Garfunkel nodded, his face impassive. “Have a good night, Mr. Douglas.”
Now why the hell should Douglas have lied? Garfunkel wondered, after having made a thorough search of the floor. Nobody was there now, but there were heel marks on the waxed floor tile near the end of the corridor, where somebody had obviously been running and skidded around the corner. He felt uneasy. He was too understaffed to launch a search party and reluctant to call in the local police; Chances were whoever it was had left the building by now anyway.
A dozen floors more and he was in the shops’ section -the stores and little boutiques that were open to the public.
It was the only part of the building that was sprinklered. he noted-according to the fire codes, all public gathering places had to be. He slipped through the main lobby, unnoticed by the guard who was checking in customers for the Promenade Room, and took the stairwell to the lower concourse and parking level.
“Everything okay, Joe?”
The car hiker wiped his hands on a mechanic’s rag, then turned back to counting his parking stubs. “Everything’s fine. Mr. Garfunkel, but I think we’ve got a house full of no tippers.”
“It’s not that they don’t want to, Joe, it’s just that after eating supper in the Promenade Room, they don’t have any money left.”
The attendant started jogging toward a car that had just rolled down the ramp. “You’re probably right-the luncheon crowd’s usually good for a quarter to-half a buck.”
Garfunkel glanced around and made a mental note to tell Joe to be more careful when he was pumping gas; there were signs of spill all around the gas pumps. But what the hell did he expect, he thought; the floor functioned as both a parking lot and a gas station. The only difference between this and a regular station was that a regular station was out in the open and here it was all enclosed.
Another floor down and he was in the basement boiler room. As usual, it was neat as a pin, in contrast to the unfinished floors and the parking space.
“What’s the matter, Dan-nobody showed up and you have to make the rounds now?”
“Partly that and partly I thought I’d just come down to see you.
(Griff.”
“Don’t BS me, Garfunkel. You know where the coffee is. Help yourself; I ain’t gonna wait on you.”
Garfunkel poured himself a cup and then pulled a chair over to the battered desk that was Griff Edwards’ office. Edwards was fat, graying, and with a slightly pocked skin that made him look like an old “B” movie villain. Garfunkel teetered back on both legs of the chair until the back met the concrete wall, holding the mug with both hands and letting the steam drift up into his face. The coffee was burned but then beggars couldn’t be choosers.
He glanced around at the huge boilers and the rows of meters against the far wall, the log book hanging at the end of the rows.
“How’s it going?”
“That’s a dumb question, Garfunkel-how’s it supposed to be going?”
Edwards got to his feet with a wheeze and waddled over -to the coffeepot. “Find any raging infernos upstairs?”
“Sure, one ashtray-hardly enough smoke to set off any of your smoke detectors.” Garfunkel took a huge sip of the coffee and almost gagged.
It was hot as hell and thick enough to spread on bread. “You been watching any of Quantrell’s TV programs, Griff?”
Edwards sighed. “Yeah, I’ve seen a few. Nothing in them that wouldn’t apply to almost any new building.”
He looked at Garfunkel quizzically. “What do you want me to say, that they don’t build ‘em like they used to?
They don’t build anything like they used to, you know that.”
“What’s down here that might help us in case of a fire?” -Garfunkel asked curiously.
“The telephone, so we can call the Fire Department.”
Garfunkel laughed. “I’ll remember that.” He buried his nose back in his coffee cup, watching with interest as Edwards poured sugar into his own mug. It wasn’t good for him; Edwards was too fat now and had once complained of angina. “Put in any more, Griff, and it’ll turn to fudge.”
“So then I won’t drink it, I’ll cat it with my fingers.” He looked at Garfunkel shrewdly. “You worry about too many people, Dan, you gotta stop that-noble kick before I do.”
“Can’t help it-who would I talk to if something happened to you?”
He blew on his coffee. “I understand the Old Man took a week’s vacation, starting today.”
“Why not? Why stick around over the long weekend?”
“That means Crandall’s in charge then, right?”
Edwards shook his head wonderingly. “Regular little old gossip, aren’t you? What’re you fishing for?”
“Just wondered what you thought of Crandall.”
“Finest example of the Peter principle that I’ve ever seen, except that he reached the level of his incompetence several levels ago.
Outside of that, he’s a boot licker, unfriendly and vicious. If anything ever goes wrong, it’s always somebody else’s fault. If it wasn’t, it will be. Now, why are you carrying on about him?”
“Upstairs,” Garfunkel said shortly. “The unfinished area. The place is a mess-tools, wood, cans of paint all over the place. Ought to be reported to somebody and I guess I’ll have to turn the report in to him.”
Edwards thought about it for a moment. “Captain Harriman would do something about it immediately; Crandall’s going to hate you because then he’ll have to talk back to the construction foreman and Crandall being Crandall, he’ll probably get flattened on the spot. And then he will hate you. But you don’t have to worry about that.”
mean, I don’t have to worry about it?”
“Because Crandall really ain’t in charge.” Garfunkel Garfunkel looked at him curiously. “What do you raised his eyebrows and Edwards leaned back in his chair, smiled like the Cheshire cat and took a big swallow of his coffee. “The weather got to him; he went home at noon with a cough and a runny nose and eyes so red he looked like he had been on an all-night bender.”
“So who’s in charge?”
Edwards glanced up at him benignly. “Griff Edwards, senior engineer-look it up in the chart of organization.
If Crandall’s really down with the bug, I’ll probably run the whole shebang until the captain gets back. Just turn your little old report over to me, I’ve been aching to chew somebody out for a month now.
It’ll be a pleasure.”
“You couldn’t have told me right out, could you?”
Edwards looked wounded. “What fun would there have been in that?
The expression on your face was worth it all, Dan.”
Garfunkel grinned into his coffee cup, then turned serious.
“Griff, you know Jernigan?”
“Sure, good man.” Edwards looked at him sharply.
“He’s not thinking of quitting, is he?”
“No, no, nothing like that. He and his wife, Mamie, have invited me over for dinner tomorrow.”
“What’s wrong with that? I already know you got nothing against his color so why not go?”
“They’ve invited over a woman who works with Mamie, too. Harry said that she was-you know, a real looker.”
“On second thought, don’t go. Let me fill in for you.
Garfunkel frowned. “Griff, I want to go and yet I know I won’t.
I know I’d enjoy it and yet I keep thinking I really Just want to be by myself.”
Edwards nodded. “The holidays got you down already?
Don’t answer that, I hate ‘em, too, and may the good Lord forgive me, I can remember when I used to look forward to the chubby little man with the whiskers and the sack full of toys.” He was silent for a moment. “How’s
