Джеймс Кейн - Mignon

When I got up to the head of the stairs he was out in the hall, giving orders to a bunch of men I recognized as Northern news correspondents. They’d been kept waiting, apparently, and weren’t any too pleased about standing around in a hallway. But Dan is a big beefy man who’d held a courthouse job back home and doesn’t take any backtalk, so pretty soon he had order. Then, seeing me, he motioned me into his office, growling as he followed me in: “Actually, I’m on their side. They were told to come, for an announcement the General is making of an election we’re going to hold on Washington’s Birthday. But it’s been one thing after another — especially some damned Indiana outfit that’s on their way home but had to serenade the General on their way to the boat. So he had to make them a speech. So that called for asking their officers in and putting out booze for a toast. So it took an hour, and the election’s still not announced. But what the hell? Everything’s jumpy here, and at the least little thing we blow our pop. What’s on your mind, Bill?”

“Man,” I said. “Adolphe Landry. Ever hear of him?”

“Well — he’s well known. He’s held.”

“Yes, but where?”

“Right here.”

“In this headquarters?”

“Detention room down in the Annex.”

“What’s he charged with?”

“He’s not charged, as yet — just held for investigation. I can tell you one thing, though: that lad is in trouble. He’s been playing it sharp all winter, and now he’s cut himself.”

“In what way, sharp?”

“Working the godpappy sell.”

“And what is the godpappy sell?”

“New one they figured out under this law that’s just been passed, Confiscation Act of 1863, as amended. Reb, like we’ll say Landry, buys cotton for peanuts out there in Secessia, loads it on a barge, and starts it down the bayou in the general direction of New Orleans. So lo and behold, we capture it as soon as it enters our lines. So we ship it here for storage, then go to court to condemn it, proceeds to apply to the cost of the war. But then, how did you guess it, who pops up but a Union trader, waving a paper around, a godpappy paper known as a bill of sale, a deed from his friend the Reb, conveying the paper to him? And that paper is good. The court must allow the claim — he’s a loyal Union man, and loyal men make loyal cotton. So he gets the award, which includes free transportation here to market, as of course we can’t book him for moving stock in our custody. So he and his Reb friend split — and that’s the sell Landry’s been working with a highbinder partner he has, a naturalized Irishman named Frank Burke.”

“But the way you tell it, it’s legal.”

“Bill, it is, but he overreached himself. He began using the money he made to ship supplies upriver — to Taylor, the Reb commander.”

“Ouch, that’s not so good.”

“He’s playing a deep game, that’s all.”

“How deep, Dan?”

“He’s squaring things up, we think, with the Rebs for the money he hopes to make on this Red River thing next month.”

I’d never heard of the Red River thing, and Dan was quite shifty about it. But I managed to open him up, and he began whispering about “a campaign about to start to Western Louisiana — kind of an annual event. We had one last year, so now we do it again. Only this time we’re after the cotton in storage out there — even Washington’s stooping so low as to use the godpappy sell. They don’t send us an order, but the word’s been passed just the same; we’re to take the traders along on our headquarters boat when we go, and nature will see to the rest. They’ll buy off the Rebs, taking their godpappy deed; we’ll transport the stock down here, the court will say hocus-pocus, and everybody’ll be happy — especially the Northern mills, which’ll get stock to run on, and even including the Rebs, who’ll be paid some traders’ tin and be won back to their allegiance, as we’re told.” He got up, peered out in the hall, closed the door, came back, and leaned close. “Bill,” he whispered, very solemn, “you can win a war or lose it — with honor. You know what it’s called when you try to buy it?”

“I bite,” I said. “No.”

“Treason. That cotton’s already hooded.”

But he called it who did . I asked: “Hoodooed?”

“That’s what I said. It’s hexed.”

I almost wanted to laugh, but he was dead serious. “That cotton means nothing but trouble, as this whole damned headquarters knows — it’s what makes this place so jumpy. It’s what’s thrown Landry — he’s getting the side-wash already.”

“He holds Red River cotton, Dan?”

“Hundreds of bales, at least so we hear.”

“What supplies did he ship, by the way?”

“That I’m not free to say.”

“Dan! I thought we were friends!”

“I hope so, Bill; at the same time, there’s a limit. Frank Burke, the partner, the Irishman I mentioned just now — he was in, and I couldn’t even tell him . If I had to turn him down, I can’t justify telling you. Until authorized counsel shows up, we can’t open that file to anyone.”

“I am authorized counsel.”

“You being funny, Bill, or what?”

I had heard my mouth say it, and was just as amazed as he was to hear myself stand by my bluff. “I’m not being funny,” I said. “I’m his authorized counsel. What do you think I’m doing here?”

“You’re not even a lawyer.”

“He has a lawyer, but in a town under martial law, the family wants military counsel. I’m a discharged officer, I’ve sat on three or four courts, and I’m qualified to serve.”

“He hasn’t got any family — except for that daughter, the one that’s been running around with Burke.”

“Mrs. Fournet hired me on.”

“Bill, quit playing games. You—”

“ Games? Goddam it, you ’ re the one —”

But even before I could finish, he cut me off with a wipe of his hand, jumped up, opened the door a crack, listened, and closed it again. “What do you mean,” he whispered, “bellering like that, with those newspapermen in the hall? Do you want this thing advertised to the world?” Later on, when I remembered it, that scared look on his face was important, but right now I was bent on one thing and gave no thought to anything else. “All right,” I said, “we keep it nice and quiet. But I have to see that file.”

“It’s in the Judge Advocate’s office.”

He slipped out, and in a minute was back with one of those stiff red envelopes tied up with tape. He undid it and took out papers, pushing them all at me, to give me a fair chance to read, but at the same time trying to help me. “Go through it,” he said, “if you want to, but it doesn’t mean anything — just a pile of rub-a-dub-dub, the covering blabber we write when papers move from one desk to the other. But here’s the works, what he’s up against, the anonymous note that came in by mail, in this envelope that’s pinned on. The facts are being checked with the leads this thing has given us, so we’re keeping our fingers crossed till we know what’s what. Landry’s mistake was he needed too much help — too many people knew. One of them turned informer — as bad a hex as there is.”

He passed over the note, written on cheap tablet paper with a soft pencil:

FEBY 5, 1864

COMMANDING GENL SIR:

MR ADOLPHE LANDRY ESQU BEN SHIPING SHOES TO TALORS REB ARMY HE SHIP BY BOAT TO MORGANZA YOU DON BLEE ME GENL SIR ASK EMIL BOSWAY CLERK IN MIFFLINS JOBERS GENL RITE YOU MORE SOON AS I KNOW

That was a blow, and I decided to take myself off as soon as I checked on whether she’d be allowed to see her father. But before I could ask about it, a commotion came in the hall, and Dan had to duck out to attend the General while the General talked to the press and then ride with him to his house on Coliseum Square. I stuck around, but had to wait the better part of an hour. However, when he got back we resumed where we’d left off. He took a package from a shelf, a thing that looked like a Mardi Gras costume tied up in tissue paper, and walked downstairs with me to find out how things stood. He went back through the hall, up a little stairs to the Annex, and on to a door that he touched with his fingertips. You don’t pound on a guardroom door on account of the men sleeping inside, and when the corporal appeared Dan whispered. Then he rejoined me, saying: “There’s no special order against it, so visitors are all right until call to quarters at nine forty-five. So what the hell? Burke saw him, and if he could she can. Incidentally, Bill, if he’s such a friend of Landry’s, why didn’t he tell her where her father is held?”