His face was gray. “I won't pay it!”
This was just reflex. His morale had taken a beating and he had to make a show of resistance for his own benefit.
“All right,” I said.
That surprised him.
“What?”
“I said all right, I can't force you to buy something you don't want. All I can do is take the documents to the proper authorities and see that they get the proper publicity. You know, maybe I had you figured wrong, King. I figured your political life was worth at least twenty thousand; I had it figured all along that you would consider it a bargain at that price. Well, I guess I was wrong.”
He looked a hundred years old. “... Ten thousand,” he said finally.
I hooked a chair with my foot, pulled it up and sat down. “I have nothing important to do,” I said. “I can wait. If you want to play it cute, it's all right with me.”
He put his hands to his face and for one horrible moment I was afraid he was going to cry. But he got hold of himself. He wiped his forehead with a crisp white linen handkerchief, then tucked the handkerchief back into his chest pocket, very neatly.
It didn't take long. “... All right. Twenty thousand. Now where are the originals.”
This was more like it. “I told you I didn't have them on me. But I'll have them this afternoon, say one o'clock.”
He nodded heavily.
“At the Central Bus Station,” I said. “I'll have the papers and you have the money, in small bills, nothing over a twenty. One o'clock will give you plenty of time to arrange it at the bank.”
I stood up, smiled. “Mr. King, it's been a great pleasure to do business with a man of your intelligence.”
The girl in the second office, the secretary, smiled as I came out of King's office. “It's a beautiful day, isn't it, sir?” she said.
“It sure is that! It's a beautiful day!”
But it was only the beginning. Let's see now, I thought, floating down the corridor toward the elevators. Let's see, King buys one bill of goods for twenty thousand, and there must be at least enough material in his files for four more sales. Four times twenty thousand...
Still, that was only the beginning!
In John Venci's strongbox there were at least fifteen names that should be worth plenty. Conservatively, there were at least ten names that should be worth as much as King. But let's be super-conservative, let's say they're worth only half as much as King... let's see, that would be
And this was the land of money that John Venci had passed up for the sake of revenge! With Venci it figured. He'd had all the money he could use; he could afford to be a theorist. A man like that could afford to kick a million bucks in the face if he felt like it, but not me.
Not Roy Surratt.
No sir, there was a time to be practical, and this was it. After I had milked this thing for all it was worth, maybe I too could afford to retire to a private monastery and contemplate the philosophic truths of crime. But not now. By God, I was just beginning to live, and I was going to enjoy it!
CHAPTER TWELVE
AT EXACTLY ONE o'clock Parker King walked into the Central Bus Station. His face was mask-like, his eyes tired and expressionless. He carried a thick leather briefcase and looked more like a European diplomat headed for the United Nations Assembly than a state senator on his way to pay twenty thousand dollars worth of blackmail.
I was at the lunch counter having a sandwich when he came in.
He looked like he needed a sandwich. And plenty of milk and sun and lots of rest. Parker King looked like a man who was very close to a nervous breakdown.
“The papers,” he said huskily. “For God's sake, if anyone should see me here, that alone would be enough to make them suspect something. A bus station!”
I took the papers from my inside coat pocket and gave them to him. Nervously, he glanced at them, then sagged with relief when he saw that everything was there. “There's just one thing,” he said. “I don't want to see you again, ever, understand?”
“I understand.”
He sat the briefcase down and started to go, and I said, “Just a minute, I'll go outside with you and carry the briefcase. You had it in your hand when you came in. We don't want somebody to think you forgot your briefcase and I was trying to get away with it, do you?”
“I... hadn't thought of that.”
“You should set aside an hour every day,” I said, “just for thinking. You'd be surprised how much trouble you can avoid through a little thinking. Well, I'm ready.”
I picked up the briefcase and we went out together, as though we were buddies, or anyway business acquaintances. When we got to the sidewalk I said, “I don't suppose I need to ask what's in this briefcase.”
He looked at me, hard, then turned and motioned to a taxi starter. I grinned. Yes sir, this had been a hell of a day!
At five o'clock that afternoon I was back in front of the Burton Manufacturing and Construction Company watching the flow of white-collar workers as they crowded out of the building. I called out when I saw Pat.
Her eyes widened when she saw the car. It was a Lincoln, just like the one Dorris Venci had, only this one was black and brand new. She crossed through a line of waiting taxis to where I was parked.
“Where on earth did you get that?”
“Just drove it off the show room floor. Get in.”
“Well....” She shook her head, surprise still in her eyes. I got out then, went around the car and opened the door for her. She turned and stepped inside. After I went around and got under the wheel again, she said, “Are you sure you just drove this off the floor?”
“Look at the indicated mileage; exactly twenty-seven miles. What do you think I did, steal it?”
“I must admit the possibility crossed my mind.”
“I can afford an automobile like this. Remember what I said last night about turning this town upside down and shaking it?”
“... Yes.”
“And you said you'd like to be standing in the right place when the money started to fall?”
“I... might have said something to that effect; I can't be sure.”
“You can be sure about one thing,” I said. “Look in the back seat.”
She turned her head and made a small sound when she saw the package. It was a hell of a fancy package, a big flat box wrapped in black and silver striped paper, tied with a black and silver ribbon.
“What is it?”
“It's for you,” I said. “This is the day money started to fall, and you were standing in the right place.”
She didn't touch the package; she was still a little stunned, and that amused me. “I think I called you a peasant last night,” she said after a moment. “It looks as though I'll have to take back those words.”
I grinned. “You want to open it now, or wait?”
“Where are we going?”
“To my apartment,” I said. “This is a day worth remembering, this is a day to celebrate. I bought some wine, and had a caterer get the place in shape and prepare some snacks. How does it sound?”
“... Interesting. Unusual, I must say, but interesting.”
“We'll wait, then, with the package. All right?” She nodded, and I switched on the Lincoln and moved it
