And now he was committed. He could not back out even if he wished. And he wasn't sure that he wanted to. There could be a lot of money in it. The car deal he didn't like, but there was nothing he could do about it. And by handling it right, he might keep in the clear.
Maybe, he thought, he should go out and talk to Steen about it.
Gabby Wilson, his insurance-selling neighbour down the hall, came in and flopped into a chair. Gabby was a loudmouth. 'Howsa boy?' he yelled. 'Hear you got that Happy Acres deal. How's about cutting in your old pal on the insurance end?'
'Go chase yourself,' invited Homer irritably.
'Heard a good story the other day. It seems this wrecking outfit got a job to tear down a building. And the straw boss got his orders wrong and tore down another building.' Gabby slapped his knee and roared with laughter. 'Can you imagine the look on that contractor's face when he heard the news?'
'It cost him a lot of money,' Homer said. 'He had a right to be good and sore.'
'You don't think it's funny?'
'No, I don't.'
'How you getting on with this Happy Acres gang?'
'Fine, so far,' said Homer.
'Cheap outfit,' Gabby told him. 'I been checking round. They got some two-bit contractor from out in the sticks somewhere to do the job for them. Didn't even buy their material from the dealers here. The contractor brought his own crew with him. The developers didn't spend a nickel locally.'
'Unpatriotic of them.'
'Not smart, either. Houses probably will fall down in a year or two.'
'I don't care particularly. Just so I get them leased.'
'Do anything so far?'
'Got some interest in them. Here comes a prospect now.'
It was Morgan. He had parked in front and was getting out of a new and shiny car, agleam with chrome. Gabby beat a swift retreat.
Morgan came into the office. He sat down in a chair and pulled out his cheque-book. 'I bought the car,' he said. 'How do you want this cheque made out?'
Six weeks later, Homer dropped in at the shopping centre office. Steen was sitting with his feet up on the desk. He was wearing black shoes instead of the brown ones he had worn before. They still were on the wrong feet.
'Mr. Jackson,' he said easily.
'I finally got rid of them. All the houses are leased.'
'That's fine.' Steen reached into a drawer, took out a small book and tossed it across the desk to Homer. 'Here. This belongs to you.'
Homer picked it up. It was a bank book. He opened it and saw a neat row of $4,500 entires marching down the page.
'You made yourself a mint,' said Steen.
'I wish I had fifty more,' Homer told him. 'Or two hundred more. This thing is catching on. I could lease them in a week. I've got a waiting list longer than my arm.'
'Well, why don't you go ahead and lease them?'
'I can't lease them a second time.'
'Funny thing,' said Steen. 'There's no one living in those houses. They are all standing empty.'
'But that can't be!' objected Homer. 'There might be a few still empty?a few that the people haven't occupied yet. But most of them have moved in. They're living in those houses.'
'That's not the way it looks to me.'
'What's happened to those people then? Where have they…'
'Mr. Jackson!'
'Yes?'
'You haven't trusted me. You didn't trust me from the start. I don't know why. You thought the deal was queer. You were scared of it. But I've played fair with you. You'll have to admit I have.'
Homer stroked the bank book. 'More than fair.'
'I know what I am doing, Mr. Jackson. I'm not anybody's fool. I have the angles figured out. String along with me. I need a man like you.'
'You mean lease all those houses a second time!' Homer asked uneasily.
'A second time,' said Steen. 'And a third. And fourth. Lease them as often as you like. Keep right on leasing them. No one will mind at all.'
'But the people will mind?the people that I lease those houses to,' Homer pointed out.
'Mr. Jackson, let me handle this. Don't you worry about a solitary thing. You just keep those houses moving.'
'But it isn't right.'
'Mr. Jackson, in some six weeks' time, you've made a quarter million dollars. I suppose that's what's wrong with you. I suppose you figure that's enough…'
'Well, no. With income tax and all…'
'Forget the income tax. I told you that this bank of ours had tax advantages.'
'I don't get it,' Homer said. 'This is no way to do business.'
'But it is,' said Steen. 'I challenge you to find a better way to do business. There's no end to it. You can become a multimillionaire…'
'In jail.'
'I've told you we weren't doing wrong. If you don't want to handle it…'
'Let me think it over,' Homer pleaded. 'Give me a day or two.'
'Noon tomorrow,' said Steen decisively. 'If you don't tell me you are willing to go ahead by noon tomorrow, I'll look for someone else.'
Homer got up. He thrust the bank book in his pocket. 'I'll be in to see you.'
Steen put his feet back on the desk. 'Fine. I'll be expecting you.'
Out on the concourse, Homer walked along the gleaming shop fronts. And the shops, he saw, were no more than half-staffed and entirely innocent of buyers. He went into a drugstore to buy a cigar and was waited on by a girl of just slightly more than high-school age. He failed to recognize her.
'You live around here?' he asked.
'No, sir. In the city.'
He went into a hardware store and into a grocery supermarket. He saw no one he knew. And that was queer. He'd lived in the area for almost thirteen years and thought he knew…
He recalled what Gabby had said about the contractor from somewhere out of town. Maybe, for some zany reason, Steen had a policy against employing local people. Still, he'd employed Homer.
It was a crazy set-up, Homer told himself. None of it made sense?and least of all, the leasing of the houses a second time around.
Perhaps he should get out of it. He'd made a fair amount of money. Right now, most likely, he could get out slick and clean.
If he stayed, there might be trouble.
He lighted up the cigar and went back to his car. Wheeling out of the parking lot, he headed for the road that led into the housing development.
He drove slowly, looking closely at each house. All of them seemed empty. The windows stared blindly without drapes or curtains. The lawns had not been cut for weeks. There was no sign of anyone?and there should be children and pets playing. Almost everyone he'd leased to had had children and dogs and cats. The place should be jumping, he told himself, and instead it was silent and deserted.
He stopped the car and went into a house. It was bare and empty. There was sawdust in the corners and wood shavings here and there. There were no scuff marks on the floor, no handprints on the wall. The windows had not been washed; the trademark paper still was sticking to them. He went out puzzled.
He inspected two more houses. They were the same.
