ambitions. The most that can be said about your expose is that it’s been self-serving. I’m sorry I let. you get so far with it.”
Quantrell, still facing the window, felt the back of his neck grow warm. There were things that he wanted to say and he choked them down.
It would do no good to antagonize Clairmont; the Old Man’s anger would follow him wherever he went. The injustice of it all ate at him like acid. Barely half a mile away from his picture window stood the Glass House and if it wasn’t the story of the last ten years, it was at least the story of this -one. He stared at it, gleaming in the lights of adjacent buildings as well as bathed in flickering oranges and reds by’ its own colored floodlights set in the four corners of its plaza.
There was even a last flicker of sunlight… . He squinted at the sky. That was impossible, the cloud cover was too heavy, the sleet and snow now too thick. And it was too late; the sun had long since dropped over the horizon.
He stared back at the building and sucked in his breath.
“I’ll do what I can for you in recommendations,” Clairmont was saying behind him, his voice now audibly trembling. The billiards game had exhausted him. “I’m. not quite so opposed to you as I may have sounded; ambition in a young man is hardly a crime.”
Quantrell’s hands suddenly tensed and the pool cue snapped, little pieces of ivory flying about the room.
“See here, Quantrell, what the hell do you think you’re doing?
That pool cue was priceless. Clairmont hurried over toward him.
“My God!” Quantrell suddenly said. “Oh my God!”
He felt himself floating on sheer elation. “No story? Come here, by God, I’ll show you the story!” Clairmont was standing beside him now and Quantrell clutched at the thin shoulder, feeling the aged bone beneath the expensive fabric.
“Look out there!” he exulted, pointing with one of the broken cue halves. “Take a good look! What the hell do you think is happening?”
Etched against the evening sky, the Glass House towered above its neighbors. What Quantrell had at first taken to be a last glint of sunlight against the building had now become a dirty flicker of orange flame about a third of the way up the side of the Glass House. Heavy clouds of black smoke occasionally obscured the blaze and when they momentarily cleared, the flames were brighter than ever.
. Quantrell could hear Clairmont gasp, then lean forward eagerly to peer through the glass. The financier had now completely vanished,-to be replaced by the newspaperman.
“No story?” Quantrell laughed, almost hysterical.
“There it is, old man-the biggest damned story in a decade!”
CHAPTER 24
Late Evening
In the storeroom, the concrete ceiling directly above the shelf of solvents begins to spall and flake away. Dust gathered on the ventilator grill bursts into smoky flame, paint on the grill bubbles and burns, the thin metal grill itself slowly twists and warps in the heat. Behind it, the plastic heating duct begins to burn, adding more smoke to the black clouds pushing past loosely fitting smoke dampers into the labyrinth of ducts to other floors.
Outside, in the corridor, the fire licks at the wooden framing around office doors and gouges at the acoustical tile of the false ceiling’ The tile contains a large percentage of asbestos fiber and would ordinarily be considered fire resistant, but the superheated air near the ceiling is well past the 600-degree mark. The fire races along the narrow space between the false ceiling and the floor above.
Where ductwork penetrates the concrete fire ceiling, the fire rages and tears at the plaster sealing the gap around the duct. Some of the patching material chars ,and bursts into flame. Concrete patches slowly spall away, plaster calcines and flakes. In a number of places, no attempt at all was made to patch the hole and the fire crawls up into telephone junction rooms and computer terminal assemblies on the floor above, to feast on smears of grease and chew at the insulation on lashed bundles of wiring.
All the drums and cans have now ruptured in the storeroom; all the bottles have burst, and the flood of flaming liquid has flowed around flaming debris under the storeroom door and down the hall, oozing under the doors of other offices. The tide rolls through the outer display room of Today’s Interiors and laps at the bolts of upholstery material, the samples of hanging draperies, and the expensive, delicate furniture. It scorches its way into the storeroom, quickly devouring the aisles of upholstery and drapery goods. The legs of the Herman Miller desk char, then flame; the wood-grained formica top blackens, bubbles, and becomes a solid sheet of fire. The ledgers and stacks of unpaid bills puff into small balls of flame that float briefly in the air before turning into bits of black ash, swirling toward the ceiling.
The paint on the adding machine browns and blackens; the plastic parts soon blaze, and the metal keys turn red, then white.
The fire loading of Today’s Interiors is heavy and in some parts of the shop, particularly above the bales of polyurethane foam used for upholstery, the temperature of the air approaches 1,000 degrees.
In the hall outside, the beast is fast outgrowing its adolescence and is hungrily searching for more food.
CHAPTER 25
The dinner had started on a chilly note but at least it was going to end on a warmer one, Barton thought, thanks primarily to Thelma.
She had been all southern charm and courtesy and, by telling little stories on both herself and Wyndom, had coaxed Jenny into a friendly frame of mind.
Jenny was fighting it but she gradually relaxed, and the tension at the table slowly slipped away. There was no denying that the obvious good time being had by the elderly couple, at the table behind them had been contagious. You couldn’t help but overhear part of the conversation. The stocky woman had an endless series of stories about her life as a schoolteacher, some of them slightly risque and others hilarious. Even Jenny had to smother her laughter at times. After an hour, the pervasive feeling at their end of the dining room was-what would the stocky woman have called it?-Gemlitlichkeit?
Leroux ‘ x lit a cigar and offered one to Barton, who accepted it with thanks. He turned to Jenny. “How about an after-dinner liqueur, Jenny?” She hesitated and Leroux coaxed her. “A little Cherry Heering would top off the roast duck-nothing like basting a good dinner with a good drink.”
She suddenly smiled and said, “Yes,” and Barton knew the storm for the night was probably over. She might even start looking forward to spending the evening alone with him in a hotel room instead of with her parents.
At least, the demands on him would be different-and far more pleasant.
He ordered a Drambuie for himself and quietly toasted Thelma when it came. “To a woman who is probably the most charming hostess in America. Thelma, you’ve made the evening for us.”
Jenny reached over and squeezed the older woman’s hand. “You’ve been a dear to put up with me.”
Thelma looked half hurt. “Jenny, don’t ever accuse me of having to ‘put up’ with you. It was our pleasure to have you for dinner. We dragged you halfway across the continent and we owe you a good deal more than this.”
He heard it then, but paid no attention. The far-off wail of fire sirens, coming closer; it was almost lost in the murmur of conversation in the restaurant.
“Have you made up your mind, Craig.?” Leroux was looking at him shrewdly, half hidden behind a haze of cigar smoke. Striking while the iron was hot enough to be malleable, Barton thought.
“I’ll let you know tomorrow, Wyn, he said casually.
He didn’t want to make a big thing of it for fear Jenny would be at him about it for the rest of the night.
Leroux nodded, as if he were sure what the answer would be. “Take your time, Craig; enjoy the weekend. I can reach you at Southport if I have to?”
“Yes-you’ve got the number.” He ordered another Drambuie and had almost worked up the courage to tell Leroux he had a lousy taste in cigars-Wyn couldn’t be allowed all the victories that night-when Quinn Reynolds hurried over. Barton froze for a moment, wishing desperately that she had chosen another time to visit.
