Midnight Harvest (26 page)

The salesman took the card gingerly, and read the name. “Pretty classy lawyers; they handle all the bigwigs,” he said.

“So I understand,” Saint-Germain responded without concern. “Where may I drive out? Is there a special door?”

The salesman motioned toward the large, double-glass doors in the front of the building. “This way. There’s a driveway just beyond.”

Saint-Germain had noticed it coming in, and he nodded as he eased the big auto into gear. It moved forward with stately grace and a rumble of power that he found reassuring. He drove very slowly, so that the salesman could get ahead of him and open the doors while he got a feel for the auto. As he eased his way out into the street, he waved to the salesman, then rolled down the window so he could raise his arm to signal for a right turn, waiting for a gap in the vehicles on the street. The big Packard responded smoothly, and as Saint-Germain changed gears, he was reassured that he did not need to double-clutch. It was hot in the sunlight, and Saint-Germain was grateful for his native earth lining the soles of his shoes; there was a hint of the stockyards in the sluggish breeze that shoved at the heavy air. Joining the flow of traffic, he headed toward the lakefront, matching his speed to that of the autos around him. The pace was alternately slack and brisk with occasional snarls at major intersections, in spite of or because of the traffic lights, and Saint-Germain took care to make the most of the movements of the autos and lorries around him, maneuvering in the European fashion through the Chicago streets. He paid close attention to the way in which the Packard turned, how quickly it picked up speed, what amount of sway it had on corners: he was quickly satisfied with the auto. Glancing at his watch, he decided it was time to head back toward the showroom, and he signaled for a left, crossing the thoroughfare on the light just ahead of a Chevrolet; its rumble-seat was filled with four children in party clothing.

The salesman was pacing nervously, his collar noticeably wilted, as Saint-Germain drove back in through the open doors. He did his best to smile ingratiatingly, and looked uneasily at his watch. “Not quite twenty minutes.”

“Just as we agreed,” said Saint-Germain as he brought the Packard to a halt and set the hand-brake, then picked up his small valise.

“Well?” The salesman could not contain himself any longer. “What do you think?”

“It’s an excellent vehicle, and handles very well, particularly for being such a heavy automobile. If you will let me inspect the motor and read the rest of the specifications for it?” He got out of the auto and closed the door. “I want to know what manner of machine I’m purchasing, and what modifications are possible.”

“Modifications?” the salesman exclaimed. “To this car?”

“Yes,” said Saint-Germain.

“Why would you want to modify this car?” The salesman was looking warily about, as if he suspected Saint-Germain of nefarious intentions.

Saint-Germain gave a little sigh. “I would like to add a second fuel tank; I am planning to drive extensively and I have no wish to be caught miles away from any gasoline simply because the tank could not contain sufficient—”

The salesman smiled again. “Oh. Well, yes. I think there is a standard augmentation still available for the car. I don’t know what it would cost, or how long it would take to install, this being a hand-made vehicle and all. But I’d be happy to find out.”

“If you would, please,” said Saint-Germain as he watched a globose fellow with a sweating, pumpkin-shaped head trundle toward them; he assumed this must be the supervisor, finally back from his lunch.

“Good afternoon, good afternoon,” the fat man said, holding out a massive paw. “I hear you’re interested in our piece de resistance.” He pronounced the words as if they were English. “I’m sure Ronweicz told you what it costs. Daniel Hirshbach, at your service.”

“Ferenc Ragoczy.” They shook hands. “That he did, and it seems a reasonable price,” said Saint-Germain, noticing that the supervisor was startled, a response he quickly concealed. “I can give you cash today for the vehicle, providing I can arrange for a minor modification in the automobile.”

“Modifications can be expensive,” said the supervisor. “And they often take time to get done.”

“The price of what I would like added to the auto is what Mr. Ronweicz is finding out for me now,” said Saint-Germain, his urbanity unruffled but with an underlying decisiveness that impressed the supervisor and silenced him. “I will make the arrangements for the alterations as soon as I have title to the Packard.”

“If you insist,” said the supervisor, unable to conceal his disappointment, for he would have liked to have been able to charge a service fee for arranging the changes made to the Packard. “So,” he went on with forced geniality, “you really want to buy this baby?”

“Yes. Mr. Hirshbach, I do.” Saint-Germain favored the man with a direct look. “I also wish to arrange for registration and insurance for it, which I trust you may do for me?”

“We have an insurance agent on the floor, yes,” said Hirshbach. “The state forms are all in my office. We can attend to this as soon as you like.” He lifted his bushy eyebrows as if he were still uncertain that Saint-Germain would go through with the purchase.

“That suits me very well; I am prepared to conclude the … ah … deal now,” said Saint-Germain, slipping his valise under his arm again, and glancing toward the offices at the rear of the showroom. “If it is convenient?”

“Oh. Yes.” He started to walk, then slowed. “Don’t you want to wait until you find out how much the alterations are going to cost?”

“It’s immaterial to me. I only want some sense of the price,” said Saint-Germain, continuing toward the office.

Hirshbach shook his heavy head. “You Europeans. You don’t know how hard it’s been here in America.”

“As you don’t know what Europe has endured of late,” said Saint-Germain, then added, “Why should you.”

“Yes,” Hirshbach agreed, not understanding Saint-Germain’s intent. “America has her own problems to solve. It doesn’t do any good to get involved in the rest of the world’s troubles.” He reached ahead to open his office door, and indicated a ladder-back chair facing the big desk that occupied most of the room. “Sit. Sit. I’ll just get out the papers…” For a large man he was very light on his feet; he glided behind the desk and dropped into the big oaken chair and opened one of the drawers, taking out papers with carbon sheets attached between them. He rolled these into his large Royal typewriter and hit the carriage return until he was at the right line. “Your name, please, last name first, and spell it.”

“Ragoczy:
R-A-G-O-C-Z-Y,
Ferenc:
F-E-R-E-N-C,
” he responded, watching Hirshbach’s sausage-like fingers work the keys as delicately as dancers. “It’s Hungarian.”

“Address?”

Saint-Germain used his Chicago attorney’s office—which he had arranged earlier—as his registration address. He was about to open his valise when Ronweicz tapped on the door.

“The Studebaker dealer on Michigan says the second gas tank will run you about two hundred twenty-five dollars, with installation. He can do the job day after tomorrow. I told him that would be okay?” He did his best to maintain his affability, but his nervousness was apparent; he was afraid he was going to lose the commission for this sale to Hirshbach.

“Thank you, Mr. Ronweicz. If you will provide me the telephone number, I’ll confirm the appointment today.” Saint-Germain looked directly at Hirshbach. “You must be pleased to have such an industrious salesman working for you.”

Hirshbach’s smile was sour. “Yes. Ronweicz is a good man on the job.” He scowled at the paper in the typewriter. “Now, where were we?”

“You have my address; you have still to fill out the specific information on the auto itself, and then you will have to calculate the cost of the vehicle.” Saint-Germain inclined his head. “Then I should speak with your insurance agent.”

“Yes. Of course,” said Hirshbach. “You’re an alert fellow, Ragoczy. No doubt about it.” The way he said it, this was not entirely complimentary.

Saint-Germain chose to ignore the unpleasant undertones of Hirshbach’s remark. “Thank you. I find it incumbent upon me, as a foreigner, to be on the qui vive.”

“Of course,” said Hirshbach, taking an index card from a drawer made for them. He very carefully copied the information from the card onto the paper in the typewriter, and was about to put it away when Saint-Germain stopped him.

“I know you’re a diligent man, Mr. Hirshbach, but I think it would be wisest to compare your record here with what is on the Packard itself, if you don’t mind. I’m probably being overcautious, but I know how easily numbers can be transposed in a long string.” He spoke so blandly that it was impossible for Hirshbach to protest. “A man in my position—a foreigner in your country—is under constant scrutiny.”

“As you say, such things can happen, and it would make things difficult for you,” he muttered as he shoved himself out of his chair and made his way around the end of the desk. “Let’s go make sure this is all accurate—engine number and car serial number. Better safe than sorry.”

“Exactly,” said Saint-Germain, following him out into the showroom and over to the Packard.

Hirshbach shoved up to the Packard and opened the driver’s door. “There is the registration number.” He read it off, comparing it to the card he held. “Oh,” he said as he came to the last two numbers. “I reversed them.”

“An easy thing to do,” said Saint-Germain smoothly. “Shall we correct the form?”

“Yes,” said Hirshbach, moving away from the Packard and back toward his office. “How astute of you, Mr. Ragoczy.” He plunked himself down and xed out the inaccurate number, typing in the corrected one above it “There. I’ll need you to initial this when I’m done.”

“Fine.” Saint-Germain opened his valise and took out an envelope filled with hundred-dollar bills. “What is the total?”

“Just a moment,” Hirshbach said, and turned toward his large adding machine. He punched in numbers and cranked them up. “You told Ronweicz you’d pay four thousand four hundred—”

“Four thousand three hundred,” Saint-Germain corrected gently. “Plus all other required fees.” He counted out four stacks of ten bills each. “Four thousand. What is the balance?”

Hirshbach cranked in another sum, and said, “With state license fees and all applicable taxes, it comes to four thousand four hundred seventy-eight dollars and thirty-six cents.” He tore off the adding machine paper and handed it to Saint-Germain. “Check my calculations, if you like.”

Saint-Germain glanced over the figures. “They appear accurate to me,” he said, and counted out five hundred dollars more. “I believe you owe me twenty-one dollars and sixty-four cents in change.”

“Just a moment,” Hirshbach said as he took the money and counted it. When he was done, he nodded. “I’ll get your change.” He pulled a key from his trouser-pocket and opened the middle drawer of his desk where a change tray sat. With great deliberation he counted out the change and handed it to Saint-Germain.

“My bill of sale?” Saint-Germain asked politely.

“Just a moment.” He rolled the completed transfer of title form out of his typewriter and put another one in. This time he filled it out quickly and gave one of the carbon copies to Saint-Germain, along with a pen so he could provide his signature. “Sign on the lines I’ve indicated, and initial where the number is corrected. This is all you’ll need. Between these two documents, you have undisputed and unencumbered title to the Packard Twelve.” As soon as the forms were completed, he held the two pieces of paper out to Saint-Germain. “Congratulations, Mr. Ragoczy. It’s a wonderful car. I know you’ll enjoy it” These practiced sentiments were recited as if by rote. “You may talk to Brendon Shelly about insurance.”

“Thank you. I’ll attend to that at once.” He folded the papers and put them into his inner breast-pocket. “When will I receive the official documents from the state?”

“In ten days or two weeks, or thereabouts. In the meantime, carry those two papers with you in the car at all times.” He pressed his mouth closed, then asked, “Is there anything more?”

“Oh; yes, there is,” said Saint-Germain as he got to his feet. “The surety deposit I left with Mr. Ronweicz? Five hundred dollars.”

“Of course,” said Hirshbach, very nearly pouting. He reached into his drawer again and counted out the five hundred. “What would you have done if the Packard weren’t to your satisfaction?” he asked as he handed the money over. “What better were you going to buy?”

Saint-Germain gave a quick smile. “Fortunately the auto suits me very well, so neither of us will know the answer to that.” He tucked the envelope back into his valise and slipped it under his arm.

“Do you always travel with so much cash?” Hirshbach asked, trying not to sound too curious.

“When it is necessary, I do.” He opened the door and stepped back into the showroom, where he caught sight of Ronweicz hovering near the Packard. “Thank you for all your help, Mr. Ronweicz. I hope you will not have to give up too much of your commission on this sale.”

The wry tone in Saint-Germain’s voice caught Ronweicz’s attention. “I hope the same thing,” he said in a lowered voice.

“Then I will provide you a recommendation, should you want it, for seeking out a less greedy employer,” Saint-Germain said, and saw Ronweicz blink in astonishment. “You did well for me; the least I can do is return the favor. I will give my attorney a letter for you in the next day or two, and you may call for it at any time you wish.”

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Ragoczy,” said Ronweicz, becoming flustered.

“I have had some fluctuations of fortunes in my life,” Saint-Germain told him as his thoughts filled with remembered images: his father’s enemies in the Carpathians; the Temple of Imhotep; the Roman arena; a riot in Antioch; the Huns attacking on Greek hillsides; a frost-blighted summer in Mongolia; Spain, Franksland, and Saxony; the lamasery in Tibet; Heugenet’s castle; Delhi besieged; Fiorenza and Venezia; the mountains of Peru; Russia and England; Italy and France. “I know how difficult they can be to endure.”