An Independent Woman by Howard Fast Page B

Lock your door. Don’t answer the telephone. Don’t answer the door without looking through the peephole. No one goes in. Mr. Lefkowitz and I are going to have a cup of coffee and a short talk—and remember, you talk to no one—no phone, no door except me.”
    There was a newsstand on the corner, and Abner picked up a copy of a late edition. “Here you are, right on the front page. You know what—don’t go home. We’ll all go to my office, because my guess is that the TV chicken hawks are already at your house. How about that, Harry? I’ll send out for a nice lunch, and you and me, we’ll get to know each other, and Barbara can spend her time reading about herself.”
    T HE LUNCH WAS VERY NICE INDEED , chicken salad, rolls, and a plate of varied pastry. Lefkowitz ate his salad, scorned the pastry, which Abner consumed, and prowled around Abner’s ornate office—the Persian rug, the leather sofa, the French Louis-something desk, the tapestry-covered chairs, the paneled walls, the television in the oak cabinet, and the great window that looked out over the Bay. It was one of those sparkling days, the fog blown away and sails all over the water, making the most of the breeze and the sunlight, and to complete the picture, a white cruise boat on its way to Alaska.
    â€œThere’s where you and I should be, Abner, playing rummy and on our way to Alaska. You ever been to Alaska?”
    â€œI been to Alaska, Harry.” They were on a first-name basis now.
    Barbara was reading the paper and nibbling at her food. The headline read, “Lavette Heiress Claims She Gave a Hundred Thousand in Jewelry to a Thief.” And the story went on to say:
    In as bizarre a jewel theft as San Francisco has seen in years, Barbara Lavette, heiress and philanthropist, claims she gave away $100 thousand worth of jewelry to a charming and well-educated thief. Or was he a thief?
    Last night Inspector James Meyer and Inspector Woodrow Phelps, patrolling in the heavy fog, saw a man on the Embarcadero throw something into the water as their car approached. When they got out of their car and walked toward him, he stood still and surrendered without resistance….
    And the last paragraph of the story went on to say:
    Was this a blackmail payoff, or was it a theft, or was it a unique part of Ms. Lavette’s charitable career? We have not spoken to Ms. Lavette. Her telephone does not answer, and as far as this reporter can discover, she is nowhere to be found.
    Abner said to Barbara, “Please make yourself comfortable, Barbara. Alice will switch the calls to me, and there’s coffee and cold drinks in the cupboard. Mr. Lefkowitz and I will be in the boardroom. Turn on the TV, and see whether the chicken hawks have arrived at Green Street yet.”
    In the boardroom, sitting at a long table, Lefkowitz and Abner faced each other. “Can I smoke, Abner?”
    â€œCertainly.” He slid a large ashtray down the table, and Lefkowitz took out the cigar he had been smoking in the inspector’s office.
    â€œYou’re not going to smoke that damn thing?”
    â€œWhy not? These things cost me eight dollars each.”
    â€œYou can afford it.”
    â€œYes and no. What do you do in a year, Abner?”
    â€œTwo hundred thousand, if things break right. Now I’m getting divorced.”
    â€œYou have my sympathy.”
    â€œAnd is it the truth, that this is pro bono?”
    â€œThat’s right. I’m hard but I’m not mean. I’ll fight a corporation to the death, but if I win a judgment, it’s not out of people, and the company can afford it. This black kid, Jones, is a phenomenon. He comes out of the worst street in Oakland, no father, one of five kids and a remarkable mother, puts himself through engineering school—fourteen hours a day, waiting tables and working in the school kitchen, comes out a qualified civil engineer. Then a private