Chapter 5
Five-foot-five of power-packed sex, an attractive face and ultra-feminine personality described Nina Lyman. She certainly was a magnetic, charming female, Ramey concluded within sixty seconds of meeting her. Money for getting information out of her or fucking with her was going to be an extra-added attraction. If Mike Moratta only knew it, Ramey would have been glad to donate his services for free as far as this babe was concerned. Steve Lyman, the husband, didn't impress him as much. But then, Ramey was concentrating his attention on the beauteous Mrs. Lyman. Definitely a very sensual cunt who merited his-close personal study.
"Doctor Ramey! Are you psychiatrist?"
"I think the term psychologist is more descriptive."
"That's wonderful! I've always wanted to spend a weekend with a psychologist. And I've got a special reason. My headshrinker is a screaming bore. He specializes in using words nobody can understand. I want you to tell me what he means."
"That would be unethical."
This annoyed her. "Ethics! Methics! They must make trouble among friends."
While Ramey shook Steve Lyman's soft, unpleasant hand, Nina Lyman turned to Moratta. "I keep envying you, Mike-for having this place. I keep telling Steve: 'Why don't you get up off your fat ass and go and get a country place like Mike's?' That's what I keep telling him. But does it do any good?"
There was contempt in Nina's voice but it didn't seem to bother her husband a bit. He revealed an interest of his own by looking Ramey over and saying, "I like the cut of that suit. Is it custom-tailored?"
"No. As a matter-of-fact, I bought it right off the rack in a store in Texas."
"Then I guess you're just built to look good in anything," he said.
Ramey didn't know whether to consider that a compliment or not. It didn't really matter, because Moratta cut in to say, "You and Nina can have this place any time you want it, Steve. How about arranging for a trade? That Manhattan property of yours for this joint and a nice hunk of cash?"
Steve shook his head. "She's the one that's nuts about it. Not me. I like places with traffic and lots of noise."
"Peasant," his wife snorted. Then to Moratta: "Where's Dee?"
"Up getting some clothes on, I guess."
She laughed. "You have the damndest time with that girl. She's got a nudist complex."
"Do you want to go to your room?" Moratta asked, "Or could you use a snort out on the patio?"
"When do we eat?" Lyman said.
"Eight o'clock, but I'll get you a sandwich if you want it."
Lyman considered this and vetoed the idea. "No. That'd spoil my appetite for dinner." He yawned. "I think I'll take a nap in case we want to shoot craps or something tonight. I won't get drowsy then."
"Suit yourself," Moratta said. "You want to go for a swim, Nina?"
"Water? Ugh! I'll strip down and find a sunny spot and wrestle with a martini or two."
Ramey, had, found habit, classified the two couples. Moratta and Lyman were uneducated men who had ground and hammered their way up to riches. Extroverts who were essentially proud of their untutored abilities and planned to keep them that way. They had contempt for what others would have considered good breeding and good manners. To them, that was all sham and pretense. They were "regular guys" and they weren't going to let you forget it.
Joe Toder appeared, carrying luggage. It seemed that he functioned as head butler along with whatever other duties he had because he motioned with his head and announced. "You folks go in the end room straight down the hall upstairs. I'll take your bags up."
Then he proved more thoughtful than his boss because he looked at Ramey and said, "I put you in the second room on the left. You'll find everything you need up there."
"Thank you," Ramey said. He remembered Toder's yen for a "little broad" he mentioned and wished he could do something to help.
There was hesitant, shuffling footsteps and Phil appeared. He stopped and then came forward with that peculiar walk that gave the impression he was ready to run at any instant.
"Darling!" Nina Lyman cried. "I haven't seen you in ages!"
The boy stopped. Nina Lyman moved toward him.
"Ke-ke-keep yo-your hand off of-of me!" he said.
"The poor, poor child," she said. "Why don't you do something about that stuttering, Mike?"
It was the first time Ramey had heard the impediment and it surprised him. But he conceded that there was no reason for the surprise. It could be a logical, part of the boy's sorry condition. It was odd though, that it took over only when Lyman and his wife arrived. It seemed to be a reaction to outsiders.
He'd spoken quite naturally to Ramey, however.
"I want a drink," Moratta announced. "Anybody wants me, I'll be at the swimming pool."
He strode off by himself. Joe Toder had already gone upstairs and Lyman and his wife followed after Nina gave Ramey a brilliant smile and said. "I've got a lot of questions to ask you later."
That left Ramey alone with Phil. He smiled at the boy. "How would you like to show me to my room?"
"Where is it?"
"Toder said it was the second one on the left upstairs."
"I'll show you."
He put his hand into Ramey's and they mounted the steps together.
It was a luxurious room, done in late colonial and tastefully furnished. That meant Moratta had had nothing to do with it personally. It had been furnished when he bought the place or he'd had a good decorator.
"Mind if I wash and shave, Phil? I feel grubby after the drive out here."
"No. I don't mind." He hesitated. "Do you want me to go away?"
As he took off his shirt, he assessed the fact that Phil spoke easily and naturally when they were alone together.
"Where do you go to school, Philly?"
"I've got a private tutor. He comes mornings and then goes home again."
"Do you like it that way?"
"How?"
"Having a private tutor. Would you rather go to school with other kids?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. I like it this way well enough."
"Have you got anybody to play with?"
"One of the gardeners had a boy about my age and we played together. But Dad fired the gardener for sleeping back in the bushes."
"Did you enjoy playing with him?"
"Oh, it was all right. But he was so stupid. He liked things with running and shooting in them. Shooting with your fingers. That was silly. Most of the time I'd rather read."
"Why doesn't your Dad send you to a regular school?"
"My health isn't too good."
"Would you like to be healthy and full of energy and vitality, Phil?"
"Sure-I guess so."
There was a question Ramey wanted to ask. He decided to risk it. "Where is your mother, Phil?"
The reaction was sudden and violent. He stiffened as though Ramey had slapped him. His lips trembled and his fists doubled at his sides.
Ramey reacted from instinct. He turned to the window and pointed. "Say! What kind of a bird is that?"
Phil's attention was drawn in that direction. His fists relaxed.
"It's a blue-bird."
"It's certainly full of life. You know when I was a boy I had a pet crow."
"Did it bite?"
"No, not as I remember."
"Birds like to peck your eyes out."
"You must have read that in a book."
"What's wrong with books?" Phil asked.
"Nothing-nothing." Ramey had been toying with an idea. He surrendered to it. "I'm going to shave, Phil. Why don't you relax there on the bed. You can tell me about some of the books you've read."
He turned to the water in the wash basin. He began whistling. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Phil climb onto the bed, lie down on his back and stare moodily at the ceiling with his hands hooked behind his head. "What's your favorite book, Phil?"
"The Innocents."
Heavy going for a kid, Ramey thought. Good grief! "One of the best," he said. "Did you ever read Huckleberry Finn or Tom Sawyer?"
"That drivel? How childish can you get?"
Ramey approached the bed with a razor held negligently in his fingers. "It's all a matter of taste, of course. Do you like movies?
"I like foreign films. Hollywood stuff is too commercial."
Phil tried to evaluate that. His eyes centered on the spinning point of light.
"I saw a foreign film last month," Ramey said. "It was about a boy who wanted to think over his problems and he went out on a pier in a quiet lake. The camera work was very good. You saw the boy looking out on the calm, quiet water and up into the restful blue sky. There was a bird, I remember. The bird was circling on lazy wings up in the quiet sky. I don't know how they got it to circle that way, but the boy's eyes followed it around and around. In a lazy quiet circle-"
Ramey began moving the razor. Its shiny end was now both spinning and circling. Phil's eyes followed it.
"The quiet sea," Ramey intoned. 'The lazy sky. The circling bird. The boy lay there, relaxed, quiet."
Phil's eyes closed. His hands lost their stiffness. Then tension went out of his face.
"You are calm and quiet and relaxed, Phil. You felt so wonderful. All your problems are gone. Your problems are not important."
He stopped and bent over Phil and studied his face. He was in a deep, peaceful trance. There were no signs of agitation or subconscious fear.
"Can you hear me, Phil? If you can hear me, move the index finger on your left hand. If you can hear me, Phil, move-"
The finger moved.
Ramey's voice took on more authority although it remained quiet and soothing.
"Hatred is a poison, Phil. Hatred poisons you. It makes you sick-"
Phil's hands tightened suddenly into fists. His face became tense. His lips moved. He began to speak.
"He hit him. He hit him and hit him and he fell down-all bloody-all covered with blood."
The sparse, underweight, body writhed.
"The lazy, blue sea, Phil. Remember where you are. Come back to the pier. Relax, Phil. You will relax and be calm. Very calm. Very quiet."
Slowly, the fists turned back into hands. The tight facial muscles loosened.
"Calm, Phil. Quiet, Relaxed."
Ramey straightened and took a deep breath. Phil had gone too far into trance. He'd gone back to a terrifying experience. Perhaps the key situation that was affecting his life.
Ramey said, "you will count to five hundred, Phil. To five hundred-slowly, quietly. When you reach five hundred you will awaken and you will feel rested and refreshed. Rested. Refreshed. You will feel wonderful. Start counting. One-two-three-"
Ramey fell silent as soon as he knew the boy was following his order. Phil was now in a comparatively shallow trance-up away from the deep level where the compulsive memories writhed and chewed at his subconscious.
His face thoughtful, Ramey went back to his shaving. He was a little ashamed of what he'd done; but without reason. He hadn't hurt the boy. In fact he'd done him a little good. Not much, but a little.
In the habit of rigidly examining his own motives, however unworthy they turned out to be, he conceded, here, that a lack of confidence in himself had caused him to hypnotize Phil. The hotel incident with the girl suicide still worried him. He'd lost control, there. He'd attributed that loss of control to carelessness. But he had to be sure.
And now he was.
Phil had exhibited the same tendencies as the girl in the hotel room and Ramey had noted them and handled the situation skillfully.
He was satisfied. He had not lost his touch.
He went on with his shaving and his mind went back to Phil's painful experience. What had the boy remembered? What terrible thing had he relived?
He hit him. He hit him and hit him and he fell down-all bloody The boy had seen something he shouldn't have seen. A fight? A murder?
This set Ramey to wondering about Mike Moratta. He had seen enough to know this was no ordinary household. Moratta was no ordinary man. He was cold and ruthless and cruel.
Moratta's love for his son did not negate this picture in any way. Rather, it strengthened it. Love could be a component in any personality. Ramey had learned that a long time ago. But also, that it didn't necessarily ennoble or enlighten. It magnified, intensified. Love in a negative personality could be a terrifying force.
There had been at least two very painful experiences in Phil's life and both of them reflected on the background of his father. One had to do with Phil's mother. The second involved some scene of violence he'd witnessed.
A thought struck Ramey. Perhaps he was wrong. Maybe the traumas were two aspects of the same psychological problem.
Then he shrugged it off. What difference did it make? He wasn't really interested. He was there to do a job and get paid for it.
Ramey finished shaving. He was toweling his face when Phil stirred and sat up. The boy looked around with a dazed expression. Then he smiled and stretched like a skinny, underfed cat.
"Golly! I feel great," he said.
"You had a little nap. Maybe you didn't sleep well last night."
"I'm going out and water the geranium," he said and bounced off the bed and ran toward the door.
Ramey reached for his shirt. Of course, hypnotism as a therapy did have its shortcomings. But the fact remained, it was not all negative.
Hypnosis or not, that was the first time he'd seen Phil act like a normal boy....
Ramey went downstairs and found himself alone. There was no one at the pool; no one in the patio. Except for a couple of shadow-like servants flitting by, he could have been the only occupant of a deserted mansion.
He searched until he found a telephone and dialed Manhattan. A few moments later, Lee's voice came into his ear.
"Surprise!" he said. "An old friend. How's the world treating you?"
"You dog. Where are you?"
"I'm being royally entertained. Out in the country."
"I could find out if I wanted to."
"Is that so?"
"I followed you downstairs, you lecher. I saw the license plate of that car you got into."
"You mean you'd trace me through the license bureau?"
"I wouldn't have to. The letter symbol on the plate. It was a rented car. I could find out who rented it."
"I guess you could at that."
"Are you fucking with a blonde or a brunette?"
"Both. I'm in line to make a chunk of money."
"Who do they want you to kill?"
"The job is completely legitimate."
"Oh, sure!"
"Your suspicion cuts me to the quick."
"Uh-huh. I can hear sobbing. When will you be back?"
"I'm not quite sure, but when I do make it, how would you like a trip to Puerto Rico or somewhere?"
"You mean you'll be on the run?"
"That's what I like," Ramey said, "the confidence and trust of my little helpmate."
"I trust you implicitly, darling. While I'm waiting to go to Puerto Rico, where will you be? Heading for Paris?"
"That might be a good way for each of us to enjoy out trip," Ramey joked. "I'll be calling you as soon as my plans finalize. Just stand pat."
"As long as your plans include me in, okay."
"Don't worry, III call you soon," Ramey reassured Lee and hung up.
He didn't think it possible after such a reunion that he would feel lonely for Lee, but he did. Perhaps he was more deeply enmeshed with her emotionally then he cared to admit. But he forced himself as usual toward a cool objective appraisal of the situation. The whole atmosphere on this Moratta job was so strained and queer that anyone or anything seemed preferable to being a guest in Mike's mansion. The sooner this job was over, the happier he'd be.