An Evil Shadow by A. J. Davidson Page B

oily, his suit shiny
and expensive. Val speculated as to what percentage of casual inquiries at AV’s
front desk was attended to by vice-presidents.
    ‘‘Nice place you have here.’’
    “I’m told you made a request to speak with Donny
Jackson. May I ask in what respect?”
    “It’s a private matter. Mainly beer and broads. I used
to work alongside him in the police department.”
    Kraftson flicked a strand of blonde hair back behind
his ear. His eyes were the same vivid blue as a pool ball. “You’re positive it
has no connection with Arena Victory?”
    “You’ve got to be kidding. I wouldn’t have troubled
you only his home number’s not listed and I was in the neighborhood. Last I
heard, Donny was working here.”
    Kraftson’s lips formed into a predatory smile. “Not
any longer. I apologize if I seem unduly cautious, but we had to let Mister
Jackson go and, regrettably, not under the best of circumstances. Arena Victory
is proud of its reputation as a fair employer, but there are sometimes those
who would delight in besmirching our name. We’re all a bit keyed up over the
flotation.”
    “It don’t come as no surprise. What was old Donny up
to this time? I lay twenty it was his pecker got him fired. He never could
resist a short skirt or a high chest.”
    “I couldn’t comment on that — it would be against
company policy.”
    “Any chance of a current address for him?”
    “I’m sorry, that would be---”
    “---against company policy. When did you fire him?”
    “Just over a year ago. If there is nothing else I can
do for you, Mr Bosanquet, I’ll say good afternoon.”
    “Maybe there is another favor you could do me. Take a
time-out and explain how come a company so mindful of its image would hire a
man who’d steal from a corpse.”
    Kraftson’s eyes hardened, but his answer was a
polished as he was. “We believe that everyone deserves a second chance.
Regrettably, some fail to grasp the opportunity.”
    Val left Kraftson standing in the foyer and departed.
As he crossed the paved plaza in front of the building, his attention was
caught by Arena Victory’s logo erected on top of a chunk of raw green marble
that had water streaming down its flanks. The logo was cast in bronze and was
covered in verdigris. A mammoth splayed letter A sat astride a mammoth V. They
were surrounded by a laurel wreath of honor. For years he had been seeing the
logo stitched on the sides of countless sneakers and on big-dollar
Hollywood-produced TV advertisements, but never before had he realized how much
it resembled the dividers and square of Masonic imagery.

 
 
 
    Kraftson remained motionless until his visitor had
left the building. Then he waved over a man who had been observing from the
rear of the foyer. The man listened carefully as Kraftson gave him swift and
concise instructions. His manner made it clear there were to be no foul-ups.

 
 
 
    Val detested cell phones and refused to carry one. He
found a pay phone and called work. He told the production manager that he
wouldn’t be coming in that day, or any other day for the foreseeable future.
The man passed him on to another of the firm’s partners and Val explained that
his leave of absence was unavoidable. His partner reacted scathingly, but came
around when Val explained how any detrimental effect of his leave of absence
could be minimized. They had on the payroll a young female designer who was
very capable and desperate for an opportunity to prove herself. If she didn’t
get it soon, they would lose her. So compelling were his proposals, it felt
like he was talking himself out of a job, so he called his brother and talked
himself into another. Marcus didn’t try to conceal his surprise at hearing from
him.
    “I'll take the Chief’s job on three conditions,” Val
said.
    “Which are?” Marcus asked warily.
    “It will be for a single semester only. After that,
you’ll have to find someone else.”
    “And?”
    “I refuse to