he'd
scratched out on a pad. "A guy named Charles Bradford—he's one of
the other vets," he said. "Owns it lock, stock, and barrel.
Rochelle is just a salaried employee."
Wyn looked disgruntled. "Aw, shit," he
said.
"Look," Santo said, trying to placate his
unhappy boss, "don't get yourself so worked up. I bet it'll work
out. She said she'd discuss it with the other docs, so she must be
interested, Wyn. Right? She wouldn't bother talking to them if she
wasn't. She'd have just said no." He looked at Wyn for some
indication that he was satisfied. Jeez , he thought, the
guy's acting like a spoiled rich kid that has to have it his way,
or else. What's worse, lately he's been carrying on like a genuine
nutcase . Santo was patient, however, because he figured that
with all of Wyn's worries, he'd be pretty much a basket case
himself.
Wyn finally nodded. "I guess you're right,"
he agreed. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then added: "Call her
back and tell her that, if she does it, there'll be a bonus in it
for her. A bonus that the others don't need to know about."
"If you say so."
"I say so," Wyn said emphatically.
But before Santo could pick up the telephone,
it rang, and he answered it. "Stonelair," he said.
He listened for a minute, then said: "I'll
have to put you on hold for a moment."
He punched the hold button and looked over at
Wyn. "It's Arielle."
Wyn shook his head. "I'm not available," he
said. "But put her on the speaker so I can listen."
Santo punched the hold button again, then the
speaker button, after which he replaced the receiver in its cradle.
"I'm sorry, Arielle," he said. "He can't come to the phone right
now."
"You're lying to me, Santo." Her disembodied
voice filled the room, its smokiness tinged with anger. The Irish
wolfhounds pricked up their ears at the sound of their former
mistress's voice.
"No, Arielle," he replied, "I'm not
lying."
"You bastard!" she cried nastily. "You sound
like you're in a garbage can. You put me on the fucking speaker so
that shit can listen."
Santo looked over at Wyn, whose lips formed a
smile.
"Let me speak to him," Arielle shouted.
"I told you, Arielle," Santo said in his most
patient voice, "he can't come to the telephone now."
There was an audible sigh of resignation from
the speaker. Then in calm and measured tones, Arielle said, "Tell
him that his monthly support check hasn't arrived yet, and it's
overdue. As you well know. I called Goldman's office, and his
secretary said they haven't received it yet."
"I'll pass the word along," Santo said.
"You do that," Arielle replied, a bit more
vinegar in her voice. "And while you're at it, tell him that they
told me he hasn't sent back the signed divorce papers yet."
"I don't know about that," Santo said.
"I just bet you don't," she snapped. Then she
sighed loudly again, as if suddenly realizing that she must take a
different tack. Being demanding and unpleasant was getting her
nowhere with Santo, and certainly wouldn't with Wyn, that she well
knew. Thus, the hint of the helpless, little-girl plea that crept
into her voice.
"Oh, Santo, please," she said rather sweetly.
"You've got to help me. You're the only person who can. I
don't know what I'm going to do. First the monthly support check's
late, and now I find out he hasn't signed the divorce papers
yet."
"I'll see what I can do," Santo said.
"Yes, please, Santo," she begged. "You know
they won't release the final settlement check until he's signed
everything, and I really need it. I mean, Christ, until the measly
support check comes"—a sob that might arguably have been genuine
caught in her throat— "it's all I can do to eat!"
Wyn almost laughed aloud when he heard this,
but restrained himself. He knew that she was fairly certain he was
listening, but he wanted to keep her guessing. If nothing else, it
compounded her misery, and that gave him no end of pleasure.
"I'm sick and tired of the whole mess,"
Arielle went on. "I just want it over with, and
scratched out on a pad. "A guy named Charles Bradford—he's one of
the other vets," he said. "Owns it lock, stock, and barrel.
Rochelle is just a salaried employee."
Wyn looked disgruntled. "Aw, shit," he
said.
"Look," Santo said, trying to placate his
unhappy boss, "don't get yourself so worked up. I bet it'll work
out. She said she'd discuss it with the other docs, so she must be
interested, Wyn. Right? She wouldn't bother talking to them if she
wasn't. She'd have just said no." He looked at Wyn for some
indication that he was satisfied. Jeez , he thought, the
guy's acting like a spoiled rich kid that has to have it his way,
or else. What's worse, lately he's been carrying on like a genuine
nutcase . Santo was patient, however, because he figured that
with all of Wyn's worries, he'd be pretty much a basket case
himself.
Wyn finally nodded. "I guess you're right,"
he agreed. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then added: "Call her
back and tell her that, if she does it, there'll be a bonus in it
for her. A bonus that the others don't need to know about."
"If you say so."
"I say so," Wyn said emphatically.
But before Santo could pick up the telephone,
it rang, and he answered it. "Stonelair," he said.
He listened for a minute, then said: "I'll
have to put you on hold for a moment."
He punched the hold button and looked over at
Wyn. "It's Arielle."
Wyn shook his head. "I'm not available," he
said. "But put her on the speaker so I can listen."
Santo punched the hold button again, then the
speaker button, after which he replaced the receiver in its cradle.
"I'm sorry, Arielle," he said. "He can't come to the phone right
now."
"You're lying to me, Santo." Her disembodied
voice filled the room, its smokiness tinged with anger. The Irish
wolfhounds pricked up their ears at the sound of their former
mistress's voice.
"No, Arielle," he replied, "I'm not
lying."
"You bastard!" she cried nastily. "You sound
like you're in a garbage can. You put me on the fucking speaker so
that shit can listen."
Santo looked over at Wyn, whose lips formed a
smile.
"Let me speak to him," Arielle shouted.
"I told you, Arielle," Santo said in his most
patient voice, "he can't come to the telephone now."
There was an audible sigh of resignation from
the speaker. Then in calm and measured tones, Arielle said, "Tell
him that his monthly support check hasn't arrived yet, and it's
overdue. As you well know. I called Goldman's office, and his
secretary said they haven't received it yet."
"I'll pass the word along," Santo said.
"You do that," Arielle replied, a bit more
vinegar in her voice. "And while you're at it, tell him that they
told me he hasn't sent back the signed divorce papers yet."
"I don't know about that," Santo said.
"I just bet you don't," she snapped. Then she
sighed loudly again, as if suddenly realizing that she must take a
different tack. Being demanding and unpleasant was getting her
nowhere with Santo, and certainly wouldn't with Wyn, that she well
knew. Thus, the hint of the helpless, little-girl plea that crept
into her voice.
"Oh, Santo, please," she said rather sweetly.
"You've got to help me. You're the only person who can. I
don't know what I'm going to do. First the monthly support check's
late, and now I find out he hasn't signed the divorce papers
yet."
"I'll see what I can do," Santo said.
"Yes, please, Santo," she begged. "You know
they won't release the final settlement check until he's signed
everything, and I really need it. I mean, Christ, until the measly
support check comes"—a sob that might arguably have been genuine
caught in her throat— "it's all I can do to eat!"
Wyn almost laughed aloud when he heard this,
but restrained himself. He knew that she was fairly certain he was
listening, but he wanted to keep her guessing. If nothing else, it
compounded her misery, and that gave him no end of pleasure.
"I'm sick and tired of the whole mess,"
Arielle went on. "I just want it over with, and
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