I nodded and waited. There was nothing to say.
Ancel Carp, the tax assessor, cracked the knuckles on his huge hands, looked up at the ceiling, and said, “I don’t think Mr. Dye’s too much interested in our past history. He’s probably more interested in the current scene so if we’ve got anything to say, let’s say it.”
“Well, Ancel, I suppose that sort of serves it right into my court,” Lynch said. “Reason we asked you here, Mr. Dye, is that we’re just a little upset. Now this is a fine community. A fine one. And although I’ve only lived here about seven or eight years, I kind of like to think of myself as an adopted native son.”
“That’s the way we think of you, Ramsey,” the mayor said.
“Thank you, your honor. But to get back to it. We don’t get upset unless the town’s upset. It’s sort of like when the town’s constipated, we fart.” He paused and took a long drink of his bourbon. I’d barely touched mine.
“Well,” Lynch said, “the symptoms started about a couple of months ago when this fella Homer Necessary came into town with his two-toned eyes and started asking around. He didn’t come to any of us. He just nosed around asking questions that were sort of personal. We checked him out and found that he used to be a police chief himself up north. And not too honest a one at that, was he, Chief Loambaugh?”
“Crooked,” the FBI poster said. “Crooked as cat shit.”
“So after about a week or ten days of Necessary, we get your Mr. Orcutt and that girlfriend of his, Miss Thackerty. Well, she’s all right, but we’re kind of country down here and maybe we’re just not used to the likes of your Mr. Orcutt, especially if he’s messing around with all the wrong people.”
“Who’re they?” I said.
“Well, let’s just say that they’re not on our side.”
“Who is?”
“The folks, Mr. Dye,” Lynch said and his tone was no longer genial. “The folks in town are on our side.”
“Then what are you worried about?”
“Folks can get foolish if they catch the notion. And with a little investigation, we found out that your Mr. Orcutt was going to try to turn them into fools.”
“How?”
“I hear,” Lynch said in a gentle voice, “I hear that’s where you come in.”
I looked at my new watch. “I’ve been here for half an hour and you haven’t said anything yet. You’ve talked a lot, but it’s all been the kind of bullshit that I can hear in any four-table poolhall. You’ve got five more minutes. That’s all.”
“My brother said you were a little impatient, Mr. Dye.”
“Your brother lies a lot.”
“But good. Well, since your time is limited, I’ll come to the point. We have some of our people in the other camp, so to speak, who tell us things, and they told us about how Mr. Orcutt was trying to find someone out in Asia who might be useful to him here in Swankerton. So, because Gerald’s located out there and all, I spent about a couple of hundred dollars of my own money and called him up, told him the situation, and asked him to do what he could. I think he did real fine.”
“By recommending me to Orcutt?”
“Well, he really recommended you to us first, if you know what I mean. He gave us a pretty good rundown on you and we told him to go ahead and recommend you to Mr. Orcutt. He said you’re pretty good, Mr. Dye, but that you’re awfully unlucky. I’m serious now. Bad luck just seems to dog some people and from what I hear, you’re one of them. I mean what happened to your wife and all.”
“You can leave that alone,” I said.
Lynch nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry I mentioned it. Really am. But you’ve had your share of bad luck, Mr. Dye. My brother Gerald seems to think that it’ll probably continue. But he made me promise him one thing before he would recommend you to Mr. Orcutt.”
“What?”
“Well, Gerald isn’t really as superstitious about luck as he lets on. Deep down inside he really feels that people make their own. So he made us promise that we’d make some for you here in Swankerton. You can guess what kind. So you got a choice. We can either make you some bad luck or some good luck, despite what I promised my brother. Now just which one are you going to choose?”
They were all leaning forward a little, staring at me. “How much is the good luck worth?” I said.
“Twenty-five percent more than what Orcutt’s paying you, whatever it is.
“And how much is your bad luck going for?” I said.
Lynch shook his head sadly and his chins bobbed alone in funereal time. “Well, Mr. Dye, bad luck is just bad luck. Let’s say that the kind you might come by would be about as bad as luck can be.”
I rose and looked at each of them, one at a time. “I’ll think about it and let you know,” I said and then moved to the door, stopping only at the sound of Lynch’s voice. I turned and he was twisted around in his chair.
“Don’t study about it too long, Mr. Dye,” he said. “Neither good nor bad luck’ll wait forever.”
“You’re forgetting one kind,” I said.
“What’s that, Mr. Dye?”
“Dumb luck — the kind you’re going to need.”
Chapter 15
They flew Carmingler, of course, out to Hong Kong to deal with Gerald Vicker and me. I met him at the airport and he seemed none too happy with his assignment.
“I was on leave,” he said, rather than hello or how are you. “My first in three years.”
“I didn’t ask for you.”
He grunted at that, but said nothing else until we had picked up his bag and were in my rented Volkswagen. “Where’s Vicker?”
“Waiting for you.”
“At the office?”
“We flipped a coin to see who’d meet you. I lost.”
“I read your report,” Carmingler said. “Vicker’s, too.”
“That was thoughtful.”
Carmingler turned to look at me. “I didn’t fly out here just to listen to your smart cracks. Vicker writes a better report.”
“He has a flair,” I said.
“You’re in trouble,” Carmingler said.
“What about Vicker?”
Carmingler didn’t say anything until he had used his usual three or four matches to light his pipe. “He’s in trouble, too.”
“Who’s in deeper?” I said.
Carmingler puffed away on his pipe before answering. I glanced at him and he seemed to look less confident than usual. He looked gloomy. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “That’s why I’m here.”
“And when do you decide?”
He looked out the window at a new building that was going up. “Those workmen on the scaffolding,” he said. “They’re the highest-paid skilled labor in Hong Kong. Did you know that?”
“I live here,” I said. “What are you going to do?”
Carmingler slumped down in the seat and put his bony knees against the dashboard. It didn’t look very comfortable, but they weren’t my knees. “You know what Star Chamber justice is?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s what you’re going to get. Both you and Vicker. I’m judge and jury.”
“Old Judge Carmingler,” I said. “The hanging judge.”
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“Who did?”
Carmingler looked at me and smiled for the first time. “Vicker. He asked for me.”
I said, “Oh.”
Carmingler smiled again. Contentedly. “I thought that might cheer you up.”
It could have been called a trial, I suppose. Whatever it was, it was held in my office late that afternoon after we sent the secretary home. Carmingler sat behind my desk and Vicker and I sat in front of it. Our Star Chamber judge carefully arranged six sharpened pencils on the desk beside a fresh yellow legal pad. Next he produced his pipe, tobacco pouch, and match box, and placed them within easy reach. He then adopted an expression which he may have thought was his best horse-sense look. He made his face as long as possible, showed both of us his teeth in an impartial manner, and nodded several times as if he were adjusting to some invisible halter. I almost expected to hear him neigh us to order.