I immediately dashed into the house, phoned the Pontiac dealership and canceled my order for a white Bonneville. Thank God I hadn't signed a contract yet. Then I poured myself a vodka on the rocks, took a gulp, and started crying.
Part of my boohooing was because I had lost my sugar daddy, I admit it.
But part was because I really felt sorry the old man had shuffled off.
I mean he was always straight with me, never beat me, and he wasn't all that kinky. I knew I'd never find another john like him.
I finished my drink, dried my tears, and tried to figure out where I stood. The house was in my name, I owned my old heap, and I had about ten thousand in cash, most of it from Willie the Weasel. I knew that wouldn't last long, and I also knew that as soon as new management took over at Mcwhortle Laboratory, my no-show job as a consultant would be gone with the wind.
I had to discuss my predicament with someone in the same fix, so I phoned Laura Gunther at Hashbeam's and asked her if she'd like to share a plate of lasagna that night. She said she had a dinner date and couldn't make it.
"Anything wrong, Jess?" she asked. "You sound down."
"Yeah," I said, "I just had some superbad news."
"Look," she said, "suppose I stop by for a drink after work, I can stay an hour or so."
"I'd appreciate that," I said gratefully. "I can use some sympathy."
By the time Laura showed up, I had my act together and was thinking, what the hell, I wasn't so bad off. I had a roof over my head, a car, and money in the bank. I was surviving, and if I had to go back on the street again, I could do that, the body was used, but it was still a bargain.
I poured Laura a Chivas, which she dearly loves, and put out a bowl of Doritos. Then I flopped down on the couch next to her and took a deep breath.
"Okay, kiddo," she said, "what's the a news you want to unload on me?"
"A man named Marvin Mcwhortle dropped dead today," I told her. "I guess it was a heart attack."
She was startled. "Don't tell me he was the guy who owned Mcwhortle Laboratory?"
"That's the one." , "Shit," she said. "That'll screw things up." She looked at me. "But what's it got to do with you?"
"Laura," I said, "Mcwhortle kept me. He was my one and only trick. He bought this house for me and put me on his company payroll."
"Son of a bitch, " she said. "I knew you were balling an old geezer, but I had no idea it was Mcwhortle. Tough luck, Jess.
You think he left you anything in his will?"
"I doubt it, I said. "But he was going to buy me a new Bonneville.
That's out the window now, of course. But that's not the worst of it.
Listen to this…
I told Laura how Mcwhortle was always bringing me samples of new products his laboratory had developed, and how he liked to gab about new clients he had landed and projects the lab was working on. Then I'd sell the samples and stuff he had told me for a nice buck to a guy who was in the information business.
"It was a sweet racket," I mourned, "but with Mcwhortle dead, that cash cow just dried up, and I've got to think about hustling again."
Laura drained her Chivas and held out the empty glass.
"Another," she said hoarsely. "Please."
I brought her the bottle and told her to help herself. She poured a double, at least, and took a hefty belt.
" Jess, " she said, "this guy who bought information from you-his name wouldn,t be Willie, would it? Tall, thin, dresses like a fashion plate?"
It was my turn to be startled. "Sure it is," I said.
"William K. Brevoort. I call him Willie the Weasel because he's got a long, pointy face. You know him?"
"Oh, Jesus, do I know him!" she said. "This is the damnedest thing.
Now you listen to this, Jess…"
Then she told me how Big Bobby Gurk and Brevoort had a deal cooking that involved a ZAP pill being developed by Mcwhortle Laboratory, and how Gurk wanted to cut Willie out and had hired Laura to find the name of the chemist feeding Willie the information.
"So I cozied up to Brevoort," Laura went on, "and he's twice the guy Big Bobby is. Also he smells better. So I told him Gurk was planning to dump him as soon as he found out the name of the chemist."
I laughed like a maniac. "Willie doesn't know the chemist at the lab.
He knows me, I was the one selling him what Mcwhortle told me."
"Well," Laura said, taking another slug of her scotch, "I guess that's that. With Mcwhortle gone, the whole caper comes to a screeching halt."
I stared at her. "Not necessarily," I said slowly. "I know the name of the chemist."
"Oh my God!" Laura cried. "Mcwhortle may be dead, but we're still alive."
We talked it over, excited, with dreams of a big score. At first we figured that the two of us, working together, could somehow get a sample of the ZAP pill from the chemist. But then we realized that even if we could, we wouldn't know what to do with it. We just didn't have the contacts and the know-how to sell it for heavy bucks.
"We'll have to bring Willie in on the deal," Laura said finally. "I wish the two of us could manage it ourselves, but that's a pipe dream.
Willie has the experience, he'll know how to finagle it."
"You trust him?" I asked her.
"Absolutely," she said, grinning. "Because I know something about him that'll keep him honest."
"Okay," I said. "I'll give him a call and tell him to get over here right away."
"Don't bother," Laura said. "He's waiting for me at my place. Let's go."
We took Laura's wheels, a Ford Taurus, figuring there was no point in driving two cars. We were at her condo in twenty minutes, and when we walked in together I thought William K.
Brevoort was going to faint.
" What's going on here?" he said in a cracked voice.
We made him sit down, and Laura fixed drinks, which we all badly needed.
Willie had heard of Mcwhortle's death and figured his hopes of making a mint on the ZAP pill were just as dead. He said he naturally thought he'd have to dump me as a source of information-and what else did he have?
"I'll tell you what we've got," Laura said. "Jess knows the name of the chemist working on that cockamamy pill."
Brevoort looked at me. "Is that straight?" he said.
I nodded.
"What's his name?" he asked eagerly.
I let him sweat a minute, pretending I was thinking it over.
"Even thirds on the profits?" I said finally. "You, Laura, and me?"
"My word on it," he said. "And I don't cross ladies, it's not my style.
What's his name, Jess?"
"Barrow. Mcwhortle called him Greg, so I guess it's Gregory Barrow."
Laura jerked and slopped her drink. "Barrow?" she said. "Has he got a wife named Mabel? Mabel Barrow is a good customer of mine at the store.
I've got her address and phone number."
"I'll check it out," Willie the Weasel said. "If Mabel is his wife, it could give us an opening to Greg."
"And then?" I asked him.
He thought a moment, and I could almost see his grifter's gears turning.
"Jess, maybe you can arrange to meet him accidentally on purpose when his wife isn't around. Come on to him hot and heavy, and hook him. You know how."
"What if he doesn't go for me?"
"He will," Brevoort said confidently. "He's a man, isn't he?"
CHESTER BARROW never told this to anyone, but I don't think my parents are my real parents. I think I was adopted. I mean I'm so different from them that it makes sense, that they're not my real mother and father. And they don't treat me like the other kids I know get treated by their parents. They don't beat me up or anything like that, but they don't treat me like I was really their own kid.