course, is too busy to bother. If Webber told him the files meant nothing and some nut broke in, why should Chandler think otherwise? But this really bothers me, Jean. I imagined I could rely on Webber. Now I can't. It looks as if I've got to raise fifteen thousand dollars somehow to keep Linda out of this mess.”
“Why not try to stall Gordy?” Jean said quietly. “So far, you've gained time: gain some more time.” She pointed to the telephone. “Call him and tell him you must have more time to pay. You could still come up with something that could fix him.”
“Without Webber on my side, I can't see how I can.”
“Perhaps Gordy's file is still Webber's office. I could get at it.”
I stared at her.
“What do you mean?”
“I once did Mavis Sherman, his secretary, a great favour. She will do anything for me. Try to persuade Gordy to wait a couple of days.”
I picked up the receiver and asked Judy to get me Jesse Gordy of the Welcome Self-service store and then I hung up.
“How did you help Mavis Sherman?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“That's not your business, is it, Steve? So many people, these days, get into trouble. When I can help, I help.” She lifted her hands and dropped them into her lap. “One day - who knows ? - someone could help me.”
The telephone bell rang.
“Mr. Gordy on the line, Mr. Manson,” Judy told me.
“Mr. Gordy?”
“Yes, Mr. Manson. How are you?” The sneer in his voice was unmistakable.
“I will have to postpone our little transaction. In two days, there will be no problem, but right now there is a problem.”
“Is that right? I too have problems. Let us discuss our joint problems tonight as arranged at nine o'clock. You remember the address: 189, Eastlake? A token could make me reasonable,” and he hung up.
Jean had been listening in on the extension. We both faced each other as we replaced the receivers.
“I’ll take Mavis to lunch,” she said, getting to her feet.
“The birth pill article is in proof. I'll get it down to the printers.”
The telephone bell rang. It was Marvin Goodyear who wrote our travel page. From then on until lunchtime I hadn't a minute to think of my own problems. I had lunch with Jeremy Rafferty, our film and theatre critic. Not paying much attention, I half listened to him expound while we ate the businessman's lunch. Every now and then, he would pause in his monologue - Jeremy was a non-stop talker - and regard me. Finally, he said, “I get the idea I'm not making an impact, Steve. Are you sickening for something?”
“I've got Wally on my mind,” I said, which wasn't true.
He shook his head.
“A terrible thing. Some muggers after drug money. It could happen to any of us. Now, look, suppose I do a piece about the danger of our streets, hooking it up with the violence of films?”
“Sure. Send me an outline.” I waved to the waiter for the bill.
“Man! You sound as enthusiastic as a dowager of eighty offered sex.”
As I paid the bill, I said, “What do you know about the sex lives of eighty-year-old dowagers?”
He laughed, thanked me for the lunch and took himself off. I drove over to my bank and presented a cheque for three thousand dollars. The teller beamed at me, said how much he liked the last issue of The Voice of the People , then excused himself as he disappeared into Ernie Mayhew's office. Ernie must have given him the green light for he came back and paid out three hundred crisp ten-dollar bills.
I put them in my billfold and drove back to the office, wondering if three thousand dollars would be Gordy's idea of a token payment.
Jean was still at lunch. I called the hospital and was told Wally was still in a coma. I then called Lucilla.
“The poor darling is feeling very low,” Lucilla drawled.
“I don't think it would be considerate to get her out of bed to talk to you. Her eye is quite bad.”
“Then let us be considerate,” I said and hung up.
Jean came in.
“I think I've got it
“Why not try to stall Gordy?” Jean said quietly. “So far, you've gained time: gain some more time.” She pointed to the telephone. “Call him and tell him you must have more time to pay. You could still come up with something that could fix him.”
“Without Webber on my side, I can't see how I can.”
“Perhaps Gordy's file is still Webber's office. I could get at it.”
I stared at her.
“What do you mean?”
“I once did Mavis Sherman, his secretary, a great favour. She will do anything for me. Try to persuade Gordy to wait a couple of days.”
I picked up the receiver and asked Judy to get me Jesse Gordy of the Welcome Self-service store and then I hung up.
“How did you help Mavis Sherman?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“That's not your business, is it, Steve? So many people, these days, get into trouble. When I can help, I help.” She lifted her hands and dropped them into her lap. “One day - who knows ? - someone could help me.”
The telephone bell rang.
“Mr. Gordy on the line, Mr. Manson,” Judy told me.
“Mr. Gordy?”
“Yes, Mr. Manson. How are you?” The sneer in his voice was unmistakable.
“I will have to postpone our little transaction. In two days, there will be no problem, but right now there is a problem.”
“Is that right? I too have problems. Let us discuss our joint problems tonight as arranged at nine o'clock. You remember the address: 189, Eastlake? A token could make me reasonable,” and he hung up.
Jean had been listening in on the extension. We both faced each other as we replaced the receivers.
“I’ll take Mavis to lunch,” she said, getting to her feet.
“The birth pill article is in proof. I'll get it down to the printers.”
The telephone bell rang. It was Marvin Goodyear who wrote our travel page. From then on until lunchtime I hadn't a minute to think of my own problems. I had lunch with Jeremy Rafferty, our film and theatre critic. Not paying much attention, I half listened to him expound while we ate the businessman's lunch. Every now and then, he would pause in his monologue - Jeremy was a non-stop talker - and regard me. Finally, he said, “I get the idea I'm not making an impact, Steve. Are you sickening for something?”
“I've got Wally on my mind,” I said, which wasn't true.
He shook his head.
“A terrible thing. Some muggers after drug money. It could happen to any of us. Now, look, suppose I do a piece about the danger of our streets, hooking it up with the violence of films?”
“Sure. Send me an outline.” I waved to the waiter for the bill.
“Man! You sound as enthusiastic as a dowager of eighty offered sex.”
As I paid the bill, I said, “What do you know about the sex lives of eighty-year-old dowagers?”
He laughed, thanked me for the lunch and took himself off. I drove over to my bank and presented a cheque for three thousand dollars. The teller beamed at me, said how much he liked the last issue of The Voice of the People , then excused himself as he disappeared into Ernie Mayhew's office. Ernie must have given him the green light for he came back and paid out three hundred crisp ten-dollar bills.
I put them in my billfold and drove back to the office, wondering if three thousand dollars would be Gordy's idea of a token payment.
Jean was still at lunch. I called the hospital and was told Wally was still in a coma. I then called Lucilla.
“The poor darling is feeling very low,” Lucilla drawled.
“I don't think it would be considerate to get her out of bed to talk to you. Her eye is quite bad.”
“Then let us be considerate,” I said and hung up.
Jean came in.
“I think I've got it
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