A Man of Affairs (15 page)

“How did it go?” Bowman asked.

“She won’t play,” I said.

“That makes it my turn,” Cam said. “This day is too damn full to suit me.” He started to move toward the door.

“Don’t go yet,” I said. “Mike may need you right here.”

The buzz of the shaver stopped and Mike came out, coffee in one hand, rubbing his jowls with the other. “What was that, Sam?” he asked, giving me the buddy-buddy smile just as if I hadn’t signed anything yet. I could sense the way they lined up, the four of them, alert and canny and suspicious. And very competent. In some crazy way it made me remember when I went to my first dance. The chaperons and the girls had that same ominous flavor of disdain. And, as on that deathless occasion, I felt as though my hands hung too far out of my sleeves, and it seemed grotesque that anybody should have to wear a size thirteen-C shoe.

“I told Cam you might want him around for moral support or something.” I sat down, trying to look casual.

Mike slapped his hard brown paunch and said, “You look like you’ve got a wild hair, Sambo.”

“I had a football coach once who called me Sambo and I learned to hate the son of a bitch, Mike.”

His mouth tightened. “Let’s not get too smart, Sam.”

“I’m not too smart. I’m pretty stupid. I let you city slickers sell me down the river. I’ve got my ticket, but the boat hasn’t left yet. So I’m getting out. Right here.”

I didn’t look at any of the others. I kept my eyes on Mike. There was a long silence. He took a sip of the coffee and set the cup aside. “You are pretty stupid. You’re dumber than an ox, Sam. What are your plans?”

I shrugged. “Nothing sensational. I’ll go home and get my gang and we’ll have a meeting and we’ll do a new sales job on Louise and Tommy.”

“How much attention,” Bowman said, “will the McGanns or the other executives at Harrison pay to you when they find out you’ve signed up with us?”

“Stay out of this, Fletcher,” Mike said sharply. “But you might as well answer his question, Sam.”

I scratched my head and hung one leg over the arm of my chair. “Hell, I don’t know. All I can do is go back to the way I’ve always operated all my life, up until now. I’ll tell them just what happened. You know, how you people are pretty smooth, and I guess I got a little too impressed by everything.”

“Do me the courtesy of dropping that country boy line. Let’s get down to business. You think your position is worth a little more than you’re getting. You’ve made a mistake. I don’t haggle. You’re getting all the traffic will bear right now.”

“I’m not smart enough to try anything like that. Bowman did bring up that you’re spread pretty thin right now, and I suppose it would be a good time to hold you up. But I’m not doing that.”

Mike turned and gave Bowman one long look. Bowman ducked his head and turned chalky.

“So what are you trying to do?” Mike asked me.

“I don’t think you’ll understand it. I’ll put it as simply as I can. I was willing to betray a trust. A hell of a lot of trust from a lot of different people. I thought the money would make up for it. But I’ve thought about the money for a couple of days and I still feel like a heel. And I don’t want to be one of the Dean boys. It isn’t my style. I’ve got the old-fashioned opinion that you people are all sick. So, with fair warning, I’m getting out.”

Mike picked up his coffee. I saw that his hand was shaking. “And you do realize, I hope, that your chance of getting a job anywhere after I throw you out of Harrison is going to be just as damn slim as I can make it.”

“That’s the way the ball seems to bounce.”

Mike turned suddenly and hurled the half full cup of coffee into the bathroom. It shattered in the tub. It was, somehow, a shocking gesture. He clamped his powerful hands shut and walked three steps toward me. His face was ugly with anger.

“Why, for the love of God, do I always have to run into this kind of damn nonsense? You were bought and you won’t stay bought. What kind of ethics is that? What kind of morality is that? By God, I despise your kind, Glidden. You sicken me. You pollyanna boys want to go around thinking the business world is honorable and reasonably decent. You want to be so stinking noble about everything! Listen to me. There’s no more morality or ethics in industry than there is in that pack of barracuda out there, than there is in those barracuda that are digesting chunks of Warren Dodge. You want to live in a dream world. I tell you that the only limitation is the law. And everything else goes. Oh, how I love to run into you Christers on a deal! I don’t have to expect any shrewd tricks. Who the hell are you bleeding for? The poor little shareholders? The noble laborer with wife and kiddies? Those sad-pants executives you try to work with? Maybe the McGanns and the Dodge woman? Jesus!”

“Mike, please,” Amparo said, a warning note in her voice.

“Get off my back, honey. I’ve got to tell this punk. The reason you’ll never make it, Glidden, is because you’re living in a dream world. You want to be loved. You haven’t got the guts to endure being hated.”

“You take your dream world, Mike, and I’ll stick with mine.”

“I’m not in a dream world. I deal with facts.”

I stood up. I was seeing things a little more clearly. “You’re an emotional cripple, Mike. You’re a fat boy locked in the candy store. Some people have compulsive eating habits. You’ve got compulsive earning habits. You’ve got to have money, because there isn’t another damn thing in the world that means anything to you.”

“Do me the courtesy of leaving out the parlor psychiatry,” he raved. His face was dark red. “By God, I’ll smash you completely!”

“Go ahead. Have a try at it. And Miss Hallowell and I will see just how much harm we can do you.”

He followed me toward the door, and he was yelling. I’d stopped paying any attention to what he was saying. It was only when he made a strange sound that I turned and looked at him. He stood holding both hands against his middle. His mouth had a twist of agony. His face had been a tray of coals, but water had been thrown on them and they were wet and gray. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Amparo ran to him. I instinctively took the other arm and we tried to lead him to a chair. He took three steps and went down and I caught him before he hit the floor. I carried him over to the bed.

He groaned when I eased him down. He opened his eyes and mumbled, “Can’t see.”

“What is it?” Bowman demanded of Amparo. She paid no attention to him. She stared down at Mike in torture.

Suddenly his mouth opened wide. You could see that he was straining for air, but could not breathe. His eyes bulged and the cords in his throat were like the knotted roots of a tree. And very suddenly he stopped straining, and that was all of him. That was all there would ever be. The face was still grotesque.

Amparo’s face was ghastly. She murmured something.

“What did you say?” Bowman demanded. “What?”

“Massive coronary occlusion,” she said, barely moving her lips. “I saw one before. Long ago.”

“He’s dead,” Cam said softly.

Bowman must have taken a full swing. His fist hit me at an angle of the jaw and I took a chair over with me when I went down. I shook my head to clear it. I moved just in time when he tried to kick me in the face. Even after I had pinned his arms, he tried to slash at me with his teeth. He was like a demented person. “You did it, damn you!” he yelled. “You did it!” Then he went limp, chin on his chest. I moved him three feet and dropped him into a chair.

Amparo had covered the body with a blanket. She started toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Cam demanded.

“I… I don’t really know.”

“We’ve got to start thinking,” Cam said. “We’ve got to use our heads.” But his voice was lost and plaintive. The body of Mike Dean was an oppressive bulk. The spider had died in the center of the web. Amparo sat down quietly. Her face was very still. Tears ran from her quiet eyes.

Bowman slowly pulled himself together. I felt as if, in some curious way, I had rejoined them as conspirator. Bowman looked at Cam. “What will this do?”

“The walls come tumbling down,” Cam said.

“I know, I know. Start thinking. I’m trying to.” He got up and walked over to the small writing desk, took a zipper portfolio out of the drawer, brought it back to the chair and opened it

“Status report?” Cam asked. Bowman nodded. Cam went over and stood behind his chair. Bowman took a pencil from his shirt pocket to indicate listings on the status report. “You’re in this one, and this one too.”

“The timing couldn’t be worse,” Cam said. “My God, some of them are so delicate that bad publicity like the Hallowell girl has threatened would turn them sour. Now the whole ball of wax goes down the drain—to mix hell out of a metaphor.”

“And we’re too vulnerable.”

“If we had about five days. Even four,” Cam said softly. “We could unload. But once this gets out, the bottom is going to fall out of too many things. Those are the things we should dump. Other stuff we can hang onto, like Harrison. It’s below book. I’ll be damned if I want to lose everything I’ve picked up in the last few years.”

Bowman looked over at Amparo. “Are you in anything current?”

“Just Harrison and Lou-El Drilling.”

“The minute it breaks, Lou-El will go down like a dive bomber. Where did you get it?”

“At eight and a quarter,” she said.

“It won’t level off until it’s down to three.”

“I’ve got three thousand shares,” she said.

“So,” Bowman said, “so you get out with thirty-three thousand right now, or you get out with nine thousand after the news breaks.”

“How do I get out right now?” Amparo asked.

Cam’s color was better. The mild and engaging smile was not quite back in place, but there was more ease in his manner. “I think that Fletcher and I are thinking along the same lines. It’s bad luck Glidden had to be here when it happened, because it would be easier without him. But I think it can be arranged. I can draw up limited powers of attorney for you and Fletcher to sign. And I can fly up to New York and, if we plan it carefully enough, get the three of us off the worst part of the hook.”

“When I talk to Ralph Pegler tonight,” Bowman said quickly, “I can relay some instructions from Mike that ought to change the picture just enough to make it easier.”

“Good idea,” Cam said. “I can…”

“Hold it, fellows,” I said. “Let’s back up a little. You want to keep news of his death from leaking out until you can cover yourselves. It sounds like a pretty good trick. How the hell do you expect to work it? I’m leaving tomorrow.”

The three of them looked at me. I felt like exhibit A. Or problem A. “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t give us a break, Sam,” Cam Duncan said amiably. “The stuff you signed doesn’t mean a thing now. Mike’s holdings of Harrison will be tied up in his estate. There won’t be any move against Harrison. You’ll be free to run the show your own way. I don’t think you’re going to want to be small about this.”

“Small? Hell, you’re the lawyer, Cam. There must be some sort of law about withholding the knowledge of death. Why should I get mixed up in your slick tricks by committing a crime of omission?”

Bowman said, his careful charm restored, “Sam, would you mind stepping into the bathroom for a moment and closing the door?”

It seemed childish to refuse, so I went in and closed the door and sat on the edge of the rub. There was a stain of coffee in the tub, and splintered pieces of cup. Mike’s razor was on the edge of the sink, cord dangling. I reached over and picked it up curiously, blew the white stubble out of the blades. It was hard to accept that all that vast vitality had been so suddenly stilled. The coronary had killed too big a percentage of the heart muscle, and what was left could not carry on.

I could hear the mumble of their voices. I wished Mike could hear what they were saying. I wondered what he would have thought of it. It wasn’t a mumble of prayers for the dead, of lament for Michael Davis Dean. This was the mumble of money, of sleek and clever avarice. The situation was very much like the way smart operators can sometimes trim a bookie. All you have to do is find out who won the race in time to get a bet down.

Mike Dean, through his considerable powers of persuasion, and through the golden magic of his reputation, and through the clever uses of press agentry, had kept the values of many securities, listed and unlisted, at an artificially inflated value. A lot of speculative investors had formed the habit of riding along with Mike on his raids and ventures. Once the word leaked, there would be a simultaneous dumping of holdings that would skid prices down so fast there would be no takers until the drop leveled off. The sound ones would, of course, climb back to respectable levels. But too many of the companies involved in Mike’s plans had been most carefully and legally gutted. Those would go way down and stay way down. Cam, Bowman and Amparo wanted enough time to get out of the building before the roof fell in. I doubted that they would tell any of the New York staff, who very probably were in a similar position. Mike’s operating methods weren’t of the type to breed loyalty within his own organization.

Bowman opened the door and said, “Okay, Sam.” I went out into the room. I could not help glancing at the stillness under the blanket. They seemed unaware of it. They had fresh drinks. Amparo was gone.

“First of all,” Cam said, “and I am sorry this part of it has to be so gruesome, I think we can avoid all kickbacks on the time of death. Fletcher tells me that there is one large deep freeze that’s not now in use. It’s kerosene operated, and it has a lock. Tonight after the staff has gone back to their house, we’ll get it operating, and we’ll put the body in it. Amparo believes that it will make the actual time of death impossible to detect. The body can be taken out in four days and the death reported.”

“That’s real nice,” I said. Bowman frowned at me.

Cam continued, “I guess you know we’ve got quite a bit at stake. In return for your co-operation in this matter, I can prepare some ironclad agreements that should give you a return that will be reasonably handsome, but of course nothing like what you would have gotten if you’d gone along with Mike. And he had lived.”