Wheels (45 page)

The air of
mystery had irritated Adam, but Brett refused to say more.
Now, as t
he limousine stopped at Kreisel’
s sprawling, ivy-draped
mansion, Adam supposed he would know soon.
The chauffeur came around to open the door and handed Erica out. With
their host following, Erica and Adam moved onto the lawn nearby and
stood together, the big house behind them, in the growing dusk.
The elegant garden, whose manicured lawn, well-trimmed trees and shrubs
wore the patina of professional care, sloped downward to the uncluttered, boulevarded lanes of Lake Shore Road, the roadway offering no
interruption-except for occasional traffic-to a panoramic view of Lake
St. Clair.
The lake was still visible, though barely; a line of white wavelets
marked its edge, and far out from shore, lights of lake freighters
flickered. Closer at hand a tardy sailboat, using its outboard as a
hurry-home, headed for a Grosse Pointe Yacht Club mooring.
"It's beautiful," Erica said, "though I always
think, when I come to Grosse Pointe, it isn't really part of Detroit
.”

"If you lived here," Hank Kreisel answered,
you'd know it was. Plenty of us still smell of gasoline. Or had grease
under our fingernails once
.”

Adam said dryly, "Most Grosse Pointe fingernails have been clean for a
long time
.”

But he knew what Kreisel meant. The Grosse Pointes, of
which there were five-all separate fiefdoms and traditional enclaves of
great wealth-were as much a part of the auto world as any other segment
of Greater Detroit. Henry Ford
had
lived down the street in Grosse
Pointe Farms, with other Fords sprinkled nearby like rich spices. Other
auto company wealth was here too-Chrysler and General Motors fortunes,
as well as those of industry suppliers: big, older names like Fisher,
Anderson, Olson, Mullen, and newer ones like Kreisel. The money's
current custodians hobnobbed in socially exclusive clubs-at the apex
the creaking, overheated Country Club, with a waiting list so long that
a new, young applicant without family ties could expect to be admitted
at senility. Yet for all its exclusiveness, Grosse Pointe was a
friendly place-a reason why a soupgon of salaried auto executives made
it their home, preferring its "family" scene to the more
management-oriented Bloomfield Hills.
Once, older Grosse Pointers looked down patrician noses at automotive
money. Now it dominated them, as it dominated all Detroit.
A sudden, night breeze from the lake stirred the air and set leaves
rustling overhead. Erica shivered.
Hank Kreisel suggested, 'let's go in
.”

The chauffeur, who appeared to double in butlerage, swung heavy front
doors open as they approached the house.
07 A few yards inside, Adam stopped. He said incredulously, "I'll be damned
I"
Beside him, Erica, equally surprised, stood staring. Then she giggled.
The main floor living room into which they had stepped had all the
accoutrements
of elegance -deep broadloom, comfortable chairs, sofas,
sideboards, bookshelves, paintings, a hi-fi playing softly, and
harmonious lighting. It also had a full
-
size swimming pool.
The pool, some thirty feet long, was attractively blue tiled, with a
deep end, shallow end, and a three-tiered diving board.
Erica said, "Hank, I shouldn't have laughed. I'm sorry. But it's . . .
surprising
.”

"No reason not to laugh," their host said amiably. 'Most people do. Good
many think I'm nuts. Fact is, I like to swim. Like to be comfortable,
too
.”

Adam was looking around him with an amazed expression. "
It’s
an old
house. You must have ripped the inside out
.”

"Sure did
.”

Erica told Adam, "Quit making like an engineer and let's go swimming
.”

Obviously pleased, Kreisel said, "You want to
.”

"You're looking at an Island girl. I could swim before I could talk
.”

He showed her to a corridor. "Second door down there. Lots of swimsuits,
towels
.”

Adam followed Kreisel to another changing room.
Minutes later, Erica executed a dazzling swallow dive from the highest
board. She surf aced, laughing. "This is the best living room I was ever
in
.”

Hank Kreisel, grinning, dived from a lower board. Adam plunged in from
the side.
When they bad all swum, Kreisel led the way -the three of them
dripping-across the broadloom to deep armchairs over which the butler
chauffeur had spread thick towels.
In a fourth chair was a gray-haired, frail
appearing woman, beside her a
tray of coffee cups and liqueurs. Hank Kreisel leaned over, kissing her
cheek. He asked, "How was the day
.”

"Peaceful
.”

"This is my wife, Dorothy," Kreisel said. He introduced Erica and Adam.
Adam could understand why Zoe-
had been left downtown.
Yet, as Mrs. Kreisel poured coffee and they chatted, she seemed to find
nothing strange in the fact that the others had had a dinner engagement
in which-for whatever reason-she was not included. She even inquired how
the food had been at the Detroit Athletic Club.
Perhaps, Adam thought, Dorothy Kreisel had come to terms with her
husband's other life away from home-his various mistresses in "liaison offices," which Adam had heard of. In fact, Hank Kreisel seemed to make no
secret of
his arrangements, as witness Zoe-
tonight.
Erica chatted brightly. Obviously she liked Hank Kreisel, and the evening
out, and now the swim, had been good for her. She appeared glowing, her
youthfulness evident. She had found a bikini among the available swimwear;
it was exactly right for her tall, slim figure, and several times Adam
noticed Kreisel's eyes stray interestedly Erica's way.
After a while their host seemed restless. He stood up. "Adam, like to get
changed? There's something I want to show you, maybe talk about
.”

So finally, Adam thought, they were coming to the point-whatever the point
was.
"You sound mysterious, Hank," Erica said-,
she smiled at Dorothy Kreisel. "Do I get to see this exposition too
.”

Hank Kreisel gave his characteristic twisted grin. "If you did, I'd like
it
.”

A few minutes later they excused themselves from Mrs. Kreisel who
remained, placidly sipping coffee, in the living room.
When they had dressed, Hank Kreisel guided Adam and Erica through the main
floor of the house, explaining it had been built by a long-dead auto
mogul, a contemporary of Walter Chrysler and Henry Ford. "Solid. Outside
walls as good as Hadrian's. Still are. So I tore the inside apart, put new
guts in
.”

The parts manufacturer opened a paneled doorway, revealing a
spiral staircase, going down, then clattered ahead. Erica followed, more
cautiously, Adam behind her.
They walked along a basement passageway, then, selecting a key from
several on a ring, Hank Kreisel opened a gray metal door. As they entered
the room beyond, bright fluorescent lighting flooded on.
They were, Adam saw, in an engineering experimental workshop. It was
spacious, organized, among the best-equipped of its kind that he had seen.
"
Spend a lot of time in this place. Do pilot stuff," Kreisel explained.
"When new work comes up for my plants, bring it down here. Then figure out
best way of production at cheapest unit cost. Pays off
.”

Adam remembered something which Brett DeLosanto had told him: that Hank
Kreisel had no engineering degree, and his only training before beginning
business for himself was as a machinist and plant foreman.
"Over here
.”

Kreisel led the way to a low, wide work table. An object on
it was covered by a cloth which he removed. Adam looked curiously at the
metal structure underneat
h
-an assemblage of steel rods, sheet metal, and
connected internal parts, the size about equal to two bicycles. On the
outside was a handle. As Adam turned it, experimentalty, parts within the
structure moved.
Adam shrugged. "Hank, I give up. What the hell is it
.”

"Obviously," Erica said, "it's something he's submitting to the Museum
of Modern Art
.”

"Maybe that's it. What I ought to do
.”

Kreisel grinned, then asked,
"Know much about farm machinery, Adam
.”

"Not really
.”

He turned the handle once again.
Hank Kreisel said quietly, "It's a threshing machine, Adam. Never been
one like it, or this small. And it works
.”

His voice took on an en
thusiasm which neither Adam nor Erica had heard before. "This
machine'll thresh any kind of grain -wheat, rice, barley. Three to five
bushels an hour. Got pictures proving it . .
.”

"I know enough about you," Adam said. "If you say it works, it works
.”

"Something else works, too. Cost. Mass-produced, it'd sell for a
hundred dollars
.”

Adam looked doubtful. As a product planner, he knew costs the way a
football coach knows standard plays. "Surely not including your power
source
.”

He stopped. "What is your power source? Batteries? A small gas
motor
.”

"Thought you'd get around to that," Hank Kreisel said. "So I'll tell
you. Power source isn't any of those things. It's some guy turning a
handle. Same way you did just now. Same handle. Except the guy I'm
thinking of is an old Eastern geezer in a jungle village. Wearing a
slope hat. When his arms get tired, a woman or a kid'll do it. They'll
sit there, hours on end, just turn the handle. That's how we'll build
this for a hundred bucks
.”

”
No power source. Too bad we can
’
t build cars that way
.”

Adam laughed.
Kreisel told him, -
Whatever else you do. Do me a f
avor now. Don't
laugh
.”

"Okay, I won't. But I still can't see massproducing, in Detroit of all
places, a piece of farm machinery"-Adam nodded toward the thresher
where you turn a handle, for hours on end, to make it work
.”

Hank Kreisel said earnestly, "If you'd been to places where I have,
Adam, maybe you would. Parts of this world are a long way from Detroit.
That's half our trouble in this town: we forget those other places.
Forget that people don't think like we do. We figure everywhere else is
like Detroit, or ought to be, so whatever happens should be our way:
the way we see it. If others see different, they have to be wrong
because we're Detroit!
We've been like that about other things.
Pollution. Safety. Those got so hot we had to change. But there's a lot
more thinking left that’
s like religion
.”

'With high priests," Erica put in, "who don't like old beliefs
challenged
.”

Adam shot her an annoyed glance which said: Leave this to me.
He pointed out, "A good many who are moving up in industry believe in
rethinking old ideas and the effect is showing. But when you talk about
a hand-operated machine-any kind of machine -that isn't a forward
change; it's going backward to the way things were before the first
Henry Ford
.”

He added, "Anyway, I'm a car and truck man. This is farm
machinery
.”

"Your company has a f
arm products division
.”