Джеймс Кейн - Mignon

“If you would, me boy, ’twould help.”

“Well. I should do something to earn my pay.”

“And, in case he should resent it—?”

“Better you stand out from under.”

“Aye! For the sake of me friendship with’m.”

We fixed it up that he should talk with the Judge Advocate in charge of the case while I was seeing the prisoner, and that then I’d report to him at the City Hotel. He took out his carte de visite and wrote his room number, 346. My heart gave a little flip flop; my room number down there was 301, which meant on the same floor. He said: “Come right up, without asking at the desk — the less they know of me business, the better they’ll sleep o’ nights. But, me boy, please don’t be all day. I’m seeing the little one tonight, and any good news I can give her, something to indicate her father may soon be free, will cheer her up no end. Will you bear that in mind?”

“I’ll report by lunchtime, at latest.”

“I’ll be waiting, me boy.”

“And I’ll do my best to convince him.”

“I’m sure of’t. And now, the question iv payment.”

He took out a wallet as thick as a book, slipped a hundred-dollar bill from inside, handed it over, and said: “I believe you mentioned to her one hundred cash in hand, with one hundred fifty more guaranteed. Then would a small escrow downstairs, in care of the hotel desk, take care of the balance you want? If not, say what you want, and I’ll try to accommodate to it.”

Now if plotting with him was called for, I would do it as long as I had to, but I gagged at taking his money. I stood snapping the bill in my fingers, and then not snapping it, for fear it would come apart, as it had a small tear in one end, a triangular jag half an inch deep. I said: “Mr. Burke, escrow’s according’s according — you ask it if you need it. With you, I figure I don’t — so let’s defer payment until I’ve done what you want. And I’d rather you took this back.”

“But me boy, you’re welcome to keep it.”

“I’d rather not.”

“As you like, but if you change your mind—”

“I’ll let you know.”

And I handed the bill back, not dreaming it would become the bomb that would free Mr. Landry, and after that, almost blow me sky-high.

Plenty of cabs for charter today, so I took one by the hour, and reported first to Lavadeau’s, where all the pirates, kings, queens, and harem girls were hanging on hooks, with her, Lavadeau, Veronique Michaud, and two or three others wrapping tissue paper on them, with mothballs sprinkled on. She took me back to a fitting room, a tiny screened-off place with a table in it and a chair, which she gave me, standing close so I could whisper. I told her what I’d done, explaining: “I’m pretending to go along, so he thinks he’ll get what he wants, a plea that’ll ring the curtain down quick. Your father, no doubt, will squawk like a stuck pig, but I have to gain time, and opposing Burke could ruin us. He must think he has things going his way.” She listened, pulling my head to her, and got the point, but warned me: “Willie, don’t be too long, don’t take too much time. I’m going out with him again tonight, to pump him, but from what he said last night, another note’s going in, perhaps has been already sent. And the more he spills in these notes, the worse it’s going to be.” I asked if she’d made up the list of the downtown stationery stores. She said she had and got it out of her purse. It was in her strange, French handwriting, with crossbars on the 7’s, accent marks, and all kind of small touches I wasn’t familiar with. Also, it smelled like Russian Leather. I kissed it, then buried my nose in her ruffle. She pushed her two big bulges to my cheeks, and for a moment, as my arm went around her, it was holy again, and close.

But her father was a man of ice when I lined things out for him. By then they’d given him a brazier, and he stood over it warming his hands as I brought him down to date, and suggested he “consider a plea.” “I will not plead,” he kept saying over and over. “I will not, not , NOT plead — and I’m astonished, Mr. Cresap, you would urge such a thing on me. Apart from general considerations, it involves a point of honor, the admission of an act I didn’t commit, and therefore am not guilty of. I will not plead.”

“Nobody’s asking you to.”

“I... I beg your pardon, sir?”

“I suggested that you consider it.”

“That I consider it?... And then what?”

“Well, you’ve got nothing else to do, at least that I can see, but put charcoal on that fire. Can’t you consider some more?”

“... Consider? And then consider?”

“And — consider.”

He looked at me quite a while, took some turns around the brazier, then fetched up facing me. “Mr. Cresap,” he said, “you may consider me as considering.”

“That’s all I want to know.”

So far, except for some stalling around, getting ready to start, I was strictly nowhere, but then, unexpectedly, I went ten leaps down the road. I went up to the Judge Advocate’s office and was referred by the sergeant to a major named Jenkins. He was a tall, thin, pale man, with a black, spade-cut beard, who kept me standing beside his table and looked at papers as we talked. I led off, as soon as I’d given my name and reported myself as counsel, by asking what my client was charged with. “No charge as yet,” he said. “He’s being held for investigation — as I’d think you’d know by now, if you’re serving as his counsel.”

“What charge if I get him to plead?”

“Parole violation.”

“He hasn’t been given parole that I know of.”

“All these people are technically under parole — if they don’t like it that way, they can let us know and we’ll fix it by putting them in the stockade.”

“What’s the penalty for parole violation?”

“Confiscation, of course. In return for a declaration of assets, we recommend to the court suspension of penal servitude.”

“Isn’t that pretty stiff?”

“Perhaps you’d prefer I sent his papers to the U.S. Attorney, who can ask indictment for treason?”

“Treason, Major? Are you serious?”

“Shipping shoes to the enemy’s not treason?”

“No shoes were shipped to the enemy!”

He went into a perfect rage, saying the fact the shoes were shipped was prima facie proof of who got them, and winding up: “If you think it’s stiff that a man who would do such a thing be let off with parole violation, then all I can say is you take a damned light view of this war.”

“I was wounded in this war.”

“Oh my! And that entitles you to what?”

“A seat, I would think.”

He started a loud uproar, having orderlies bring me a chair, and then when I wouldn’t take it got furious all over again. By then, I was furious at myself for doing so badly, but made myself shut up and stood there saying nothing. He said: “Cresap, if I may say so, you could learn from your client’s partner, who was in a short while ago, and successfully made an appeal for the reduction of this charge to parole violation, the absolute minimum possible. He did it through courtesy.”

“We could all use a little of that.”

“Are you starting up again?”

How it might have turned out I don’t know, but about that time the sergeant tiptoed over, bent down and whispered, and the major jumped up and brushed past me to a man in the hall who had a colored porter behind him, carrying what looked like a case of booze. The major blustered loudly that “those goods were to go to my billet.” The man was nice as pie, saying the billet was where he was headed, but first — and he rubbed his fingers in the way that means money. The major took out a note, which the man held in his teeth while fishing into a weasel to make change. I was edging to the door and could see it was a hundred-dollar note, but paid no special attention until the man stuffed it into the weasel after handing the change to the major. And that’s when I suddenly saw what “courtesy” meant. One end of the note was torn, a triangular jab about half an inch deep.