George Mills Part 55

"Hey, pal, give me a break," the kid said. "Harvard '80, editor of the Law Review, Law Review, two summers clerking at the Supreme Court. Why do you want to make me feel so bad? Don't you think I can handle it?" The receptionist was grinning. two summers clerking at the Supreme Court. Why do you want to make me feel so bad? Don't you think I can handle it?" The receptionist was grinning.

"This isn't a law thing," George Mills said. "It's about a car."

The young man looked at the receptionist, who shook her head.

"This is the automobile department," the kid said.

"Give him a message," Mills said, speaking past the young man to the receptionist huskily. "Tell him the price of the Buick Special is negotiable."

"I'll let him know that, George," the receptionist said.

"Tell him," and now he was standing, "tell him I just heard about the terrible tragedy and ..."

"The terrible tragedy, George?" the receptionist said.

"Grant's death," George Mills said.

The receptionist and the guy exchanged puzzled looks.

"Ask him to extend my condolences to the Claunches, and to tell Mr. Claunch Sr. that if there's anything I can do ..." But he couldn't finish. He walked past the snotnose kid and the girl at the desk and out the suite into the hall.

It was a good building but not a new one. An operator was still required to drive the elevator. He wore a uniform like a doorman's but much more subtle. He called George "sir" and greeted many of the pa.s.sengers personally as they got on at their floors. About George's age, his name was George too, and several pa.s.sengers pa.s.sed the time of day with him while they descended.

"How's it going, George?" a tall gentleman said. "Your wife's cold any better?"

"She's fine, Mr. Brooks."

"Get that yard work done this weekend?"

"No ma'am, Miss Livingston," the elevator operator said. "My brother-in-law never brought my mower back."

"How were those seats, George?"

"Considerably better than the Cardinals, Judge."

The judge chuckled. "I think I can get two more for you for the Dallas game."

"I'd appreciate it."

"George, if you see Mr. Reynolds would you hand him this for me? The mailman left it in our office by mistake."

"Sure thing, Mr. Kafken." They were at the lobby floor. "All you folks have a fine lunch now, hear?" the elevator operator said. "Anything wrong, sir?" he asked the sobbing George Mills.

"Allergies," Mills said, and blew his grief and envy into his handkerchief.

He called Claunch directly. He didn't beat around the bush. He asked if the lawyers had pa.s.sed on his message.

"What message was that?"

Mills told him.

"Oh, that message." The old man laughed.

He was just wondering, Mills said, if Mr. Claunch was pressed for good, loyal help at the compound till he could find a suitable replacement for Grant.

"Someone to play with the trains?"

"To take over his duties," Mills said softly.

"Well," he said, "my sister normally hires the staff."

It was just that he'd gotten along so well with Mrs. Glazer, Mills said, had been so close to her that last month, had grown so fond of her and respected her so much. He said he felt he knew the family almost as well as he knew the daughter.

He tried to say the rest of it lightly as he could. He realized, he said, that it wasn't usually the place of the employee to furnish the employer with "character references," but his feelings about Mrs. Glazer were so strong that he'd be happy to testify to them.

"You mean swear an affidavit?"

"If that's what's required."

"Uh huh," Claunch said. "I already got seven hundred seventy thousand dollars in tax-deductible affidavits lying around the house signed by a psychiatrist. I don't think I need another one. Everyone knows what Judy was. Anything else I can do for you, Mr. Mills?"

Look, George Mills, he knew no one owed him anything, that he'd been paid well for his services, but his back was acting up, he was getting on, feeling his age. He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to horse furniture around. Would Claunch help him?

"You want me to move furniture?"

"I want you to get me a job as an elevator operator in one of your buildings."

"Why?"

"I think it might be interesting work. You get to know all those people. They give you tickets to the games. You get to exchange the time of day with them. There's probably pretty fair money in it. Tips, gifts at Christmas. I never thought about it before. It's not the loftiest goal in the world, but I think it's something I'd enjoy doing."

Claunch considered for a moment. "No," he said, "I don't think so. I don't want to help you. Tell you what though," he added amiably, "hold on to the job you got. Because if you lose it you won't be collecting any unemployment insurance. Not in this state you won't. You're still a few years away from Social Security, am I right?"

"Yes," George Mills said.

"That's good," Claunch said. "Because I'm making a note. I'm having you jerked off the Social Security rolls."

"Can you do that?" George Mills asked. "Why?"

"Sure I can do it. As to why, I don't know. You're a guy gets a kick out of other men's power. Maybe I'm doing you a favor by showing you mine. Now don't bother me again. Stop calling my lawyers. There's unsolved capital crimes. You bother me or my people I'll see to it you get convicted of some of them. Nice to hear from you."

Laglichio said he was just the man he wanted to see. He was starting a new service he said. Federal law required that trucks that hauled food be thoroughly scrubbed down before a new load could be placed in them.

"It's this nuisance, make-work, government-on-our-backs sort of thing, but s.h.i.+t, kid, the job's yours if you want it. I'd kind of like to see you in the crew."

"The crew," George Mills said.

"The bucket brigade in the trailer," Laglichio said.

"And the pay?"

"Every bit as good as you make right now."

"I see," George Mills said.

"Money isn't everything. There are other advantages," Laglichio said.

"Yes?"

"The n.i.g.g.e.rs would see your white a.s.s and think you're foreman. I wouldn't tell them otherwise, George," Laglichio said. "Look," he said, "it's up to you what you do with your life."

Messenger phoned. "It was this roll of fast color film they do in j.a.pan," he said. "It was this roll of super fast film he brought back with him. It's not on the market here in the States. It retails for maybe three or four dollars," he said, something manic in the edge of his voice. "Talk about your mess of pottage, hey Mills? The horror, the horror, huh?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Well you were wrong, wrong," Messenger said.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well it wasn't any gold G.o.dd.a.m.n lighter, it wasn't any pen-and-pencil set. He didn't touch the place settings. He never stole the silver."

"I don't--"

"It was film, film," he said. "It wasn't any d.a.m.n souvenir. It didn't have any d.a.m.n royal crest on it. That was just your idea. It was this roll of fast film with an ASA rating of several thousand. On a cloudy day you take sharp color pictures of the dark side of the moon or something."

"He stole the chancellor's film?"

"No," Messenger said. "That was your idea too. It was Claunch, Sr.'s film. He was pa.s.sing it around. He saw Sam pocket it."

"That's why he was shouting!" Mills said, everything clear to him. "The son of a b.i.t.c.h set him up!"

"No," Messenger said, "that's your idea too. What is he, a mastermind? How could he know Sam would slip the roll of film into his pocket? You're one of these conspiracy suckers, Mills. Things happen, that's all. This was just simple, honest, innocent rich man's show and tell. And Sam, Sam was so mad at how they'd been treating him he pulled this dumb kid's trick. It wasn't even theft. It was vandalism."

"He was caught red-handed. They were shouting. They made him resign."

"Yeah, well," Messenger said, "they worked it out."

"The trust," George Mills said.

"The works," Messenger said gleefully. "The car is back."

"It's Harve," he said when he phoned again.

"What is it?" Mills asked. "Has something happened to your son?"

"Who is it?" Louise asked. "Is it Cornell?"

Mills nodded. "It's his kid," he told her.

"Oh my G.o.d," Louise said, "what happened?"

"No, no," Messenger said. "Tell her it's all right."

"What is it, George?" Louise asked.

"I don't know," George Mills said. "He says it's all right."

Messenger was laughing and talking at once. Mills could barely understand him.

"But he says he'll be all right?" Louise said.

Mills handed his wife the telephone. "You talk to him. I can't carry on two conversations at once."

"Cornell, it's Lulu," she said. "George tells me Harve's going to be all right. That's the important thing. Listen," she said, "kids that age have incredible powers of recovery. I saw it all the time in the lunchroom. They'd bang their heads open on the slippery floors, get into fights. A few days later they were completely-What? Oh," she said. "-Oh.-Oh."

"What?" George Mills said. "What?"

Louise looked at him crossly and shook her head. She put her finger to her lips. "What? What's that, Cornell? Oh," she said smiling, and began to nod. George Mills watched her nod and smile into the telephone. Messenger might have been courting her. She looked seductive, almost coy. "That's wonderful," she said at last. "I certainly will." She replaced the phone.

"What?" George Mills said. "What?"

"It was the alphabet," she said.

"The alphabet," Mills repeated. "The kid's learned the alphabet."

"That's just it," she said, "he never did."

"That's what's so wonderful?"

"Well yes," she said, "in a way. I mean they didn't know he hadn't hadn't learned it. He sang that song when he was a little kid." learned it. He sang that song when he was a little kid."

"What song?"

"You know," she said. Louise started to sing. " 'ABCDEFG, HIJKLMNOP.' You know," she said.

"Oh yeah," George Mills said.