“You don’t think it’s funny at all, do you? I guess children never laugh at themselves. That takes maturity.”
He stripped off his underpants. “You’re a fine one to talk about maturity. I read a chapter in one of your nurse-doctor books once.”
“Hah.”
He went into the bathroom. Her voice followed him: “Sex is a game, right? You’re a bitterly neurotic little kid, Mace.”
The shock of the cold shower stiffened him, took away his breath, arched his back. He withstood it until he could breathe normally, mixed warm water into the spray, and lathered his hard body with soap.
He toweled and opened the door. Steam escaped into the room past him, and Naomi gave him a tired smile. “Maybe you can be explained,” she said, “but you can’t be excused.”
“I can’t stand argumentative women.”
“You could always leave,” she said. She twisted away from the typewriter. “I’m famished, Mace.” All her appetites were wickedly ravenous.
“Then eat. I’m tired-I need an hour’s sleep.”
“You cocksucking bastard.”
“You’re always amusing, Naomi,” he said. He lay down flat on his back and closed his eyes. “Why don’t you get married?”
“I’ve never met anybody who looked like he’d be worth looking at across a breakfast table for fifty years. Except you.”
“I’m not in the market.”
“I know. The only thing you look for in a woman is novelty-and nobody can give you that for long.”
“Quite.”
“But we go back a long way, don’t we, Mace? I’ll bet I’m the only one you still keep in touch with, from the old days.”
“I’ve forgotten those days. You’d be smart to do the same.”
“Not me. I’m saving it. One day I’ll write the Great American Novel, and you’ll be in it, Mace-a crummy little orphanage kid on the South Side of Chicago who always had to have more jacks and marbles than any other kid on the block.”
He heard rustling movement and opened his eyes. She was standing above the narrow bed, almost naked, presenting her great red-tipped round breasts. She rotated her hips at him, the buttocks all but bursting from her panties. Her tummy was sucked in, emphasizing the soft overhanging weight of breasts pendulant. Her smile was coy; she placed his hand between her legs, and he felt dampness through the nylon of the panties.
“Later,” he said. “After I’ve had some sleep.”
24. Russell Hastings
Gordon Quint popped a candy ball in his mouth and stuck it in his cheek squirrellike. “You’ve got a look on your face like a man who’s about to make a speech.”
“Just a few curious facts,” Russ Hastings said.
“I suppose I must listen to this?”
“Listen to a name, Gordon. We were talking about coincidences last week, remember? I begin to disbelieve in coincidences when the same name appears too often in too many unlikely places.”
“Since you evidently want me to inquire,” Quint murmured, “whose name?”
“Mason Villiers.”
The bulge rolled from one cheek to the other.
Hastings said, “Do I begin to see a gleam of interest?”
“Indeed,” Quint growled.
“The name doth strike a familiar chord, then, sire?”
“Certainly. He’s a young man who gave this department a hot foot four or five years ago when he managed to raid Lee Central Plastics and line his pockets with its assets without ever leaving himself open to prosecution. It was such a neat job of cannibalization I almost wanted to see him get away with it-purely aesthetic appreciation, of course. Morally he’s a savage. He made it work by somehow blackmailing all the potential witnesses against him, extorting guarantees from them that they wouldn’t testify. Fortunately the Lee Central Plastics affair gave the financial world ample demonstration of his character. Nobody’s wanted to have dealings with him since then-he’s dropped out of sight. I haven’t heard his name in several years, but I’ve always been certain it would surface again. Apparently it has. You may proceed-you have my attention.”
“Your majesty’s attentiveness is most deeply gratifying.”
“Can’t we dispense with the vaudeville routines, Russ?”
Hastings grunted. “Number one, last week Villiers took control of Heggins Aircraft. Item, Heggins supplies some patented components to NCI subsidiaries under government research-and-development contracts. Item, Heggins is a small company accessible to a raider with pyramiding in mind, and Heggins is listed on the Big Board, a significant asset.”
“Number two, Villiers wanders the Western world like a prodigal gypsy, but if you could say he had a headquarters, it’s a brokerage in Montreal which may or may not be a covering front for a high-pressure boiler-room operation. Item, a Mafioso named Senna seems to run one of the Montreal boiler rooms, and Senna recently bought a block of NCI. Item, a lot of untraceable purchases of NCI common have been made through Canadian offices in the past few weeks.”
“Number three, last week Nuart Galleries announced it was going public. Item, Nuart belongs to my ex-wife, who is also the daughter of Elliot Judd, who is chairman of the board of NCI. Item, the power behind Diane’s decision to go public is Mason Villiers.”
“How do you know that?”
“Diane’s head girl told me.”
Quint said, “You’ve done a proper job of detective work, haven’t you?”
“I wasn’t fishing for compliments. I’m fishing for more authority. I want a longer leash-I think what I’ve turned up so far justifies it.”
“I’m inclined to agree.”
“Maybe Villiers is an errand boy. Maybe he’s fronting for the Mafia. Maybe he’s running the whole show himself. I need to find out.”
“What do you want, Russ?”
“Authority to put a full-sized team of detectives on it. It’s too big for me to handle alone, and it’s no job for the lawyers and accountants on our staff. I want a trained team from the Justice Department to work under me.”
“Justice will scream bloody murder.”
“Not if I work through Bill Burgess. He’ll do it, if I can show him I’ve got complete backing from you.”
“Very well. I’ll sign anything that needs to be signed. But keep careful, old cock-without evidence that will stand up in court, we can’t make overt moves. There’d be too much danger in it, the market’s perched on the point of a pin. I can’t give you authority to uncover our official artillery and begin blazing away.”
“When I want that, I’ll ask for it.”
“Wait, Russ. Before you go-your ex-wife. What do you plan doing about that?”
“I’m having lunch with her. I don’t know if it’ll do any good, she’ll probably take it the wrong way. But if she’s got herself into Villiers’ hands, she’s in trouble.”
He went down to the square, trapped a taxi, got in, and braced himself while it made its ass-jarring way north along pitted pavements. He thought about Elliot Judd’s proposition, worrying it around from all angles like a dog with a strange bone.
An illuminated sign on a bank told him it was 96 degrees at 12:19; the traffic was stop-and-go. Five minutes late, he paid off the driver and went into the sterile tall building. When he touched the depressed plastic square at
