The Secret History - Donna Tartt [149]
“Did she speak to his parents?”
“Well, shit, she wasn’t trying to get him in trouble.”
Henry was silent for a moment. Then he said: “Where do you think he is?”
Cloke looked away, shrugged uneasily.
“You’ve known him longer than I have. He’s got a brother at Yale, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah. Brady. Business school. But Patrick said he’d just talked to Brady, you know?”
“Patrick lives at home, right?”
“Yeah. He’s got some kind of business thing he’s working on, a sporting goods store or something, trying to get it off the ground.”
“And Hugh’s the lawyer.”
“Yes. He’s the oldest. He’s at Milbank Tweed in New York.”
“What about the other brother—the married one?”
“Hugh’s the married one.”
“But isn’t there another one who’s married, too?”
“Oh. Teddy. I know he’s not there.”
“Why?”
“The T-man lives with his in-laws. I don’t think they get along too well.”
There was a long silence.
“Can you think of anyplace he might be?” said Henry.
Cloke leaned forward, his long, dark hair falling in his face, and knocked the ash off his cigarette. He had a troubled, secretive expression, and after a few moments he looked up. “Have you noticed,” he said, “that Bunny’s had an awful lot of cash around the last two or three weeks?”
“What do you mean?” said Henry, a trifle sharply.
“You know Bunny. He’s broke all the time. Lately, though, he’s had all this money. Like, a lot. Maybe his grandmother sent it to him or something, but you can be damn sure he didn’t get it from his parents.”
There was another long silence. Henry bit his lip. “What are you trying to get at,” he said.
“You have noticed it, then.”
“Now that you mention it, I have.”
Cloke shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “This is off the record, now,” he said.
With a sinking feeling in my chest, I sat down.
“What is it?” Henry said.
“I don’t know if I should even mention it.”
“If you think it important, by all means do,” Henry said curtly.
Cloke took a last draw on his cigarette and ground it out with a deliberate, corkscrewing movement. “You know,” he said, “that I deal a little coke now and then, don’t you? Not much,” he said hastily, “just a few grams here and there. Just for me and my friends. But it’s easy work and I can make a little money at it, too.”
We all looked at each other. This was no news at all. Cloke was one of the biggest drug dealers on campus.
“So?” said Henry.
Cloke looked surprised. Then he shrugged. “So,” he said, “I know this Chinaman down on Mott Street in New York, kind of a scary guy, but he likes me and he’ll pretty much give me however much I can scrape up the cash for. Blow, mostly, sometimes a little pot as well but that’s kind of a headache. I’ve known him for years. We even did a little business when Bunny and I were at Saint Jerome’s.” He paused. “Well. You know how broke Bunny always is.”
“Yes.”
“Well, he’s always been real interested in the whole thing. Quick money, you know. If he’d ever had the cash I might’ve cut him in on it—on the financial end, I mean—but he never did and besides, Bunny has no business being mixed up in a deal like this.” He lit another cigarette. “Anyway,” he said. “That’s why I’m worried.”
Henry frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“This was a bad mistake I guess but I let him ride down with me a couple weeks ago.”
We had already heard about this excursion to New York. Bunny had bragged about it incessantly. “And?” said Henry.
“I don’t know. I’m just kind of worried, is all. He knows where the guy lives—right?—and he’s got all this money, so when I was talking to Marion, I just—”
“You don’t think he went down there by himself?” said Charles.
“I don’t know. I sure hope not. He never actually met the guy or anything.”
“Would Bunny do something like that?” said Camilla.
“Frankly,” said Henry, unhooking his glasses and giving them a quick