“You have to-—? But what about me? You can’t just-—!”
“Sorry.” Having speedily adjusted his clothing, Frank paused in the archway leading to the foyer and apologized. “An important case. I have to run. See you around, Gloria.”
“But--” The sound of the front door slamming cut off her protest before she could voice it. Stunned, Gloria sat where she was on the floor for a moment. Then she got up, put on the black cashmere coat and tied the belt. She was just starting for the door when the phone rang again. She answered it.
Before Gloria could speak, the voice sounded in her ear. “Hi, Frank. It’s Fig again. I just wanted to—”
“Sony. He’s already left,” Gloria interrupted.
“Oh? Oh! Then who are—?”
“Just an old friend.”
“A friend, huh?”
“Not that kind of a friend.” Gloria responded to the innuendo in his voice. “A platonic friend. Believe me, you’ve no idea how platonic,” she added bitterly.
“Oh, sure. Well, I’m an old friend of Frank’s too. So I guess we’ve got something in common. By the way, my name’s Fig.”
“Frig?”
“No-no! No r. Just F-i-g.”
“Oh. Sorry about that. My name’s Gloria.”
“Glad to know you, Gloria. Say, don’t tell me old Frank hustled off and left you all alone.”
“Now that’s just what old Frank did. You must be psychic.”
“Gee, I feel responsible. I mean, I guess it was because of me that he had to rush away. Say, why not let me try to make it up to you? Why don’t you meet me and I’ll buy you a drink?”
“I wonder if old Frank appreciates just how friendly his old friends are,” Gloria said sarcastically.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. We’re frat brothers. Why, there was a time when we shared everything.”
“Are you sure Frank still feels that way?”
“Sure he does. Come on. Let me buy you a drink. It’s the least I can do for spoiling your evening. What do you say?”
“Well--” Gloria weakened. “But I’m not dressed,” she remembered.
“Good old platonic Frank!” It was “Fig’s” turn to be ironic.
“But I could go home and get dressed,” Gloria decided. “Could you pick me up at my place in about an hour?”
“Sure. What’s the address?”
Gloria gave it to him and hung up. He sure came on strong, she thought to herself as she left Frank’s apartment. On the make, all right. Well, it would just serve Counselor Frank Pollener right if she let his eager-beaver friend succeed. That would show him! Leaving her hung up! He’d deserve it if she made it with his buddy!
Born of resentment, it was only the glimmering of a plan. Yet it had drifted over the borderline of Causocratic Effectivism into the am-ness of insufficiently contemplated action by the time, a few hours later, that Frank Pollener emerged from the courthouse building adjacent to the Drake Street Jail. A still unnerved, but extremely grateful Professor Basil Woocheck was with him.
“I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Pollener,” the Professor said, wringing his hands unthinkingly.
“That’s quite all right. I’m glad to have been of service. I really mean that. Your project strikes me as an extremely worthwhile endeavor. From a humanistic point of view, I mean. Lately I’ve been trying to direct my legal efforts in that direction. I’m grateful to you for the opportunity to do so. Don’t hesitate to call on me again any time I can help.”
“Thank you.” The Professor sighed. “I fear though, that for the time being our work has run into a bottleneck. I don’t seem to have been successful in my efforts to recruit subjects from the professionally erotic population.”
“Well, you went about it in the wrong way,” Frank told him. “You should have started at the top.”
“At the top?” The Professor’s face showed his puzzlement. “I don’t think I-—”
“What I mean is that even if you’d persuaded one girl to cooperate, Professor, you still would have run into trouble from the Syndicate when they found out she had something going on the side with your outfit.”
“The syndicate?”
“Sure. They control all the vice in Flintsburgh.”
“But who--? How—?”
“Look, everything’s organized on a very business-like basis. There’s no such thing as a girl operating free-lance in Flintsburgh any more. Prostitution, gambling, you name it — it’s all part of the same corporate enterprise. And the corporation’s run on a national--even an international—basis by the brotherhood.”
“The brotherhood? I don’t-—”
“The brotherhood. The Mafia,” Frank explained.
“You mean like the Cosa Nostra?”
“Well, here in Flintsburgh it’s a difierent family, but you’ve got the idea. Anyway, to get any kind of largescale cooperation, you’d have to make your deal with the head of the family here in Flintsburgh.”
“Who would that be? And how do I get in touch with him?” the Professor wanted to know.
Frank thought a moment. When he spoke, it was with a certain reluctance. “I guess I can probably help you out there,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “It’s late, but why don’t I try making a call?”
“I’d be very appreciative,” Professor Woocheck assured him.
“All right then. There’s an all-night drugstore a few blocks down. I’ll call from there.” Frank led the way.
When they reached it, Frank left the Professor at the counter having a Coke while he went to the phone booths at the back of the store. He dialed a number. Despite the lateness of the hour the voice that answered was crisp and businesslike. “Mr. Carrera, please,” Frank responded. “This is Frank Pollener calling.”
There was a pause before the second voice sounded in Frank’s ear. It was more genial than the first had been. “Hello there, Counselor. How very nice to hear from you. It’s been a long time.” The tone was very precise, the words accent-less, but each one spaced slightly apart the way speech sounds when spoken by one who has taken pains to improve his diction, or to overcome the slurs acquired by speaking another tongue in childhood. “What can I do for you?’
“You once mentioned that if I ever needed a favor I shouldn’t hesitate to ask you,” Frank reminded him. “Does that still go?”
“Of course. Anything. Anything within reason, that is. What’s the trouble, Counselor? Got a girl in trouble? I have a very superior sawbones with a real hospital setup. And you don’t have to worry about the fee. Just call-—”
“No, it’s not that,” Frank interrupted. He was annoyed and his denial had a slight edge to it.
“All right. All right. Don’t get miffed. It’s just that I know your rep for tomcatting around and so I naturally thought—”
“You thought wrong,” Frank told him firmly. “That’s all in the past. I’m a reformed character.”
“So what is it then? You need some business? Things slow? You know you can have all you want. I’ve told you that before. You went hoity-toity on me, remember? But I won’t hold that against you if you want to change your mind. I haven’t forgotten how you got Tony off for me. There’s no statute of limitations, or whatever you call it, on my gratitude for that. Hell, he’s the only brother I’ve got. I never have understood why you’d take that and turn your back on some of the easy corporate stuff where you could really make yourself a bundle. But if you’ve changed your mind now, the offer still holds.”
“I haven’t changed my mind. I took Tony’s case because I knew he really was innocent. I knew the cops were just trying to get at you through him. If I’d thought he was guilty, I either would have pleaded him guilty, or withdrawn. Nothing’s changed. I still don’t want to get involved in your operation.”
“For a fellow who wants a favor you’re pretty holier-than-thou!” Carrera sounded hurt.