Dig My Grave Deep. Peter Rabe

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      “The work you’ve been doing for me went along fine and you never batted an eye. You could take it because you were your brother’s keeper. It made all the rest all right, just like having a built-in excuse. Then Bob got killed. You not only failed, Dan; you lost your excuse for sticking around!”

      Port was at the window and at the last words he turned around fast, but when he saw Stoker he didn’t talk right away. After a while he talked very evenly.

      “Now we both know. Now I leave,” and he got up without looking at Stoker.

      “Dan.”

      Port stopped, turned around.

      “Your brother is dead and you walk out.” Stoker looked up. “But I’m not dead—yet.”

      “It’s got nothing to do with you, Max,” Port said to the wall.

      “You’re leaving when it’s going to hurt most.”

      “You took care of your own before I came along.”

      “I wasn’t this sick.” He said it before he could stop himself, and then he went on fast. “You’re walking out with that Reform thing riding the crest. After this dirt in the paper, how long do you think I’m going to hold on to Ward Nine? You know I need that ward, don’t you? You know if they tear down those slums, and spread the voters all over the precincts the way it’s been planned, you know what’ll happen to me, don’t you, Dan?”

      “I know.”

      “I lose the machine, I lose territory, I lose out with the setup from out of town. And you know what comes then?”

      “You’re a sick man, Max. They wouldn’t drop you.”

      “That’s why they would. Hard.”

      Neither of them said anything for a while and when Stoker talked again he was mumbling.

      “If I tell you I need you, Dan—”

      “I’m leaving, Max. I’m going to fix up that ward for you, and then I’m leaving.”

      Stoker looked down in his lap. “Better I didn’t hear you, Dan. Just fix up that ward and don’t talk.”

      Port walked to the door. He nodded his head without looking at Stoker and said, “All right, Max,” and walked out.

       Chapter Four

      AT EIGHT in the morning Port was ready to go. When he went to the door he looked at the telephone but it didn’t ring this time. Instead there was a knock on the door. Port stood back and said, “Come in.”

      He said, “Hi, Simon,” and waved at the bald man to come in. Simon shook his head and grinned. “I brought something over, for a present. You going downstairs?”

      Port said yes and they went down in the elevator.

      “It’s from the boss. He says I should bring it over with his compliments.”

      “Stoker must have had a good night.”

      “He arranged it yesterday. Called me up late and told me to bring it over by eight.”

      They got out of the elevator and walked through the lobby.

      “You staying after all, huh?”

      “Sure. So where’s this present?”

      “Right outside,” said Simon, and when they got to the street, there was Fries.

      Port stopped and gave Simon a disgusted look.

      “What’s the matter?” said Simon.

      “You just ruined my day.” Port turned to Fries, who came away from the curb where he had been waiting.

      “Not him,” said Simon. “He just come along for the . . .”

      “Just one word with you, Port,” Fries blinked the eye with the tic.

      “Honest, Dan, I wouldn’t play you a trick like that,” said Simon. “I brought you the car. Stoker’s present.”

      They all looked at the car by the curb, and Fries had to wait while Port went close to admire it. The car was a long convertible with a black nylon top and metallic gray body.

      “It’s a rare one, all right. No two-tone,” said Port.

      “And did you see the antennas?” Simon went to the rear. “One on each fender.”

      “For tuna fishing,” said Port. “Fries, did you ever go tuna fishing?”

      Fries wasn’t in the mood. “Just one word,” he said.

      “Say it.”

      “I see you talked around the old man and you’re back.”

      “That’s right.”

      “Beat it, Simon,” and Fries waited till Simon had walked out of earshot.

      “And you want to tell me to take a powder.”

      “No. Nobody leaves,” said Fries.

      “I’m back. What more do you want?”

      “Stay in your place. Just do your job and quit shining up to the old man.”

      “I should shine up to you. Right?”

      But Fries didn’t treat it as a joke.

      “You can do that, if you think you know how. Might as well learn sooner than later.”

      Port stuck his hands in his pockets and grinned at Fries.

      “Am I mistaken, or am I talking to the heir apparent?”

      “I don’t care what you call it . . .”

      “But I might as well face the facts.”

      “That’s right.”

      “So when the time comes, Fries, when Stoker doesn’t make it with an attack, that’s going to be my time?”

      “That’s going to be my time,” said Fries. “That’s when I take over.”

      “That’s what I meant when I said . . .”

      “I know what you meant. I’m correcting you.”

      “You sound like you’re giving me a sentence. Am I gonna get killed?”

      Fries made an impatient noise. “What’s good for the organization is good enough for me. Just work like you have been and we’re fine.”

      “And СКАЧАТЬ