“Shame,” Sereno said. “I never really wanted the house. But beggars can’t be choosers.”
He and Gint turned and left.
“Very impressive, Eugene,” Henderson said weakly. “Thanks a lot. Here, you can keep the gun.”
Chapter Four
When Henderson next appeared on the streets of Manhattan he was slightly better dressed. He wore his whites — poloneck, knickerbockers, socks and gymshoes. Teagarden had lent him a green windcheater and ten dollars for a taxi. In gratitude, Henderson had signed up for a two-week crash course in epée.
He hailed a taxi and it drove him to his apartment. On the way he wondered what Sereno and Gint would do to Freeborn when they caught him.
At his apartment he picked up his mail. The doorman handed him a parcel.
“Special delivery,” he said. “Just arrived from the airport. Your friend was here earlier, but he said he couldn’t wait.”
Henderson ascended in the elevator. The whole ghastly adventure was now, he hoped, over. He pressed the buzzer on his door. Sereno and Gint had his clothes, wallet, address book, keys. Minor inconveniences.
Bryant opened the door.
“Hi,” she said. “God. What are you wearing?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I can’t take it any more at home, Henderson. Mom, those fucking dogs—”
“Bryant—”
“Sorry.” She paused. “Henderson, can I stay here? I don’t want to go back. Please?”
“Yes, by all means, of course.” He went in. She seemed to have forgotten Duane.
Shanda sat on the sofa.
“My God, what are you wearing?” She got up and waddled over. “Hi.” She pecked him on the cheek. “That Peter Gint was here all night. Boy, is he off the wall…Then Freeborn and Ben came by real early. Freeborn messed the place up a bit. I was cleaning up when Bryant arrived. You know what?”
“What?”
“Freeborn took his denim jacket back. Can you believe that?”
Henderson sat down heavily in his ransacked sitting room, dumping the parcel on the coffee table. He shuffled his maiclass="underline" catalogue, bill, bill, catalogue, letter. He ripped it open.
Dear Henderson,
Enclosed is a bill for cleaning. $13.50 for removing oil stains from my jacket sleeve. Unfortunately it hasn’t worked. The suit cost $175.00. We can settle up when you get back. Too bad about the Gage pix. But it’s an ill wind…Remember the man in Boston with the Winslow Homers? Ian Toothe went up there last week. It seems he also had two Pissarros and a Renoir and Ian persuaded him to sell them all. Good old Ian — saved our bacon, as you guys say.
Yours, Pruitt.
§
“You want some breakfast?” Bryant asked.
“Some, uh…Coffee, please.”
Bryant went into the kitchen. Shanda came and sat on the arm of his chair, her belly at eye-level, her musky farinaceous smell filling his nostrils.
“Freeborn’s throwed me out. He says you can keep me.”
“Oh really? Very big of him.”
“Could we get married, Henderson? I’d kinda like for the baby to have a daddy.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
He got up, went into the bathroom and ran a bath. He locked the door, stripped off and soaked for twenty minutes or so. He thought distractedly of the last few days. He got out, shaved and went through to his bedroom. He fell asleep almost instantly. When he woke it was midday. He changed into clean clothes.
Back in the sitting room the air was blurry with cigarette smoke. Shanda scrambled some eggs and brewed some coffee. As he was eating, the telephone rang. Shanda answered.
“No,” she said. “My name is Shanda McNab.”
Pause.
“Yes, I am staying here. Who is this please?”
Pause.
“No, I’m Henderson’s fiancée. Oh.” She looked round. “She hung up.”
“Who was it?” Henderson said with sudden alarm.
“Bryant’s mommy. She says you’re a cheap bastard and she never wants to see you again.”
“Typical,” Bryant said. “Hey, are you guys getting married? Congratulations.”
Henderson opened another letter. It was from his car rental firm. The letter informed him that the car he had hired in New York had been written off during a car chase after a bank robbery in Biloxi, Mississippi. Could he throw any light on the matter? The cost of the car was $18,750.00.
He asked Bryant to make him some more coffee. Shanda sat opposite him smoking a cigarette. He wondered what he was going to do. He leafed through his mail. Circular, bill, bill, airmail.
Airmail. His own handwriting. Postmark Galashiels. Inside, scored sheets of Campbell Drew’s strong uncompromising hand.
Dear Mr Dores,
Thank you for your letter. As you know your father was in six column of Wingate’s first expedition across the Chindwin. On the list of March 1943 we had made camp just prior to attacking a Japanese base at Pinbon. Before we were to attack we were notified of an airdrop for new supplies.
It had been decided that, due to our being behind enemy lines, it was not safe for airdrops to be made by parachute. The procedure was for the supply plane to fly low over the jungle and the provisions and ammunition were simply thrown out of the hatch. Of course many stores went missing, but, for security reasons, it was far safer than parachutes.
Captain Dores ordered the company to spread out along the area marked for the drop. We had been on the march for weeks and were short of all supplies. This drop was crucial for us.
The plane, a Dakota, as I remember, came over fast and low, the crates tumbling out of the hatchway. We gathered up what we could and reported to company H.Q. We assembled there with our collection of supplies. Then it was noticed that Captain Dores was missing. I and three other men went in search of him.
I am very sorry to say, sir, that your father was killed by a tin of pineapple chunks. A crate of supplies had broken up in mid-air scattering the tins haphazardly. Your father was hit full on the head. I know he died instantly.
I am very sorry to bring you these unfortunate details. I had been with your father since Imphal. He was a very brave man.
Yours faithfully,
Campbell Drew
Henderson carefully folded up the letter. A tin of pineapple chunks. Embedded in his skull.
“Are you OK, Henderson?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Bad news?”
“No, no. Entirely expected.”
“What’s in your parcel?”
He breathed in deeply. Ach well, he thought, where’s the sense? He tore open the parcel. Demeter and Baubo, frameless, and a letter from Cora.
Dear Henderson,
Duane couldn’t bring himself to burn this one. I found it in his room and he told me every thing. I guess Sereno and Gint will be down for the house next week. I thought you should have this, as it’s your favourite. Think about it.
Cora
§
Bryant and Shanda looked over his shoulder. Henderson knew he couldn’t keep it. Cora might be able to buy off Sereno.
“I’ve seen that before,” Shanda said, frowning. “Somewhere.”
“I don’t like it much,” Bryant offered.
Henderson held Drew’s letter in one hand and Demeter and Baubo in the other. What was it old man Gage had said?…He knew now what he was going to do. He folded up his letter. Collision of soft grey brain with hard tin of pineapple chunks. A good way to go.
“Make yourself at home,” he said to Bryant and Shanda. “I’ll be back later.”