Unknown Man #89

“Bobby.”

“Sometime tell me about you,” Ryan said. “If you want to. Right now, aren’t you curious about this property, or whatever it is? What else did the guy say?”

“That’s all. I’m entitled to something and he’ll tell me what it is if I’ll sign the agreement. It’s in the kitchen. You want to see it?”

“That’s all right. What does he take, a percentage?”

“He gets half.”

“Half? For giving you something you own?”

“Well, he said I wouldn’t know about it if it weren’t for him and he went to a lot of trouble, but he said there wouldn’t be any other charges or expenses taken out.”

“He’s generous with your money, isn’t he? Did he say what the value of this asset is?”

“He said a considerable amount.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“I think it’s a come-on. I asked him if he was trying to sell me something.”

“What’d he say?”

“He said no. What else would he say?” She drew on her cigarette and exhaled the smoke quickly, to say something. “I don’t know what to do with Bobby’s ashes. I have to decide.”

“Where are they?”

“At the funeral home. They said I can have them buried in a cemetery plot or take them home-I can see that, Bobby sitting on the mantel in a Grecian urn. Or I can have the ashes scattered. That’s another thought-rent a plane and have his ashes scattered over Jackson prison.”

“I’d say you’re taking your bereavement pretty well,” Ryan said.

Denise looked at him calmly. “I’m glad he’s dead. I could jump up and do a dance, but I can’t get it into my head that it’s true. I’ve never been this lucky before.”

“And Mr. Perez comes along-things’re looking up, uh? What’re you going to do about that?”

“I told him I’d think it over.”

“Did he seem anxious, try and get you to sign right away?”

“No, he was polite, courteous,” Denise said. “Whatever it is, I guess to him it’s still just a job.”

“Besides the food and the lovely view of Canada over there in the rain,” Mr. Perez said, “I’ll tell you what else I don’t like. I don’t like sitting around waiting for a drunk woman who works in a grocery store to make up her mind.”

Ryan didn’t like sitting here listening to him.

If she hadn’t signed the agreement yet and the deal was still up in the air, what good was he doing here? He could sit on the couch or go look out the window with Mr. Perez or watch Raymond hunched over the room-service table sucking his frog legs. They were always bitching about food, but one or the other always seemed to be eating or about to eat or had just finished.

“Three times I’ve called her,” Mr. Perez said to the window. “Shit, twelve, fifteen times. I’ve called, three times I’ve talked to her, and she hasn’t decided yet what she’s going to do. I asked her, ‘Are you talking to your lawyer? That’s fine, I’d do the same.’ She says no, she’s been busy, hasn’t had time to think about it. Busy doing what?”

It wasn’t a question. Mr. Perez wasn’t looking at either of them. Ryan answered it anyway. He said, “Maybe staying sober.”

Mr. Perez turned from the window now and seemed to study Ryan.

“If she’s having a hard time, concentrating on it,” Ryan said. “Maybe that’s what she means.”

“Staying sober,” Mr. Perez said.

“It could be more important to her than money,” Ryan said.

Mr. Perez waited. “You tell me you haven’t seen or spoken to her?”

Ryan shook his head. “No, sir.” Mr. Perez could believe him or not. Screw Mr. Perez.

“I recall you said you told her you’re a process server. Is that right?”

“When I got her address, yeah.”

“She wouldn’t be surprised, then, if you walked up and served her some papers.”

“For what? You going to bring suit now?”

“No, I’m thinking I’m going to pull it out from under her,” Mr. Perez said. “Three times I tried to talk to her, offering to give her half. All right, three times and she’s out.”

“She doesn’t know what it’s half of,” Ryan said.

“So she won’t be disappointed. I think it’s time to get this thing done.”

Ryan was paying close attention now. “Are you talking about screwing her out of everything?”

“She won’t feel it,” Mr. Perez said, “if we handle it properly. I was thinking, if you were to serve her a paper that looks like a writ or a summons of some kind, and she signs it-”

“The one getting served doesn’t sign anything,” Ryan said.

Mr. Perez was patient. “Does she know that? You come to her, you represent the court. You tell her to sign some papers that have to do with her husband, a certification of his death. Use some legal-sounding bullshit. One of the papers she signs-she sees just the bottom part-gives us her power of attorney to get the stock from the company and sell it.” Mr. Perez nodded, thinking about it. “It’s crude, I’ll admit, but I don’t see why we have to finesse it any. Raymond, what do you think?”

Gidre sucked the bone as he pulled the frog leg out of his mouth. “Sounds good to me.”

Ryan said, “And she gets nothing. You never meant to give her any of it, did you?”

“No, the agreement I gave her specifies half-”

“What, she gets nothing because she won’t sign right away?”

“Why don’t you shut up for a little bit and let me talk,” Mr. Perez said. “I’m not punishing her. I can’t hurt her if she doesn’t know she’s being hurt, can I?”

Ryan didn’t say anything. He was on edge now and didn’t want it to show. He watched Mr. Perez come over and stand behind the deep chair, resting his hands on the high back.

“What occurs to me,” Mr. Perez said, “is that we have a unique situation. A great deal of money, much more than usually’s at stake, and a beneficiary who either doesn’t believe me or doesn’t give a shit about the asset she’s entitled to. All right, we reach a point, if she doesn’t want it-and I offered it to her, didn’t I?-then we’ll take it. We’re not stealing from anybody, we’re picking something up that’s been discarded. That’s if you need a rationale.”

“Pick it up?” Ryan said. “You got to fake her out to get her signature.”

“I’m not finished,” Mr. Perez said. “If that’s hard for you to chew on, then how about this?” He rested on his arms, leaning over the back of the chair and looking directly at Ryan. “Since we double the profit, we double your fee from ten percent to twenty. That’s somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty thousand dollars for playing like you’re serving some papers. Does it sound better now?”

Ryan didn’t say anything.

Mr. Perez waited, giving him a little time. Finally he said, “What is it you’re thinking about, whether or not you want to do it? I’ll tell you something, I’m not holding my breath. I can call your friend Jay Walt and he’ll get the papers signed, won’t he? What would he charge, about fifty bucks? You’ve put a lot of time in this, you’ve worked hard, and my feeling is you’re entitled to a share. But as I watch you sitting there I begin to think, Wait a minute, what am I being so nice for? You work for me, but generally what I get are arguments and that’s a bunch of shit when I’m paying you for what I want done. Isn’t it? So what I’d like to hear you give me, without a speech or any more questions, is a simple yes or no.”

“All right,” Ryan said.

He took the elevator down to the lobby.

It was his own game he was playing, so he could make up the rules. All right, according to the game, wasn’t yes or no, it was neutral, no more significant than a grunt, and meant nothing. It got him out of there and gave him a little more time. He could say to himself, in game-honesty, I haven’t agreed. All I said was all right.

He could go in the Salamander Bar and think about it. The doorway was across the lobby. It would be a quiet place to relax and think-a clean, dimly lighted place. A hotel cocktail lounge in the afternoon.