“I know.”
“I’m a pharmacist,” he said, a little desperately this time.
“I know,” I said again.
“Why d’you kill him, Mouton?” Necessary asked.
“Why?”
“That’s right. Why?”
“Because, you miserable fuckhead, God told me to!” With that, he walked over to a chair and sat down. He closed his eyes and refused to say anything else. The homicide cops finally took him away not long after Orcutt’s body was carted off to the morgue where they found three bullets in it.
Carol Thackerty answered the phone when it rang in Orcutt’s bedroom-office where the three of us sat. The homicide crew was still busy in the living room. Forty minutes had passed since they had taken Mouton away.
“It’s Channing d’Arcy Phetwick the third,” Carol said. “He wants to talk to whoever’s in charge of Victor Orcutt Associates.”
I made no move toward the phone and neither did Necessary. Finally, he said, “Take it, Dye.”
I took the phone and said, “Lucifer Dye.”
Old man Phetwick’s voice was dry and gritty as emery dust. “I am grieved to learn of Mr. Orcutt’s death,” he said.
“Yes. All of us are.”
“So is Doctor Colfax, who is on the line with me.”
“I was sorry to hear about it,” Colfax said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Poor Mouton, too,” Phetwick said. “Is he really mad?”
“I’m no doctor,” I said, “but he looked crazy to me.”
“Orcutt’s death changes things,” Colfax said, all business now that condolence time was over.
“Especially for Orcutt,” I said.
“With the Lynch person gone and with the police department reorganized by Mr. Necessary, I think our main objectives have been accomplished,” Phetwick said. “In view of Mr. Orcutt’s death, we have decided that we can dispense with the services of his firm. This is no reflection on you, Mr. Dye, and we expect to offer a generous cancellation settlement.”
“You want us to pack up and leave then?” I said, more for the benefit of Necessary and Carol than for my own clarification. I understood what he wanted.
“Well, yes, if you insist on putting it that way,” Phetwick said.
Dr. Colfax chimed in. “You did your job, Dye, and a damned good one. Now we don’t need you anymore, so we’ll pay you off and everybody’s happy.”
I decided to go formal. “Would you hold on please while I confer with my colleagues for a moment?”
“Sure,” Colfax said.
I turned to Necessary and Carol. “They want us to bug out,” I said. “They’ll make a cash settlement.”
Necessary frowned and carefully removed a piece of lint from the sleeve of his blue uniform. He looked at Carol. “Had Orcutt told them about what Dye and I have got set up with Luccarella and the out-of-town guys?” he said.
“No,” she said. “He was going to tell them today.”
“He tell them about the senator and the magazine?”
She nodded. “He told them about that. Phetwick’s already got the counter-attack written.”
“They’re trying to cool it off,” Necessary said.
“So it seems,” I said and took my hand from the mouthpiece of the phone. “It’ll only be a few seconds,” I said.
“Take your time,” Colfax said and chuckled to demonstrate that he understood how people might scurry about when they suddenly found themselves out of their jobs.
“Well?” I said.
Necessary looked down at his blue left sleeve again, stroked it gently with his right hand, smiled to himself, and then looked up at me. “I think,” he said softly, “I think they’re going to have to fire themselves a chief of police.”
I nodded. “Carol?”
“I’d like to see if he gets the girl in the last reel.”
I took my hand from the phone. I looked at the mouthpiece rather than at Carol and Necessary. I felt their eyes on me. I took a deep breath. “I explained things to them,” I said.
Phetwick’s voice was dry and remote. “I knew that they would be reason—”
“Our answer is no,” I said and hung up.
Chapter 40
I wasn’t asleep when Necessary called at six-thirty Friday morning. I was lying in Carol’s bed, staring at the ceiling, and thinking about Victor Orcutt. He seemed far more attractive in death than he had in life, but there must be a great many persons who seem that way.
“It’s started,” Necessary said.
“When?”
“Just before dawn. Luccarella and his friends went calling.”
“On who?” I asked.
“On all of them.”
“What happened?”
“The next flight out of here is a direct one to Minneapolis and St. Paul. It leaves in fifteen minutes. Tex Turango’s on it.”
“He’s from Dallas,” I said.
“The Onealo brothers are from Kansas City, but they’re on it, too,” Necessary said.
“Anyone else?” I said.
“Sweet Eddie Puranelli. All he could get was economy class.”
“But he took it.”
“Uh-huh,” Necessary said. “And glad to get it. Lt. Ferkaire says Puranelli doesn’t look too well. There’re some teeth missing, Ferkaire says, and one eye’s closed, and something’s wrong with his nose. Looks busted, Ferkaire says.”
“He’ll feel better back in Cleveland,” I said. “What about Nigger Jones and Jimmy Schoemeister?”
“That’s why I’m calling you.”
“Where are you?” I said.
“In the lobby.”
“I’ll be down in fifteen minutes.”
“Make it ten,” Necessary said and hung up.
Carol rolled over in the bed and propped herself up on an elbow. “Necessary?” she said.
“He said it’s started.”
“You want some coffee?”
“No time.”
“I can use the immersion unit.”
“Okay,” I said and started to dress. She had the instant coffee ready by the time I came out of the bathroom. I drank two sips and lit a cigarette. I used to smoke Pall Malls then.
“He say anything else?” she asked.
“Some are leaving town; some aren’t.” I drank more of the coffee and then handed her the cup.
“I never knew what life could be, Captain,” she said, “until you came here to Pago Pago.”
I kissed her. “I’m riding with them, Alma,” I said. “Sodbusters’ve got rights too.”
Necessary was pacing the lobby when I stepped out of the elevator. His eyes looked tired and bloodshot and it gave them a peculiar three-toned look, or four, if you counted their whites.
“You took long enough,” he said in the grumpy voice of a man who’s been up most of the night.
“I had to rinse out a few things,” I said and followed him to the long black Imperial which waited in front with Sergeant Krone at the wheel.
Once we were rolling I asked Necessary about Nigger Jones and Jimmy Twoshoes. He shook his head as if trying to clear it. “They won’t budge,” he said. “Their people came in last night. Schoemeister’s got about a dozen; Nigger Jones’s got about the same.”
“What’s Luccarella got now?”
“About ten from New Orleans and maybe a dozen more from back east. Ferkaire’s keeping score out at the airport.”
“Anyone prominent?” I asked.
He shook his head again. “Run of the mill guys; nobodies.”
“So it’s a three-way race now,” I said.
“Three-way,” Necessary agreed and stared out the window. “You know something,” he said.
“What?”
“The little fellah would have liked all this.”