Bad Business by Robert B. Parker

“Please go.”
    There was a small schoolyard impulse, a vestige ofmy more heedless youth, that made me want to say no , and see what O’Mara did. But it wouldn’t take me anywhere useful, so I nodded pleasantly instead.
    â€œThanks for your time,” I said.
    â€œWhat are you going to do?” she said.
    â€œI’ll be traveling beyond the petty constraints of rejection,” I said.

15
    I went over to Kinergy to talk with Bernie Eisen. The security guy at the front desk took my name and made a phone call, and in a minute or two a shiny bright guy with short hair and rimless glasses appeared. His hair was so blond it was nearly white. His suit and shirt were banker gray, with a silver tie. Everything was ironed and starched and pressed and fitted. His cropped mustache was perfectly trimmed. His black wing tips gleamed with polish. His nails were manicured. He had small eyes magnified by the glasses.
    â€œMr. Spenser? Gavin, director of security.”
    He put out his hand. We shook. His grip was everything it should have been. I went easy, so as not to frighten him.
    â€œI wonder if you could step on into my office, for just a couple of minutes,” Gavin said.
    â€œSure,” I said.
    Number six on the Spenser Crime Stoppers List is, go with the flow. We took the elevator to the top of the building, and walked down a bright corridor to Gavin’s big office. There were three slick-looking secretaries in the outer office, all wearing skirts, and all smelling faintly of good perfume. They seemed busy. Two on computers, one on the phone.
    We sat in Gavin’s private office. It was almost empty. Desk, three straight chairs, a file cabinet. The walls were white. There were no pictures. The floor was darkly polished hardwood, no rugs. The only thing on Gavin’s desk was a big white telephone with a lot of buttons.
    â€œI hope you understand,” Gavin said. “We’ve had a terrible event just this week here, and we’re trying to, ah, screen anyone who comes to see our executives.”
    â€œOf course,” I said.
    â€œWhy did you want to see Mr. Eisen?” Gavin said.
    â€œPersonal,” I said. “I’m not sure Eisen would want me to share it.”
    â€œNow, you’re not going to give me trouble, are you?” Gavin said.
    â€œNot if you don’t annoy me,” I said.
    â€œDo I annoy you?”
    â€œNot yet,” I said.
    â€œPerhaps,” Gavin said, “we could ask Mr. Eisen to come in and help us work things.”
    â€œSure,” I said.
    Gavin spoke to one of the secretaries on an intercom. While we were waiting I looked at the room some more. It was on a corner, with big windows on two sides. There were no draperies. It wasn’t Gavin’s fault that thewindows didn’t look out on much. A view of the parking lot from one, a glimpse of Route 128 from another.
    â€œCoffee?” Gavin said as we waited.
    I said yes. He spoke again into the intercom, and in a little while the coffee came in big mugs with the Kinergy logo. The secretary who brought the coffee had bountiful dark hair and very good legs. I thought she might have looked at me speculatively, but she might have simply been evaluating me as a security risk. Eisen came into Gavin’s office right after the leggy secretary left. He was carrying his own coffee in a mug that said “Bernz” on it.
    â€œBernie Eisen,” he said when he came in.
    He gave me a manly little handshake.
    â€œMr. Spenser says he has something of a personal nature to discuss with you, Bernz,” Gavin said. “In light of the recent tragedy, I thought maybe we ought to sit in.”
    â€œThat’s great, Gav,” Bernie said.
    He looked at me.
    â€œI don’t mean to be too direct,” he said, “but who are you?”
    â€œI’m a detective,” I said. “Investigating the death of Trent Rowley.”
    â€œI already talked to a