'Why I was alive. Why any of us were.'

    'You understand now?' asked Colette.

    Younger nodded. 'Not happiness. Not meaning. It's just-'

    He stopped.

    'What?' asked Colette.

    'War.'

    'Only some people aren't fighting,' said Littlemore, remembering something Younger had once said to him.

    'No. Everyone's fighting. And I know what it's between, this war.' He looked at Colette.

    'What?' asked Littlemore.

    'Too late,' said Younger. He lost control of his torso, which began to convulse. Fresh blood appeared on his bandages. Whether the expression on his face was another grimace or a smile, Littlemore couldn't tell.

    Colette stared. Betty called for the nurse.

    In the middle of the night, Colette knelt alone at Younger's bed. A candle burned on the table. 'Can you hear me?' she whispered.

    His eyes were closed. He was still prone, his back rising and falling so shallowly there was hardly any respiration at all. His forehead was drenched. A hollow light glowed in his cheeks.

    'If you die,' she said quietly, 'I'll never forgive you.'

    He lay there.

    Abruptly she stood, letting go his hand. 'Go ahead and die then if you're so weak,' she cried. 'I thought you were strong. You're a weakling. Nothing but a weakling.'

    'Not very sympathetic,' he said softly, without opening his eyes.

    She gasped and covered her mouth. She took his hand again and whispered in his ear. 'If you live,' she said, 'I'll do anything you want. I'll be your slave.'

    'Promise?'

    'I promise,' she whispered.

    His eyes blinked open - and shut again. 'Incentive. That's good. Nevertheless, I'm dying. You have to go.'

    'I'm not going anywhere.'

    'Yes, you are,' he said, making a great effort to speak. 'I need to tell you what to do. I won't be awake long enough. Get Littlemore. Tell him to take you to a fishing tackle store.'

    'What?'

    'Break in if you need to. They'll have maggots - for bait. I should have thought of it before. Make sure they're from blowflies. Anything else will eat me alive. Tell the surgeon to open me up where the bullets entered. Cut as far down as he can. Drop the maggots in. Keep the incision open - use clamps. There's got to be plenty of air. Drain the wounds every couple of hours. After three days, clean them out.'

    Dr Salvini, chief surgeon of the Washington Square Hospital, initially objected vigorously to the idea of embedding fly larvae to feast next to his patient's heart. But he knew Younger was dying, and in any event Colette gave him no choice.

    'Um, what if they lay eggs in there?' Littlemore asked Colette early the next morning, peering at the seething stew in the troughs of Younger's back.

'First we have to hope they clean out the infection,' she answered quietly.

    'I know,' said Littlemore, 'but what if the eggs hatch after he's sewed up?'

    'They're larvae,' said Colette. 'They can't lay eggs. They only eat.'

    'Oh - sounds good,' said Littlemore, swallowing.

    How Younger held on over the next forty-eight hours, no one knew. His fever reached a hundred and five. He had no food, nearly no drink. They had to tie him to the bed rails because his convulsions were so violent.

    On the third day, his fever broke. When the engorged maggots were flushed out of the wounds, Salvini was astonished to find clean, pink, healthy tissue, with all the necrotic detritus and seepage gone.

    They took another set of X-rays. This time, Colette herself computed the depth and location of the bullet fragments - correctly to within a tenth of a centimeter. The bullets had indeed mushroomed, but they were stable and largely intact. Salvini didn't even have to break any more of Younger's ribs to extract them.

    The following morning, fresh air and dappled sunlight poured in through the window of Younger's hospital room, the curtains of which were now thrown open, affording a pleasant view of Washington Square Park and its autumnal trees. Younger was awake, propped up by pillows. He had lost weight, but his skin had regained its color, and he could move again.

    Colette came in, radiant, carrying a baguette and a paper bag filled with other groceries. 'I found a French bakery,' she said. 'I brought you croissants. Can we live here?'

    'Where did you get those diamonds?' he asked, looking at her choker.

    Colette shook her head, breaking the baguette. 'These hideous diamonds. I can't get them off. I've even taken my baths with them.'

    'I like you in them,' replied Younger. 'I command you to keep them on. Day and night.'

    'But I don't want to,' she said. 'Some slave,' he answered. 'Come here.'

    She bent to him. Younger reached behind her and - with infuriating male handiness - unclasped the necklace. She kissed his lips. He handed her a telegram brought by Officer Roederheusen from the Commodore Hotel. Colette read it:

26 NOV. 1920

    BOY CURED. HAVE BOOKED CABIN FOR HIM S.S. SUSQUEHANNA

    ARRIVING NEW YORK 23 DECEMBER IN COMPANY OF YOUR

    FRIEND OKTAVIAN KINSKY. PLEASE ADVISE IF THIS PLAN

    SUITABLE.

                                                                                                       FREUD

Chapter Twenty-two

    On December twenty-third, in the icy early morning harbor air, below an overcast sky, they stamped their feet -Younger and Colette; Jimmy and Betty Littlemore - and waited for the steamship Susquehanna. Winter had come. A dusting of overnight snow had given New York City a fairy-tale veneer, belied by the heavy, forbidding waters of the port, dotted with skins of fruit and other refuse.

    The men stood on the dock. Colette and Betty conversed near the harbor buildings, which sheltered them from the sharp winds. Younger, whose rib cage was trussed in bandages below his suit, asked the detective for the time.

    'Quarter of eight,' said Littlemore, rubbing his hands for warmth. 'Where's your watch?'

    'Sold it.'

    'Why?'

    'To pay the hospital,' said Younger. 'And to pay Freud for Luc's ticket.'

    'Does Colette know?'

    'She knows I'm cleaned out,' said Younger.

    'I can top that. Betty and I are packing up the apartment. Had to choose between paying the rent and feeding the kids. I was for paying the rent, but you know women. At least you can make some dough as a doctor.'

    Younger smoked. 'You'll go back to the Police Department. You're a captain in Homicide.'

    Littlemore shook his head. 'Department s on a payroll freeze. Maybe next spring.'

    'Maybe we could rob a bank,' said Younger. 'How's that girl - the one Brighton was keeping prisoner?'

    'Albina? Better. Colette visiting with her helped a lot. Want to know how it all started?'

    'Sure.'

    'There were three sisters - Amelia, Albina, and Quinta. They all went to work for Brighton in 1917. Within a couple years, girls at his factories started taking sick - their teeth are falling out, they're having trouble walking, there's something wrong with their blood.'

    'Anemia,' said Younger.

    'Brighton knows it's radium, so he builds a kind of hospital room upstairs in his factory where his own doctor would examine them - except it wasn't a doctor; it was Lyme. When that growth first showed up on Quinta's neck, Lyme told her she had syphilis. Brighton magnanimously offered to treat her for free in the infirmary, but Lyme was just doping her up. Amelia was next. Her teeth were coming loose. But she was tough. When Lyme told her she had syphilis too, she knew it was a lie. She went to Albina and told her something terrible was happening. They snuck Quinta out of the infirmary and got the heck out of the factory. Brighton had men all over looking for them. The girls knew it and were scared. So they went into hiding. Amelia took a bunch of scissors from the factory, which they carried around just in case. Then they heard about Colette. They heard she'd been telling people that the radium paint factories were killing people, and they thought maybe she could help them. You know the rest.'

    'Why did Albina take her shirt off in front of Luc?'

    'After she followed the Miss to Connecticut? It was her skin: her skin was glowing in the dark. She wanted Colette to see it, but the Miss wasn't there, so she showed Luc instead. She was afraid Brighton had men watching for her in New Haven; that's why she ran. She was right too. They caught her and brought her buck to New York, Darn it - I should have known Amelia's tooth had radium in it,'

    'Why?' asked Younger.

    'Remember how your radiation detector gizmo lit up when you pointed it at me - right at my chest - in front of the hotel?'

    Younger saw it: 'I gave you the tooth.'

    'It was in my vest pocket,' said Littlemore.

    The two men stood silently for some time. 'What about your senator?' asked Younger.

    'Fall?
He's
doing fine. Going to be in Harding's Cabinet. Not Secretary of State - they're going to give him some less high-profile position, but still in the Cabinet.'

    'Who says crime doesn't pay?' said Younger.

    'He'll pay. I had a look through Samuels's books. I found a hundred- thousand-dollar cash payment from Brighton to Fall; I'll nail him with it sooner or later. But for now nobody can touch him. He's got something on Harding.'

    'What?'

    Littlemore looked around to be sure they were out of anyone's earshot. 'Harding's got a woman problem. The Republican Party just paid twenty-five thousand dollars to keep one gal quiet. Now there's another girl in bed with him, and only Fall knows about her.'

    'How?'

    'Because she works for him. Good-looking girl. Ever since I quit as a T-man, she's been feeding me all kinds of Washington secrets. She says Houston's got something to tell us.'

    'Us?'

    'Yeah - you and me.'

    The men were quiet again for a while.

    'You were right about the machine gun,' said Littlemore.

    'How's that?'

    'Turns out the bombers blew up Wall Street twelve hours after they were supposed to. So they had a little problem: the manhole was locked.

    There they were in the alley, with all that gold and no place for it to go. One of them runs across the street and fires his machine gun into a wall of the Morgan Bank, trying to get somebody to open up the manhole. Apparently it worked. I told Commissioner Enright about it, and he sent Lamont a letter telling him to keep those bullet holes unrepaired. He says Morgan can tell everybody it's a memento, but if they repair the holes, he'll arrest them for destroying evidence.' Littlemore looked out to sea. 'Where's that ship?'

    'Late.'

    'It's funny,' said Littlemore. 'People are already forgetting September sixteenth. When it happened, it was like nothing would ever be the same. The country was frozen. Life was going to be different forever.'

    'At least we didn't go to war. A manufactured war on a country that had nothing to do with the bombing - God knows the price we would have paid for that, if you hadn't stopped it.'

    'Yeah - I should be famous,' said Littlemore. 'Instead I'm broke.'

    'We could go to India.'

    'Why India?'

    'Poverty is holy in India.' Younger ground out his cigarette under a heel. 'So no one gets punished for it. The bombing.'

    'I don't know about that. Where did you and I first see Drobac?'

    'At the Commodore Hotel - after they kidnapped Colette,' answered Younger.

    'Nope.'

    Younger shook his head: 'Where then?'

    'A horse-drawn wagon passed you and the Miss and me when we were walking down Nassau Street the morning of September sixteenth. Remember - about three minutes before the bomb went off? With a load so heavy the mare could barely drag it behind her? Drobac was the guy driving that wagon.'

    '
Bonjour
,' said Luc, looking up at his sister that night.

    The
Susquehanna
had arrived twelve hours late. The boy, sprucer and cleaner than Younger had ever seen him, had just come down the gangway, hand in hand with Oktavian Kinsky, into the bright electric lights of the dock. There were no stars in the sky, nor any moon. The cloud cover was too thick.

    For an instant Colette was paralyzed. It was the first time she'd heard her brother speak in six years. She could not fit the voice to Luc; it was too mature, too self-possessed, as if a stranger had taken over her brother's body and were speaking through his mouth. Then somehow the voice and the steady eyes and the serious face came together all at once: it was he. She opened her arms and gathered him in.

    '
Bonjour
?' she repeated, hugging him. 'How can it be bonjour in the middle of the night, you goose? And your hair - you let them cut it?'

    Luc nodded gravely.

    Oktavian greeted Younger and Colette - the Littlemores having departed hours before - like long-lost friends. 'I'm here to start a fleet of hired cars,' Oktavian declared. 'That sort of thing is not frowned on in America, I'm told.'

    'On the contrary,' agreed Younger. 'And you'll have to fight off the American ladies, Count, at least the ones I'm going to introduce you to. They worship aristocracy.'

    'But you abolished your titles of nobility over a hundred years ago,' said Oktavian.

    'People always want what they can't have,' said Younger.

    'Not me,' said Colette.

    That night, they stayed with Mrs Meloney, who generously opened her home to them. Colette had persuaded Mrs Meloney to help the dial workers at the luminous-paint factories - and the good woman had taken to the business with all her usual industry and alacrity.

    At Brighton's Manhattan plant, the dial painters were being tested for radiation exposure. Over half the girls were radioactive, especially in their teeth and jaws; several of them glowed in the dark. Pointing of brushes with the mouth had been forbidden. Protective gloves were made mandatory. Radiation detectors were being installed. Brighton's bank accounts had been seized, and his assets were being held for the benefit of girls who developed illnesses as a result of their work in his factories.

    Younger and Colette put Luc to bed. 'I have something to tell you,' the boy said to his sister.

    'I know,' answered Colette. 'Dr Freud told us.'

    'He told you?'

    'Only that you had something to say. He wouldn't tell us what.'

    'But now that I'm here,' said Luc, 'I don't want to say it anymore.'

    'Sleep for now,' replied Colette. 'Tomorrow you can tell us.'

    Tomorrow, however, the boy was still less talkative. Oktavian took rooms at a modest but decent hotel in Manhattan and began looking into the letting and buying of livery vehicles. They said goodbye to him and that evening boarded a train for Boston.

    As the train rumbled quietly north, a light snow fell outside their window. 'Luc,' said Colette, 'now is a good time.'

    The boy shook his head.

    'You can whisper it in my ear, if you want,' said Colette.

    'Rubbish,' declared Younger. 'He can't whisper it. He's not a child. He's lived through a war. He saved our lives. You're a man, Luc, not a little girl. Stop this nonsense and speak up.'

    Luc frowned. He looked taken aback - and undecided.

    Younger pulled out a letter from his jacket. 'This is from Dr Freud,' said Younger. 'You trust Dr Freud, don't you?'

    Luc nodded.

    'He warns us that you might go quiet in America,' Younger went on. 'He says you'll be worried that your sister doesn't want to hear what you have to say.'

    Luc stared steadily at Younger.

    'He says we should remind you that he's spent thirty years of his life telling people what they didn't want to hear. He says that the fact that someone doesn't want to hear the truth is very rarely a good reason for silence. He also says that your sister does want to hear what you have to say.'

    Luc turned his gaze on Colette. 'You do?' he asked quietly.

    'Very much,' said Colette.

    'You don't know what it is,' said Luc.

    'Whatever it is, I want to hear it.'

    'No, you don't.'

    'I do,' said Colette.

    'No, you don't.'

    'Yes, I do.'

    'Wonderful,' said Younger. 'The boy speaks for the first time in his life, and the two of you quarrel like schoolchildren.'

    'Father was a coward.' Luc had spoken simply but definitively.

    Colette started. Her fingers clenched. 'Father? A coward?'

    The boy looked at the snowflakes melting on the train's window. 'I was at the house when the Germans came,' he said.

    A shadow fell across his sister's face, and she began a question: 'You mean-?'

    'Yes,' Luc interrupted her.

    'But we-'

    'Were in the carpenter's basement,' he completed her sentence. 'I left in the middle of the night. You didn't hear me. I went back to the house. I looked in through the window next to the shed.'

    Colette stopped moving altogether. She may even have stopped breathing.

    'German soldiers were inside with Father. Three of them. One was tall with blond hair. Do you remember where Mother and Grandmother were hiding?'

    'Yes.'

    'Father was saying to them, "Please don't kill me. Please don't kill me." He started to cry.'

    'That doesn't make him a coward,' she answered.

    'Father pointed to the cabinet. I think he was trying to show the Germans where the silver was. They opened the cabinet, but I guess they didn't care about the silver. They turned around and yelled at Father again. The tall one aimed his rifle at him. Father pleaded with them not to shoot.' The train rattled around a curve. 'Then Father pointed to the rug.' 'You saw him point to it?'