“He likes expensive toys, he always wants the best.”
“Maybe so, but this afternoon he transferred two heavy cartons to a fishing boat outside the three-mile limit so the Doubloon could come in clean.”
“What was in those boxes, Drinker? Where are they now?”
He looked at his watch. “I might have more for you in a couple of hours, April.” He detached a key from his ring. “This is for my flat. Go there and wait for me.”
“Why your flat? Tell me what you know right now, and confirm it later.” Drinker just shook his head. Her lip curled cynically. “You want it all, don’t you, darling?”
He remained silent, a monolith towering above her. She stood. Smiled. Drew a fingernail along the line of his jaw. It burned like dry ice against his skin.
“I have to go home and get my overnight case first.”
“Just so you’re there when I get there.”
A battle-scarred tomcat groomed itself on the lid of one of the garbage pails behind which Dunc had stashed himself to watch the Waverly Place doorway. Half an hour after bar-close, headlights swung across the rough brick wall opposite him. A panel truck stopped with its motor running. Two Chinese males started pulling an obviously heavy FRESH FISH crate out of the back. One lost his grip; the crate landed corner-first to spill out one of the boxes Dunc had seen transferred from the Doubloon.
Muttering in Chinese, they lugged the box down the steps to the door which the portly Oriental held open. After the second crate was moved without mishap, they drove off.
Dunc rose creaking from his awkward crouch. The cat hissed away into the shadow. He went in search of a pay phone, but Drinker Cope was waiting outside a darkened chophouse across Clay Street from the alley mouth.
He told Dunc, “I followed the truck from Pier 45.”
“Which just delivered to the Chinese American Club the same boxes I saw off-loaded out by the Farallones this afternoon.”
“Perfect. Go home and lick your wounds.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take a shower first.”
Just after three in the morning Drinker Cope keyed his apartment door. He smelled coffee. A pulse beat heavily in his throat. April, curled up on the couch in a filmy dressing gown and puffy slippers, had come to her feet at his entry.
“The coffee’s strong and hot,” she said. “You can tell me what’s in those boxes in the kitchen...”
“I can tell you all about them in the morning.”
Her eyes flashed as if she were about to strike him; then the tension left her. She leaned against him like a stuffed toy.
“Aren’t you going to leave the lady with any illusions?”
“The lady doesn’t need any.”
Drinker Cope put his arms around her, his eyes burning hungrily as he bent his face to hers.
Chapter Forty-four
Dunc grabbed a quick workout in the Y’s weight room, took some steam to iron out the kinks from last night’s dustup, and got to the office just after 8:00 A.M. Sherry handed him a memo.
“Your lucky Penny called twice, she’s at this number.”
It was Penny’s sorority house pay phone. Dunc mumbled his thanks, from his desk asked the operator for time and charges.
When Penny answered, he said, “Hi, this is Dunc, I got—”
“Oh, darling! I’ve been hanging around here in the hall, going crazy.” She got her lips closer to the phone. “Dunc, I... I missed my period. I’m almost three weeks overdue.”
He sat in stunned silence, unable for a moment to breathe.
“Dunc, are you there?”
“Yes, I... I... What do... I mean, maybe you’re not. Maybe it’s just...”
“I... I made a doctor’s appointment, I’ll let you know what he says.” She turned away for a moment, came back with her voice even lower, very rapid. “There are girls waiting to use the phone, I’ve got to go.” In a lighter voice she said, “I’m sure you’re right,” in a whisper added, “Bye. Love you, darling.”
Somehow he got out “Love you, too” before the dial tone.
He sat behind his desk, too shocked to really think about what she had told him, just running fervid phrases through his mind: Please God, oh please please please, dear God...
You may not recognize the opportunity when it arrives, but when the time comes you’ll say, “This is it!” and you’ll do it.
He went into the Greek s, ordered tea, sat at a rear table facing the wall. He took out the rosary, fingered the beads. That was another thing about rosaries. They eliminated certain alternatives from the equation...
Bright slanting morning sunlight woke Drinker Cope. April slept on her side, one creamy shoulder uncovered, face angelic in its relaxed beauty. He pulled on a robe, carried her purse into the living room and rummaged through it. A snapshot stopped him cold: April and a man with a broad good-natured face dominated by a strong nose, set under a mop of bright unruly hair.
A long shudder ran through Drinker’s smooth, thick hide. He put the photo in the pocket of the robe, replaced the purse.
He bought breakfast things and a quart of milk at the little mom-and-pop down on the corner of Union. Back up at his second-floor flat, April was in the kitchen in her dressing gown, just brewing coffee. They ate in the old-fashioned breakfast nook; across Gough Street, the Octagon House basked in winter sunlight. April put unexpected perkiness in her voice.
“You promised that this morning you would unlock the riddle of my sphinx of a husband.”
He rebuffed her coyness with cold brevity.
“If you weren’t such a lousy wife, you might have realized sooner or later that what was in those two heavy cartons you were so steamed up about last night was just what Harry’s always telling anybody who will listen.”
Now her coldness matched his own. “You’re buying that? Spanish doubloons and sunken treasure?”
“No. Gold.” He spread opened hands on the table. “Just remember that he stayed on in China after the war, where to millions of Chinese gold means life itself — gold and nothing else.”
“Spare me, puhlees! Gold is frozen at thirty-five dollars an ounce, small potatoes for a guy like Harry.”
“In this country, yeah.”
All animation left her face. “He’s found out about you,” she said with conviction. “Now he’s conning you in some way, or...” She was on her feet, striding, fiery. “Or you’ve...”
“Yeah, I’ve sold you out. Get serious. Now, for Chrissake, siddown and listen. We’re not talking about this country, we’re talking about China — and Mexico.”
She glared at him for a moment, then dropped back into her chair. She lit another cigarette. Drinker marked off points.
“One. There’s plenty of gold in Baja, and plenty of old prospectors to bring it out to the coast for American dollars. Two. On mainland China the Commies need gold in lieu of hard currency. Three. Wealthy Chinese are smuggling gold to Hong Kong. Four. From there, it gets smuggled again to their relatives back in the old country who need it to bribe their way out if they can, or to keep on living if they can’t.”
“So why would they need Harry?”
“The Chinese can’t go to Mexico themselves for the gold, but Harry can. Handsome, Caucasian, good war record — I bet he’s got maps of sunken galleons he shows all over the place.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, he can be very boring at parties. But why would the Chinese trust him? Or he them?”
“I think he does it for old friends from after the war.”