“I know Mr. Humboldt wishes to see me,” I corrected him. “You wouldn’t be talking to me if that weren’t the case.”
“What is it you think he wants to see you about?” He pressed his fingertips together.
“He’s left a couple of messages for me. One at the insurance offices of Art Jurshak, the other at the Ironworkers bank in South Chicago. Both messages were most urgent. That’s why I came here in person.”
“Why don’t you tell me what he said, and then I can evaluate whether he needs to talk to you himself or whether I can handle the matter.”
I smiled. “Either you are totally in Mr. Humboldt’s confidence, in which case you know what he said, or you’re not-in which case he would much prefer that you not find it out.”
The remote eyes grew colder. “You can safely assume that I’m in Mr. Humboldt’s confidence-I’m his executive assistant.”
I yawned and got up to study a print on the wall across from the sofa. It was a Nast cartoon of the Oil Trust, and as nearly as my inexpert eye could tell, it seemed to be an original.
“If you aren’t willing to talk to me, you’re going to have to leave,” Redwick said sharply.
I didn’t turn around. “Why don’t you just check with the big guy-let him know I’m here and getting restless.”
“He knows you’re here and he asked me to meet with you.”
“How hard it is when strong-willed people disagree so vehemently,” I said mournfully, and left the room.
I walked fast, trying each of the doors I came to, surprising a succession of hardworking assistants. The door on the end opened to the great man’s cove. A secretary, presumably Ms. Hollingsworth, looked up in surprise at my entrance. Before she could utter a protest, I’d gone into the inner chamber. Redwick was on my heels, grabbing at my arms.
Behind the mahogany door, in the midst of a collection of antique office furnishings, sat Gustav Humboldt, a document unopened on his knees. He looked beyond me to his executive assistant.
“Redwick. I thought I made it clear this woman was not to disturb me. Have you come to think that my decisions no longer carry authority?”
With a considerable diminution in his cool poise, Redwick tried explaining what had happened.
“He really did do his best,” I chimed in helpfully. “But I knew that deep down you would be sorry forever if you didn’t talk to me. You see, I just came from the Ironworkers Savings and Loan, so I know you’re the person who pressured Caroline Djiak into firing me. And then there’s the matter of the life and health insurance that Art Jurshak’s been handling for you. Not my idea of a proper fiduciary, a man who pals around with guys like Steve Dresberg, and the state insurance commissioner would probably agree with me.”
I was on thin ice there, since I wasn’t sure what the report meant. Obviously it had rung a thousand bells with Nancy, but I could only guess at why. I danced my way through possibilities, throwing in references to Joey Pankowski and Steve Ferraro, but Humboldt refused to rise to the bait. He strode to his desk and picked up the phone.
“Why did you lie to me about that lawsuit?” I continued conversationally when he had hung up. “I know a big ego is a sine qua non for success on the scale you’ve achieved, but you must really be myopic if you thought I’d take your unsupported word on that suit. Too many things had been happening in South Chicago for me not to be suspicious of a high-powered CEO who-”
I was interrupted by some new arrivals-three security guards. I couldn’t help being flattered that Humboldt thought it would take so many men to get me out of his building-one of that size and apparent conditioning would have done the trick given the shape I was in. I didn’t feel up to a bravado display so I went along without a fuss.
As they ushered me from the room-with more force than was really necessary-I called over my shoulder, “You gotta get better help, Gustav. The guys who dumped me in Dead Stick Pond are in custody and it’s only a matter of time before they cop a plea by telling the police who hired them.”
He didn’t answer me. As Redwick shut the door behind us, though, I heard Humboldt say, “Someone has got to shut that meddlesome bitch up for me.”
Alas, this seemed to put paid to the idea of my ever drinking his remarkable brandy again.
35
It was a little after eleven when the great apes finished escorting me from the zoo, time for me to check in with young Art. I was within walking distance of my office, but I wanted to get clean away from the Humboldt Building. I paid my eight dollars for the privilege of parking next to it for an hour and moved the car to the underground garage.
I’d forgotten Mr. Contreras’s forcible entry to my office Friday night. He’d done a thorough job on the door. First he’d smashed in the glass in the hopes of being able to reach in and turn the lock. When he’d found it was a key-operated dead bolt, he’d methodically broken all the wood around it and pulled it from the frame. I ground my teeth at the sight, but didn’t see any point in mentioning it when I called the old man. It would be easier to arrange for someone else to repair it than to go through his long string of remorse-and far easier to get outside help than to go through the agony of watching Mr. Contreras fix it.
Art came uneasily to the phone. He had spoken with his dad, but he wanted me to know that I really owed him. It had been pure hell having to negotiate with Big Art. Oh, yes, he’d gotten the old man to agree to come to the fountain, although he said he couldn’t make it before two-thirty. It had taken a lot of cajoling; his father had pressured him unbelievably to be told where he was staying. If I had any idea how hard it was to stand up to Big Art, I might treat him with a little more respect.
“And can’t you think of someplace better for me than here? This old man can’t leave me alone. He treats me like I’m some kind of child.”
I replied more soothingly than I felt, “And if you really want to go someplace else, I don’t have any objection. I’ll see if I can arrange something with Murray Ryerson at the Herald-Star when I talk to him this afternoon. Of course he’ll want some kind of story in exchange.”
I hung up on his shrieking that I had to promise not to go to the papers about him, but I did forbear to mention his name to Murray when I called.
“You know, Warshawski, you’re a fucking pain in the ass,” he greeted me. “Don’t you ever check in with your answering service? I left about ten messages for you over the weekend. What did you do to the Chigwell woman? Hypnotize her? She won’t talk to the press-she says you can handle any queries we have about her brother.”
“It’s a course I took by mail,” I said, surprised and pleased. “You send in all these matchbooks and they ship you a set of lessons on how to make yourself invisible, how to enter the thoughts of another person-all that kind of stuff. I just never had a chance to try it before.”
“Right, wise-ass,” he said resignedly. “Are you now prepared to reveal all to the people of Chicago?”
“You told me you didn’t need me-that you were getting all your info direct from the people at Xerxes. I want to talk to you about something much more exciting-my life. Or its possible termination.”
“That’s old news. We already covered it last week. You’ll have to go all the way this time for us to get excited about it.”
“Well, stay tuned-you may get your wish. I’ve got some heavy guys gunning for me.” I watched a handful of pigeons vying for space on the windowsill. Tough dirty urban birds -better decor for my office than original prints by Nast or Daumier.
“Why are you telling me this now?” he demanded suspiciously.
A train rattled by on the Wabash el tracks. The pigeons fluttered momentarily as the vibrations shook the window, then settled back on the sill.