Lawrence Sanders - The seventh commandment

He sat down on the couch, took a swallow of his Stolich-naya. "At least we don't promise suckers everlasting life in the holy oneness. Now that's slimy."

"Yes," she said, still smiling, "we do have our standards, don't we. Did I ever tell you Sid has the hots for me?"

"That was obvious in KC. Did he ever make a move on you?"

"Once," she said, not smiling now. "I told him what I'd do to him if he tried anything. He backed off."

Turner glanced at his watch. "If he's not here in ten minutes, I'm splitting. I have a date with Felicia tonight."

"Where are you going?"

"Who said we're going anywhere?" he said.

"Have you figured a way to stall her?"

"I have, but you don't want to know it, do you?"

"Not really."

"What about Clayton?"

"I can handle him," she said. "He's pussy-whipped. All we want is another year-right?"

He nodded. "That should do it."

The phone rang and Helene picked it up. "Yes? That's correct. Send him up, please. Thank you." She hung up. "That was the concierge. Sid's on his way up."

"I'm not looking forward to this," Turner said.

The first thing Father Brian Callaway did when he entered the apartment, even before he removed his hat and coat, was to rip off his clerical collar. "That damn thing is going to cut my throat one of these days," he said.

"We should be so lucky," Helene said, and Sidney Loftus laughed.

"What a kidder you are," he said. "What're you guys drinking?"

"Stoli rocks," Turner said.

"Sounds good to me," Loftus said, rubbing his palms together. "With a splash of water, please."

Helene rose, sighing, and went into the kitchen. Sid sat down heavily on an armchair. The two men looked at each other with wary smiles.

"How's the church doing?" Turner asked.

Loftus flipped a palm back and forth. "Not hellacious but adequate," he said. "The take is good but I've got to live in that shithouse on Twentieth Street, kip in the back room, and ladle out slop to a bunch of crumbums."

"Why don't you move?"

The other man shook his head. "No can do. It's the reverse of a flash front, y'see. Living in that dump proves my spirituality. I couldn't live in a Park Avenue duplex and plead poverty, now could I?"

"Image-building," Turner said.

"You've got it," Sid said, nodding. "Very important in our game, as you well know. Thank you, my dear," he said, taking the glass from Helene. He raised it. "Here's to crime," he toasted. But he was the only one who drank.

"Sid," Turner said, "I've got a meeting to get to. What's this big emergency you mentioned?"

Loftus crossed his knees. He adjusted the crease in his trousers. He leaned back. He took a pigskin case from an inner pocket. He extracted a long cigarillo carefully. He lighted up slowly.

"An impressive performance," Turner said. "Keep it up and I'm going to waltz out of here. Now what's on your mind?"

"Business, business," Sidney said, shaking his head. "With you it's always business. You never take time to smell the flowers. Very well, I'll be brief. You know, of course, that Clayton Starrett is divorcing Eleanor."

"Who told you that?" Helene demanded.

He looked at her, amused. "Olivia," he said. "She tells Father Brian Callaway everything."

"My God," Turner said, "you're not porking the woman, are you?"

"Oh, dear me, no," Loftus said. "I am her confidant, her father confessor. She dotes on me."

"You've got a sweet little scam going there," Turner said.

Sid shrugged. "To each his own," he said. "And Olivia also told me that as soon as Clayton can give his wife the boot, he plans to marry Helene." He turned to her. "Congratulations, my dear," he said. "May all your troubles be little ones."

"Stuff it," she told him.

He smiled and took a swallow of his drink. "Too much water," he said. "Now this is the way I figure it… Clayton has told you, Helene, of his impending divorce and has already proposed. I'm sure you've discovered that Clayton is not the brightest kid on the block. He's easily manipulated, and I'm guessing that you'll play him along until his divorce comes through, and then you'll take a walk. Am I correct in my assumptions?"

Helene started to reply, but Turner held up a hand to silence her. "Suppose you are," he said to Loftus. "What's it got to do with you? Where do you come in?"

"Why," the other man said, "it seems to me unjust that only you two should profit from this unique situation. And profit mightily, I may add. After all, I was the one who introduced you to the Starrett family. Surely I deserve a reward."

Turner nodded. "I figured it would be something like that," he said, "you're such a greedy bugger. And if I was to tell you to go take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut, what would be your reaction, Sid?"

Loftus sighed. "I would have to give the matter serious consideration. It's possible my decision would be that it was my bounden duty, as spiritual advisor to Olivia, to inform her of certain details in the background and history of you two charmers."

"Blackmail," Helene said flatly.

Loftus made a mock shudder. "That's such an ugly word, dearie," he said. "I prefer to think of it as a finder's fee. For helping you aboard the gravy train."

Turner smiled coldly. "You're bluffing, Sid," he stated. "It works both ways. We might find it necessary to tell the Starretts about your history."

"Would you really?" Loftus said, beaming. He took another swallow of his vodka. "To save you the trouble, I should tell you that Olivia is already aware of the indiscretions of my past. Not all of them, of course, but most. I told her, and she has forgiven me. Y'see, these religious mooches just love repentant sinners. They put their heaviest trust in the lamb who has strayed from the fold and then returned."

Turner said, "I underestimated you, Sid."

"People sometimes do," Loftus said complacently, "and end up paying for it."

"And what do you feel would be a reasonable finder's fee?"

"Oh, I thought fifty grand is a nice round number."

"Fifty thousand!" Helene cried. "Are you insane?"

"I don't believe I'm ready to be committed," Sid said, then laughed at his own wit. "Actually, Helene, it is not an outrageous request, considering what you have taken and will take from Clayton before the divorce is finalized. And I haven't even mentioned your split, Turner, from that lovely finagle at Starrett Fine Jewelry. No, I don't consider fifty thousand unreasonable."

"In cash, I suppose," Turner said bitterly.

"Not necessarily, old boy. A donation to the Church of the Holy Oneness would do the trick. It's tax-deductible, you know."

"Uh-huh," Turner said. "You will allow us a little time to consider your proposal, won't you?"

"Of course," Loftus said heartily. "I didn't expect an immediate answer. I should think a week would be sufficient time to arrive at the only rational decision you can make. Thank you for the refreshment."

He rose and took up his hat, coat, and clerical collar. The Pierces remained seated. Sid nodded at them affably and started to leave. Then he turned at the door.

"Remember," he said with a ghastly smile, "no pain, no gain."

Then he was gone.

"I think I need another drink," Helene said.

"Me too," Turner said. "I'll get them."

She lighted another cigarette while he went into the kitchen. She looked with amazement at the ashtray filled with cigarettes they had both half-smoked and then stubbed out during Sid Loftus' shakedown.

Turner came back with the drinks. They sat close together on the couch and stretched out their long legs.

"You were right," Helene said. "He is slimy. Turner, couldn't we tip off the buttons about that phony church of his?"

"Negative," Turner said. "He'd know immediately who had ratted on him and cop a plea by giving them the Starrett Jewelry job. We can't risk that."