The Search for the Dice Man. Luke Rhinehart

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СКАЧАТЬ a report. The one agent who did file one claimed that nothing anyone ever said at this place was reliable so he had no new idea where Rhinehart might be.’ A nervous tic rubberbanded twice across Putt’s cheek and then subsided.

      ‘But do you have the addresses of some of these places?’

      Putt looked a long time at Larry and then excused himself for a few minutes. He was away half an hour.

      When he returned he again stared a long moment at Larry.

      ‘You’re determined to find your father, are you?’

      ‘I am,’ said Larry.

      ‘OK then,’ said Pull. ‘Maybe we can be of help. We’re pretty sure that there’s one of these dice centres still in existence. It’s, ah, it’s a place called Lukedom – but it’s not on any map. We’re not actually sure where it is – someplace in West Virginia or Tennessee we think, but since the case is inactive we haven’t pursued it. You interested?’

      ‘Of course,’ said Larry. ‘But that’s not much to go on.’

      ‘There’s a lady,’ said Putt. ‘An Arlene Ecstein. She might know. She was Rhinehart’s mistress or something back when everyone was crazy. Her husband was a big deal in the movement. We even think the husband, Jake Ecstein, might be behind some of these dice communes. Anyway, if I were trying to find Rhinehart I’d question her.’

      ‘I remember Mrs Ecstein,’ said Larry, frowning. ‘My God, she became the flakiest of them all.’

      ‘Yeah,’ said Putt. ‘I think you’re right. She’s probably not too reliable.’

      ‘You know where she is?’

      ‘Got an address,’ Putt replied, looking down at his file. ‘It’s five or six years old. Might help.’

      After Agent Putt had escorted Larry to his door, walking with a big slow lumbering waddle, he closed the door slowly behind him. Then he slammed one fist into another and his eyes blazed. He almost leapt to his desk and punched out a number.

      ‘Get me Macavoy!!’ he barked. ‘Get him in here!’

      While he waited, he phoned to reserve a car for Macavoy and then began pacing back and forth. For fifteen years – ever since he’d been denied a promotion because of his failures on the case – he’d been after this guy Rhinehart and come up blank every time. He’d watched as the man’s influence had waxed and waned, but always spreading pornography, promiscuity, Aids, herpes, dope, violence, unwed mothers and welfare cheats. Now his kid, who must be as nutty as his father but seemed to hide it better, had finally decided to try to find his old man. It could well be the break Putt had been looking for all these years.

      When Macavoy entered he stood at polite attention until Putt turned to him. Macavoy was a deadly serious young man, an agent for only two years and convinced that two-thirds of being a successful agent lay in being steadily sombre and serious.

      ‘Rhinehart’s son has decided to try to find his father,’ Putt announced gruffly, his bloodshot eyes blazing.

      ‘How is this going to help us?’ Macavoy asked.

      ‘These dicequeers won’t talk to cops or reporters or us,’ Putt answered. ‘But they may be willing to talk to someone whose last name is Rhinehart and happens to be the bastard’s son. Putt stopped pacing and made a facial expression which may have been a smile.

      ‘I want you to put a loose tail on this kid,’ he went on. ‘Stick with him for as long as he’s going after Rhinehart senior. Stick with him until he leads us to the old madman himself.’

      ‘You mean Rhinehart senior?’

      ‘That’s right. Rhinehart. The worst threat to American society since Karl Marx.’ Macavoy nodded soberly.

15

      Arlene Ecsiein’s phone number was in the Queens phone book, and it turned out she lived in Hempstead, Long Island, not exactly a bastion of kookiness. Larry was surprised on phoning her to find himself talking to a gentle grandmotherly woman who tended to babble on a bit about ‘dear old Luke’ and ‘your wonderful mother’, and ‘wasn’t it a shame …’ and so on.

      He reported his meeting with Putt and his follow-up phone call to Arlene and his memories of her to Honoria and Kim at the Battles’ Upper East Side luxury apartment. Luke’s seduction of Arlene had been his first dice decision, his first step on his ‘downward path to self-destruction’ as Larry put it, or ‘first test of the malleability of the human soul’ as Luke’s followers had since put it. In any case, as Larry explained, Arlene had soon become a fanatic practitioner of the dicelife, blossoming from a frustrated and unfulfilled childless housewife to an earthy mother, career woman and ‘slut’ – the last word being Larry’s interpretation of her subsequent dicelife. Larry hadn’t seen her since he was a boy. At first Honoria had seemed put off by Larry’s recitation, but when Kim seemed eager to meet Arlene, Honoria wisely decided she would go with her fiancé.

      It turned out that Arlene lived in one half of a somewhat run-down duplex in a mostly white neighbourhood that looked as if it was struggling to maintain its dignity. The doorbell didn’t work, so Larry had to bang several times on the old wooden door.

      When it opened, Larry and a tense, wary Honoria found themselves facing a large, white-haired lady wearing a long brown dress with a black shawl thrown over her upper half. She peered at them through thick glasses and then smiled warmly.

      ‘My, how you’ve grown,’ she said, as if imitating every ancient relative since the beginning of time. ‘I’d never have recognized you if you hadn’t phoned first. How’s your father?’

      Of course that’s what Larry wanted to know, so her asking was a bit of a setback. But Arlene didn’t seem to expect an answer and went babbling happily on about the good old days and wasn’t it a shame and sugar? milk? or lemon? in the tea. As Arlene bustled away towards her tiny kitchen Larry and Honoria exchanged discouraged looks from the deep ancient armchairs they found themselves buried in.

      When Arlene had returned she served them lukewarm tea with some stale Stella Dora biscuits. Then with a loud groan she settled herself down into the overstuffed couch.

      ‘The arthritis does get to one over the years,’ she said. ‘I hope it hasn’t hit poor Luke.

      ‘We were wondering where Dr Rhinehart might be,’ said Honoria, wanting to get to the point. ‘Have you heard from him recently?’

      ‘Oh, no,’ said Arlene ‘Luke hasn’t written or phoned me in years and years. He has to lie low, you know. The police are after him.’

      ‘We know,’ said Honoria. ‘Where was he the last time he wrote or phoned?’

      ‘Oh, that was years ago,’ said Arlene, looking off into space. ‘I’m sure he’s moved since then.’

      ‘Where was it?’ asked Larry.

      ‘Oh, here in New York, I guess,’ Arlene answered. ‘It’s all rather vague now. He wasn’t much for precision.’

      ‘Where’s СКАЧАТЬ