Not My Thing

‘Tell me about his wife, Syd.’

Again Drysdale gaped at him.

‘His wife? For God’s sake, you’re not planning to screw her, are you? I know your racket, but that would be strictly for the birds, and could get you into a basket of trouble.’

‘Tell me about her,’ Lucan said.

Drysdale shrugged.

‘Shannon Jamison? She’s musical. She runs Jamison’s homes, and she is a strict RC. Not much else to tell you. I doubt if she and Jamison get along. No children. Something always goes wrong when she is pregnant. I do know Jamison is thirsting for a son. She goes to concerts on her own. Jamison is tone-deaf or something.’ Again he shrugged. ‘As far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t make news. No scandal. No boyfriend.’

‘Jamison? Does he screw around?’

Drysdale pulled at his short veined nose.

‘If he does, it’s under the rug. I’ve had word he sees a lot of Tarnia Lawrence, the dress-designer. Nice piece of tail. In spite of many opportunities, I can’t find anything against her. She’s a worker and does well.’ Drysdale moved his bulk in his chair. ‘That all you want?’

And plenty, Lucan thought. Lots to think about. He released his charming smile.

‘Fine, Syd. Thanks a lot.’ He got to his feet. ‘I won’t keep you from your dinner,’ and he moved to the door.

‘Hey!’ Drysdale barked. ‘Wait a minute. Who’s the chick who’s having an abortion next week?’

Lucan looked innocently at him.

‘One of dozens, I guess,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I wouldn’t know. ‘Bye now,’ and he was gone.

As Lucan drove back to the Star Motel, his mind was busy.

So a man of Jamison’s wealth and stature wanted to be rid of his wife! He was offering two hundred thousand. Lucan snorted. That was chick-feed. He had been seduced by the thought of having such a sum, but he now realized, if Jamison really meant business, it was going to cost him a lot more. Maybe half a million. Lucan hummed contentedly to himself. Now, that was real money! From what he had learned from Drysdale, Jamison couldn’t divorce his wife, and he most probably had found a new girlfriend. A tough guy like Jamison wouldn’t care what he paid so long as he got his way.

Very VIP and goddamn dangerous, Drysdale had said.

Lucan could believe that. He would have to move cautiously. All the same; by putting such a proposition to him, Jamison could be subjected to subtle blackmail.

Back in his comfortable bedroom at the Star Motel, Lucan took a shower, got into pyjamas and into bed. His mind never ceased to work.

Now, he thought, I have to find a killer. That’s the job Jamison is paying me for.

A lethal accident, Jamison had told him. This has to be utterly foolproof. No police, nothing crude, a convincing lethal accident.

He considered the few professional killers he had run into in NYC. Crude, no finesse. Then he thought of Ernie Kling. He hesitated. Kling was more than a professional. If Lucan was to believe rumours, Kling had murdered at least twenty unwanted people. He seemed to have a magic touch or more likely a brilliant brain for organization. He had no police record. He lived well in a three-room apartment in down-town Washington. Lucan admitted to himself he was nervous of dealing with a man like Kling. He had met him several times in nightclubs in NYC. They had had a Casual drink together. He had sensed Kling’s lethal danger. This man was way out of Lucan’s league, but he could be the best to swing this deal with Jamison.

After hesitating for sometime, Lucan got out of bed, found his address book, found Kling’s telephone number, hesitated again, then put the call through.

***

Shannon Jamison said quietly, ‘The doctor assures me we can have a child. The last four attempts were a freak of nature.’

Jamison stared bleakly across the big, luxuriously furnished room. He was half thinking of Tarnia. He had heard this talk from Shannon until he was sick of it.

‘Sorry, Shannon,’ he said, his voice harsh. ‘I want a divorce.’

‘But, Sherman, we have gone over this problem again and again.’ There was despair in the melodious voice. ‘This is not possible. Please don’t bring it up again.’

‘I want a divorce and a son!’ Jamison snarled.

‘There is some other woman?’

‘Of course! I want a divorce!’

‘I am so sorry for you, Sherman. You are nearly fifty. So often men of your age look elsewhere. I have been a good wife and hostess. If you want a separation, I will agree, but it is against my religion to be divorced.’

Jamison turned and glared at her.

‘Fuck your religion! I want a divorce!’

Her face white and drawn, Shannon regarded him.

‘I hope and pray you don’t mean what you are saying,’ she said. ‘There can be no divorce. Live with your woman. If you want a legal separation, tell me, but there can be no divorce.’

Jamison continued to glare at her.

‘You mean that?’

‘Sherman, dear, you know I do. Let’s go to bed. We could be successful. Come on, my darling, let’s try.’