dock.”
“Jesus, I thought you’d be
prepared
when I got here.” “We can dig together, maybe at dinner?”
Wilma sighed.
“After
dinner,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow, Groucho-style.
“Don’t you ever quit?” said Wilma.
A cursory look at the wire service files revealed no published accounts of this brand of gun smuggling, although fourteen
cases of drug-trafficking and one of suspected (though unproven) gun-running gave the Port Authority plenty of headaches.
The Feds had the place under constant scrutiny.
The port manager was a rotund barrel of a man, constantly under pressure from an intolerant Board of Commissioners and his
own doctor, who warned him to lose weight or die an early death. He chain-smoked Camel filters and talked in an irritating
stop-start manner which grated on Wilma’s nerves.
“Did you ever hear of Senator Parfrey’s involvement with Dartmouth Internationale?” she asked, while he ran a pencil through
an electric sharpener.
“No. And if you’re going to suggest that Parfrey’s influence with the Texas dockworkers’ unions had spread to Louisiana, you’d
better forget it. I run a clean shop here.” He shredded the brand new lead-tip down to a ludicrous two-inch nub.
“If it were all that clean, there’d be no need for me t talk with you about this.”
“Don’t get uppity with me, girlie. I’m breaking a very important appointment as a favor to Eddie-boy, her Any more accusations,
and you can leave.”
Wilma bit her tongue. “Sorry. But how can you explain . the discrepancy on the bills of lading?”
“Yes, it’s obvious someone is pulling a very sophisticated con job on us, and it wouldn’t surprise me if Parfrey had been
behind it, God rest his soul. The bills should have been cross-referenced in our files, but they weren’t. A clerical error.”
“But the same error was repeated six times.”
“It don’t matter to me, Miss Christmas—”
“Christian,” Wilma interrupted.
“I’m
sorry.” He bowed in his seat. “It’s a matter for the FBI and the Treasury Department. The Board of Commissioners aren’t to
blame for the illicit dealings of gun-runners and dock thieves. Besides, our own security men never reported any suspicious
goings-on while that merchandise was on our dock.”
“Nonetheless, the crates were stolen from your docks.”
“We are investigatin’ the matter.” Sherr spoke calmly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a board meetin’ to attend.”
To question him further would have been useless backsliding. Wilma and Eddie departed Bob Sherr’s office convinced the man
wasn’t telling all.
“What can we do about it, though?” wondered Eddie aloud as they headed uptown. “We checked the docks ourselves. Not a clue
from any of the workers we talked to.”
“They’re stalling—maybe it’s a cover-up.” Wilma suggested.
“Maybe they just don’t know.” Eddie turned the corner, aiming west down St. Louis Street. “Why are you so suspicious of everybody?”
Wilma didn’t answer. She wished Daughton had put her on the Washington Monument story. That was a simple terrorist bombing,
nothing like this current exercise in futility.
Eddie managed to coerce her into their having dinner together; she accepted it as being the only game in town. Shortly after
a delicious French dinner at Arnaud’s Restaurant, he suggested “A little nightcap at my place would make tonight
really
memorable.” Wilma felt ill.
“I work out at the club regularly,” he boasted. “Gotta stay in shape if you work hard like I do.”
“What did you say, Eddie?” she said, disinterested.
“Am I boring you?”
“Not exactly,” she said, relaxing a bit. An image of Ben Slayton flashed in her mind, his lips curling back into a smile.
Coming back to the real world, she saw Eddie was still half expecting an answer. “I’m sorry, it must be this drink. Suddenly
I’m very tired.”
“Do you want me to
“Jesus, I thought you’d be
prepared
when I got here.” “We can dig together, maybe at dinner?”
Wilma sighed.
“After
dinner,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow, Groucho-style.
“Don’t you ever quit?” said Wilma.
A cursory look at the wire service files revealed no published accounts of this brand of gun smuggling, although fourteen
cases of drug-trafficking and one of suspected (though unproven) gun-running gave the Port Authority plenty of headaches.
The Feds had the place under constant scrutiny.
The port manager was a rotund barrel of a man, constantly under pressure from an intolerant Board of Commissioners and his
own doctor, who warned him to lose weight or die an early death. He chain-smoked Camel filters and talked in an irritating
stop-start manner which grated on Wilma’s nerves.
“Did you ever hear of Senator Parfrey’s involvement with Dartmouth Internationale?” she asked, while he ran a pencil through
an electric sharpener.
“No. And if you’re going to suggest that Parfrey’s influence with the Texas dockworkers’ unions had spread to Louisiana, you’d
better forget it. I run a clean shop here.” He shredded the brand new lead-tip down to a ludicrous two-inch nub.
“If it were all that clean, there’d be no need for me t talk with you about this.”
“Don’t get uppity with me, girlie. I’m breaking a very important appointment as a favor to Eddie-boy, her Any more accusations,
and you can leave.”
Wilma bit her tongue. “Sorry. But how can you explain . the discrepancy on the bills of lading?”
“Yes, it’s obvious someone is pulling a very sophisticated con job on us, and it wouldn’t surprise me if Parfrey had been
behind it, God rest his soul. The bills should have been cross-referenced in our files, but they weren’t. A clerical error.”
“But the same error was repeated six times.”
“It don’t matter to me, Miss Christmas—”
“Christian,” Wilma interrupted.
“I’m
sorry.” He bowed in his seat. “It’s a matter for the FBI and the Treasury Department. The Board of Commissioners aren’t to
blame for the illicit dealings of gun-runners and dock thieves. Besides, our own security men never reported any suspicious
goings-on while that merchandise was on our dock.”
“Nonetheless, the crates were stolen from your docks.”
“We are investigatin’ the matter.” Sherr spoke calmly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a board meetin’ to attend.”
To question him further would have been useless backsliding. Wilma and Eddie departed Bob Sherr’s office convinced the man
wasn’t telling all.
“What can we do about it, though?” wondered Eddie aloud as they headed uptown. “We checked the docks ourselves. Not a clue
from any of the workers we talked to.”
“They’re stalling—maybe it’s a cover-up.” Wilma suggested.
“Maybe they just don’t know.” Eddie turned the corner, aiming west down St. Louis Street. “Why are you so suspicious of everybody?”
Wilma didn’t answer. She wished Daughton had put her on the Washington Monument story. That was a simple terrorist bombing,
nothing like this current exercise in futility.
Eddie managed to coerce her into their having dinner together; she accepted it as being the only game in town. Shortly after
a delicious French dinner at Arnaud’s Restaurant, he suggested “A little nightcap at my place would make tonight
really
memorable.” Wilma felt ill.
“I work out at the club regularly,” he boasted. “Gotta stay in shape if you work hard like I do.”
“What did you say, Eddie?” she said, disinterested.
“Am I boring you?”
“Not exactly,” she said, relaxing a bit. An image of Ben Slayton flashed in her mind, his lips curling back into a smile.
Coming back to the real world, she saw Eddie was still half expecting an answer. “I’m sorry, it must be this drink. Suddenly
I’m very tired.”
“Do you want me to
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