Arthur Hailey - Wheels

Dazedly, Adam wrote down the directions Smokey gave him.

"We need a lawyer," Adam said. "I know several. I'm going to phone one, get him over here."

He was with Smokey Stephensen, in Smokey's car, on the parking lot of the suburban police station. Adam had not yet been inside, Smokey had persuaded him to remain in the car while he recited the facts concerning Erica, which he had learned on the telephone from Chief Arenson, and during a visit to the chief's office before Adam's arrival. As Adam listened he had grown increasingly tense, his frown of worry deepening.

"Sure, sure," Smokey said. "Go phone a lawyer. While you're about it, why not call the News, Free Press and Birmingham Eccentric? They might even send photographers."

"What does it matter? Obviously, the police have made a stupid mistake."

"They ain't made a mistake."

"My wife would never . . ."

Smokey cut in exasperatedly, "Your wife did. Will you get that through your head? And not only did, she's signed a confession."

"I can't believe it."

"You'd better. Chief Arenson told me; he wouldn't lie. Besides, the police aren't fools."

"No," Adam said, I know they're not." He took in a deep breath and expelled it slowly, forcing himself to think carefully - for the first time since hastily breaking off the meeting with Perceval Stuyvesant half an hour ago. Perce had been understanding, realizing that something serious had occurred, even though Adam hadn't gone into detail about the sudden phone call. They had arranged that Adam would call Perce at his hotel, either later tonight or tomorrow morning.

Now, beside Adam, Smokey Stephensen waited, puffing on a cigar, so the car reeked of smoke despite its air conditioning. Outside, the rain continued drearily, as it had since afternoon. Dusk was settling in. On vehicles and in buildings lights were coming on.

"All right," Adam said, "if Erica did what they say, there has to be something else behind it."

Out of habit, the auto dealer rubbed a hand over his beard. His greeting to Adam on arrival had been neither friendly nor hostile, and his voice was noncommittal now. "Whatever that is, I guess it's between you and your wife. The same goes for what's right or wrong; neither one's any business of mine. What we're talking about is the way things are."

A police cruiser pulled in close to where they were parked. Two uniformed officers got out, escorting a third man between them. The policemen took a hard look at Smokey Stephensen's car and its two occupants; the third man, whom Adam now saw was handcuffed, kept his eyes averted. While Smokey and Adam watched, the trio went inside.

It was an uncomfortable reminder of the kind of business transacted here.

"The way things are," Adam said, "Erica's inside there - or so you tell me - and needs help. I can either barge in myself, start throwing weight around and maybe make mistakes, or I can do the sensible thing and get a lawyer."

"Sensible or not," Smokey growled, "you'll likely start something you can't stop, and afterwards wish you'd done it some other way."

"What other way?"

"Like letting me go in there to begin. To represent you. Like my talking to the chief again. Like seeing what I can work out."

Wondering why he had not asked before, Adam queried, "Why did the police call you?"

"The chief knows me," Smokey said. "We're friends. He knows I know you."

He forbore to tell Adam what he had already learned - that chances were good the store where the shoplifting had occurred would settle for payment of what had been taken and would not press charges; also, that Chief Arenson was aware the case might be sensitive locally, and therefore a favorable disposition might be arranged, depending on the co-operation and discretion of all concerned.

"I'm out of my depth," Adam said. "If you think you can do something, go ahead. Do you want me to come with you?"

Smokey sat still. His hands were on the car's steering wheel, his face expressionless.

"Well," Adam said, "can you do something or not?"

"Yes," Smokey acknowledged, "I guess I could."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

"The price," Smokey said softly. "There's a price for everything, Adam. You, of all people, should know that."

"If we're discussing bribery"

"Don't even mention bribery! Here or in there." Smokey gestured toward police headquarters. "And remember this: Wilbur Arenson's a reasonable guy. But if you offered him anything, he'd throw the book at your wife.

You, too."

"I didn't intend to." Adam looked puzzled. "If it isn't that, then what . . ."

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Smokey shouted the words; his hands, gripping the steering wheel, were white. "You're putting me out of business, remember?

Or is it so unimportant you've forgotten? One month, you said. One month before your sister puts her stock in my business on the block. A month before you turn that sneak's notebook of yours over to your company sales brass."

Adam said stiffly, "We have an agreement. It has nothing to do with this."

"You're damn right it has to do with this! If you want your wife out of this mess without her name, and yours, smeared all over Michigan, you'd best do some fast rethinking."

"It might be better if you explained what kind."

"I'm offering a deal," Smokey said. "If it needs explaining, you're not half as smart as I think."

Adam allowed the contempt he felt to express itself in his voice. "I suppose I get the picture. Let me see if I have it right. You are prepared to be an intermediary, using your friendship with the chief of police to try to free my wife and have any charges dropped. In return, I'm supposed to tell my sister not to dispose of her investment in your business and then ignore what I know about dishonesty in the way you run it."

Smokey growled. "You're pretty free with that word dishonesty. Maybe you should remember you got some in the family."

Adam ignored the remark. "Do I, or do I not, have the proposition right?"

"You're smart after all. You got it right."

"Then the answer's no. Under no circumstances would I change the advice I intend to give my sister. I'd not be using her interests to help myself."

Smokey said quickly, "That means, then, you might consider the part about the company."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't not say it either."

Adam was silent. Within the car the only sounds were a purr from the idling motor and the air-conditioning hum.

Smokey said, "I'll take the half of the deal. Never mind Teresa. I'll settle for you not shitting in the company." He paused, then expanded, "I'll. not even ask for that black notebook of yours. Just that you don't use it."

Still Adam failed to answer.

"You might say," Smokey said, "you're choosing between the company and your wife. It's interesting to see who you put first."

Bitterly, Adam answered, "You know I've no choice."

He was aware that Smokey had tricked him, as had happened the day of that encounter in the dealership when Smokey demanded twice as much as he needed, then settled for what he had wanted to stay with. It was a hoary dealer's gambit, then as now.

But this time, Adam reminded himself, Erica had to be thought of. There was no other way.

Or was there? Even at this moment he was tempted to dispense with Smokey's help, to go to the police alone, learn what he could of what still seemed an unreal situation, then discover what, if anything, could be arranged. But it was a risk. The fact was: Smokey did know Chief Arenson, and equally obvious was that Smokey knew his way around this kind of situation, which Adam did not. When Adam had said a few minutes ago, "I'm out of my depth," it was true.

But he knew he had acted against his own moral principles and had compromised with conscience, either for Erica's sake or not. He suspected gloomily it would not be the last time, and that personally, as well as in his work, he would make more compromises as time went on.