And it changed his approach to Verney and Catton. He had to take big and take fast. He had to squeeze them, and protect himself in the process. The letter in the flour canister in Lucille’s kitchen was insurance. The thousand he had dropped off on Thursday was another kind of insurance. When he thought of Lucille it made him feel soiled. Silly bitch. Lee deserved the best, not a round-heeled bag like that. She looked right at him and asked for it, just as obviously as any woman can ever ask for it. And he’d been too damn weak to ignore it. He prayed Lee would never find out. But sooner or later Lee would find out about her. It would happen with somebody else and he’d find out, and then if the timing was wrong, Lee would kill her.
Verney was due at two o’clock. Another hour to wait. Another hour to go over it carefully, so he would say the right things to Verney. The man had a lot of control. You had to give him that. Danny had taken the chance of driving into town on Thursday. He had phoned Paul Verney at his office at nine-fifteen and managed to brush off the insistent secretary and get through to Verney.
“My name is Bronson. You don’t know me, Mr. Verney. But I want to see you just as soon as I can on a matter of importance.”
Verney had a deep voice, careful articulation. “I’m afraid I have a very full schedule, Mr. Bronson. Perhaps you can give me some idea of what this is all about.”
“I’ll mention two names and then maybe you can guess what it’s all about. Catton. Rovere.” There was no answer. “Mr. Verney?”
“I am still on the line, Bronson.” The deep voice was calm and precise. “I can see you at ten.”
Verney’s suite of offices was on the sixth floor of the Market Building at the corner of George and Castel Streets. On the opaque glass of the door was lettered Paul D. Verney, Attorney at Law. The offices were small, hushed, quietly and effectively furnished. The girl spoke almost in a whisper when she said, “Through that door, Mr. Bronson. He’s expecting you.”
When Dru had described him, she had said, “He’s a big gaunt type, sort of funereal, I suppose. Great dignity and presence. Rusty clothes and hollow eyes. I’ll bet he collects Lincolniana. He and Burt have been mixed up on all kinds of deals for years and years. He got clipped in this same tax decision that hurt Burt. A huge bite plus penalties and interest for five years.”
Verney was sitting behind his desk when Danny walked in. Dru had been right, up to a point; but Verney was much younger than Danny had guessed — perhaps in his early forties. And he had expected pallor and fragility. Though Verney was lean, he had tremendous hands and wrists, sloping powerful shoulders and a look of fitness.
“Please sit down, Mr. Bronson. That was a very mysterious message. I must confess it intrigued me. Cigar?”
“Thanks.” Danny bit off the end, spat it onto the rug. lit it with the silver lighter Dru had given him. He leaned back and smiled at Verney and told Verney precisely what he was doing, what Verney and Catton were planning. He watched Verney closely and saw no change of expression, no tightening of the mouth.
“And just where would you get this curious story?”
“From Catton’s wife. He told her the whole thing.”
Verney nodded. “I see. If this story was correct, what would be your next step?”
Danny told him exactly what he wanted. Again Verney nodded quite casually. “If this story happened to be correct, you understand that I couldn’t give you an answer here and now.”
“I realize that. Suppose you come out and see me.”
“Where are you located?”
“Catton’s camp. Out near Kemp.”
For the first time he saw an unguarded flicker of surprise. It faded quickly. “Sunday? About two?”
“That will be fine, Mr. Verney. But I want to make one thing clear. I’ve got my guard up. Way up. The whole thing has been written down. It’s in a safe place. It goes to the cops the minute I stop reporting in.”
“That would seem to be a sensible provision, Mr. Bronson.”
“I thought so.”
“Until Sunday, then.”
It disappointed Danny that he had made so little impression on the man. Verney’s iron control was distressing to him. So, on the spur of the moment, he said, “You people use retainers. I’d like a little retainer. Call it a sort of guarantee of good faith.”
“How much, Mr. Bronson?”
“A thousand.”
Verney had nodded. They had walked together to the bank, a block away. He had waited while Verney cashed a check, came over to him and gave him the envelope containing twenty fifty-dollar bills.
Danny said, “At least you admit I got the right dope.”
“We shall have our discussion on Sunday, Mr. Bronson.”
“Come all by yourself. Know the way?”
“I have been there before. Good day, Mr. Bronson.”
Verney arrived at the camp at ten after two, driving a black four-year-old Dodge. Danny heard the car and walked out and saw Verney park beside his car and get out. Verney wore a dark blue unpressed suit and a dark grey felt hat.
There was, of course, no handshake. They sat at the blue metal table on the terrace. Danny said there was hot coffee and Verney said he would appreciate some, thank you, no cream or sugar. Danny went in and brought out the cups, saucers and pot on a tray. Verney acted as though he were handling a matter for a client, something in which he was not involved personally.
Danny poured the coffee and sat down.
“Mr. Bronson, I have given your proposition a great deal of thought. I have not, as yet, mentioned or discussed the matter with Mr. Catton. I felt that it would be more to the point if we could discuss this matter calmly and arrive at some more equitable solution.”
“I’m not going to dicker.”
“I am assuming you are a reasonable man. I am assuming that you have a certain amount of intelligence, and that you can be objective about this situation.”
“I’ll listen to you.”
“Both Mr. Catton’s and my personal financial affairs are in extremely bad shape. We are in certain ventures together, and we both have interests in other unshared ventures’. Our problem is largely one of timing. I have managed to explain this to the tax people in a manner that has satisfied them to the extent that they will delay taking liens on our property and holdings. We entered on this risky venture, the one you became advised of, as a means of acquiring a large amount of cash.”
“Illegally.”
“Yes, of course. But the risk, up until the moment you phoned me, seemed worth taking. We estimated that, after dividing the profit from this venture, we could more than satisfy our tax indebtedness, and thus hold onto other quite promising ventures until they in turn prove out. Now let us take a look at what will happen if we meet your demand. We will not be able to pay the tax indebtedness. All tangible and intangible holdings will be seized. Both Mr. Catton and myself will be penniless, and with future earnings highly obligated. And it is very difficult to frighten a penniless man, Mr. Bronson. Mr. Catton and I were able to scrape together sixty-five thousand dollars. Let us say we both had a cash reserve for contingencies. We could have paid it against the tax, but instead we decided to invest it in this venture you learned about. To accede to your demand would not only eliminate all chance of profit but would give us an additional net loss of sixty-five thousand. Frankly, one of the reasons I did not confer with Mr. Catton before coming here was because I am not at all sure it wouldn’t kill him.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re driving at, Verney.”
“This is an appeal to reason. If you persist in being stupidly greedy, you will get nothing.”
“And you and Catton will go to jail. I’ve been there. You won’t like it.”