Hazard by Gerald A Browne Page B

Whitley were on their second sandwiches.
    â€œJulie baked that bread,” Kersh told them proudly.
    â€œDelicious,” Whitley said with his mouth full.
    â€œIs there anything else I can get you?” Kersh asked.
    Richland and Whitley exchanged uncertain glances before saying no.
    Kersh got a fifth of Old Granddad from his desk drawer. He put it on the table along with some white styrofoam disposable cups. “I’ll get some ice,” he offered.
    â€œNot for me,” Whitley said. He uncorked the bottle with one hand and poured half a cup. Equivalent to a double.
    â€œThis’ll do fine,” Richland said, helping himself.
    Keven cringed as she watched the two men toss down the bourbon. Then, because she didn’t particularly like them, she decided they deserved the toxic consequences.
    â€œWhat are those supposed to be?” Richland asked, pointing at two photo enlargements that were scotchtaped to the edge of a shelf above Kersh’s desk. They were contrasting prints, nearly all black, except for an uneven luminescent outline around an indistinguishable shape, like a negative reproduction of greatly magnified skin and hairs backlighted and slightly out of focus.
    Keven told him, “The one on the left is my big toe. The other is the tip of my nose.” Then, working her eyelashes some, she added, “I think.”
    A grunt from Whitley.
    Kersh smiled. He decided not to explain that the two enlargements were high-frequency-field photographs and that the one on the right was not Keven’s nose but rather the tip of one of her breasts. Instead, Kersh started explaining the exercise that was planned for that afternoon.
    Richland got up to use the phone.
    Whitley obviously wasn’t listening. He took a yellow legal pad from his briefcase and used a ballpoint to make some notations. He interrupted Kersh. “How many have you got on staff?”
    â€œTwelve.”
    â€œPermanent?”
    â€œTwo part time.”
    Whitley lifted the top sheet of the pad, evidently referring to something he’d written on the second sheet. “Going over your expenditures,” he said, sounding like a prosecutor, “I noticed a couple of items that seem out of line. One in particular is a trip to California last February. Somebody stayed at the Beverly Hills Hotel for three days and really lived it up.”
    â€œThat was a long-distance exercise,” Kersh said.
    â€œI’m expected to accept all this as a valid expense?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œOver a hundred fifty dollars for room service in one day?”
    Keven condemned Hazard with a look. They were his expenses. At Kersh’s request he’d made that trip alone, but evidently, thought Keven, he’d enjoyed some expensive company. “Seems rather extravagant to me,” she said.
    Hazard knew what she was thinking. He was tempted to come right out with the truth, tell them he’d hosted a crap game in his hotel room that day. Considering the number of Polo Lounge types that had been in and out of the game all day long, that room-service tab was low. To hell with it. He turned to Richland, who was still on the phone and having some trouble with whomever was on the other end. Hazard could hear only bits of Richland’s covered conversation, but he gathered he was talking to a woman, trying to arrange something for that night. “I realize your time is worth money,” was one bit Hazard overheard. With no sympathy, Hazard thought that would be the best Richland and Whitley could do—a couple of hurry-up hookers.
    Meanwhile, Whitley was still proving he had a mean eye for unnecessary or excessive spending. Now he was suggesting that Kersh cut back some on all operations’ costs. Kersh didn’t give in on that, and Hazard noticed Whitley didn’t press the point, just poured himself another double bourbon and folded.
    As soon as Richland was off the phone, Hazard took it over.