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20
United Parcel dropped off three big boxes. Kemper carried them into his kitchen and opened them.
Bondurant wrapped the stuff in oilcloth. Bondurant understood the concept of “goodies.”
Bondurant sent him two submachine guns, two hand grenades and nine silencer-fitted.45 automatics.
Bondurant included a succinct, unsigned note:
“Your move and Stanton’s.”
The machine guns came with fully loaded drums and a maintenance manual. The.45s fit his shoulder rig perfectly.
Kemper strapped one on and drove to the airport. He caught the 1:00 p.m. New York shuttle with time to spare.
o o o
881 Fifth Avenue was a high-line Tudor fortress. Kemper ducked past the doorman and pushed the “L. Hughes” lobby buzzer.
A woman’s voice came on the intercom. “Take the second lift on the left, please. You can leave the groceries in the foyer.”
He elevatored up twelve floors. The doors opened straight into an apartment vestibule.
The vestibule was the size of his living room. The mink woman was leaning against a full-sized Greek column, wearing a tartan robe and slippers.
Her hair was tied back. She was juuust starting to smile.
“I remember you from the Ke
“My name’s Kemper Boyd, Miss Hughes.”
“From Lexington, Kentucky?”
“You’re close. Nashville, Te
She folded her arms. “You heard me give the cab driver my address, and you described me to the doorman downstairs. He told you my name, and you rang my bell.”
“You’re close.”
“You saw me give that vulgar diamond broach away. Any man as elegantly dressed as you are would appreciate a gesture like that.”
“Only a well-taken-care-of woman would make that kind of gesture.”
She shook her head. “That’s not a very sharp perception.”
Kemper stepped toward her. “Then let’s try this. You did it because you knew you had an audience. It was a Ke
Laura cinched her robe. “Don’t get presumptuous with the Ke
“You’ve seen it happen?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Did it happen to you?”
“No.”
“Because you can’t expel what you haven’t admitted?”
Laura pulled out a cigarette case. “I started smoking because most of the sisters did. They had cases like this, so Mr. Ke
“Mr. Ke
“Or Joe. Or Uncle Joe.”
Kemper smiled. “My father went broke and killed himself. He willed me ninety-one dollars and the gun he did it with.”
“Uncle Joe will leave me a good deal more than that.”
“What’s the current stipend?”
“A hundred thousand dollars a year and expenses.”
“Did you decorate this apartment to resemble the Ke
“Yes.”
“It’s beautiful. Sometimes I think I could live in hotel suites forever.”
She walked away from him. She turned on her heels and disappeared down a museum-width hallway.
Kemper let five minutes pass. The apartment was huge and quiet-he couldn’t get his bearings.
He worked his way left and got lost. Three corridors led him back to the same pantry; the four entrances to the dining room had him spi
Traffic sounds straightened him out He heard foot scuffs on the terrace behind the grand piano.
He walked over. The terrace would swallow up his kitchen at least twice.
Laura was leaning against the railing. A breeze ruffled her robe.
She said, “Did Jack tell you?”
“No. I figured it out myself.”
“You’re lying. The Ke
Kemper shook his head. “Mr. Hoover doesn’t know. Le
Laura lit a cigarette. Kemper cupped his hands around the match.
“I never thought Le
“He didn’t have much choice. If it’s any consol-”
“No, I don’t want to know. Le
Kemper touched her arm. “Please don’t tell Le
“Why, Mr. Boyd?”
“Because he’s embarrassingly well co
“No, you don’t understand. I’m asking you what you’re doing here.”
“I saw you at Joe Ke
“That’s not an answer.”
“I couldn’t very well ask Jack or Bobby for your number.”
“Why not?”
“Because Uncle Joe wouldn’t approve, and Bobby doesn’t entirely trust me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m embarrassingly well co
Laura shivered. Kemper draped his suitcoat around her shoulders.
She pointed to his holster. “Bobby told me the McClellan people don’t carry guns.”
“I’m off duty.”
“Did you think I’d be so bored and indolent that you could just ring my bell and seduce me?”
“No, I thought I’d buy you di
Laura laughed and coughed smoke. “Is Kemper your mother’s maiden name?” -
“Yes.”
“Is she alive?”
“She died in a nursing home in ‘49.”
“What did you do with the gun your father left you?”
“I sold it to a classmate in law school.”
“Does he carry it?”
“He died on Iwo Jima.”
Laura dropped her cigarette in a coffee cup. “I know so many orphans.”
“So do I. You’re sort of one your-”
“No. That’s not true. You’re just saying it to make points with me.”
“I don’t think it’s much of a stretch.”
She snuggled into his suitcoat. The sleeves flopped in the wind.
“Repartee is one thing, Mr. Boyd, and the truth is another. The truth is my robber-baron father fucked my movie-star mother and got her pregnant. My movie-star mother had already had three abortions and didn’t want to risk a fourth. My movie-star mom disowned me, but my father enjoys flaunting me in front of his legitimate family once a year. The boys like me because I’m provocative, and they think I’m nifty because they can’t fuck me, because I’m their half-sister. The girls hate me because I’m a coded message from their father that says men can fuck around, but women can’t. Do you get the picture, Mr. Boyd? I have a family. My father put me through boarding school and several colleges. My father supports me. My father informed his family of my existence when Jack brought me home from a Harvard alumni mixer as the unwitting pawn in a rather vicious ploy I had initiated to assert myself into the family. Imagine his surprise when Father said, ‘Jack, you can’t fuck her, she’s your half-sister.’ Little Bobby, twenty and Calvinistic, overheard the conversation and spread the word. My father figured what the hell, the word’s out, and invited me to stay for di
Car horns bleeped long and shrill. Laura pointed down at a line of taxis. “They perch there like vultures. They always make the most noise when I’m playing Rachmaninoff.”