asked.
Al and I sat down side by side on the couch. “Larry Martin,” I answered.
Richard Damm sighed, punched his remote control, and froze a mass of naked, nubile bodies in midscrew. “That little shit,” he said. “I’m looking for him, too.”
“He didn’t come to work today?”
“That’s right. He left a note saying that he was taking this week off. The whole goddamned week, when I’ve got twenty-three installations scheduled. He can take the rest of his life off, for all I care. If he shows his face around here again, I’ll fire his ass.”
Damm got up, walked to the kitchen, and came striding back with a stack of Styrofoam cups and a coffeepot. “A hell of a lot of thanks a guy gets for trying to help.”
In his agitation, Damm must have forgotten I had told him we didn’t want coffee. Truth be known, he probably hadn’t been listening. He poured coffee into three cups, passed one each to Al and me, then flopped back down on the couch with his own. He punched a button on the remote control and the bodies on the screen resumed their impossible contortions.
“What do you mean, ”thanks“?” I asked.
Richard Damm shook his head. “Larry’s been straight for five years, give or take. I figured he had his act together, that I could trust him. But now this.”
He lit a cigarette and pulled a brimming ashtray within easy reach.
“Straight?” I asked. “I don’t understand.”
“Me either. It’s guys like him who make it tough on everybody else.”
“You’d better tell us about it,” I suggested.
“Like I said, I hired him about five years ago, fresh out of the slammer. I let him work in my warehouse. It was like my civic duty, know what I mean? One of those work-release arrangements. It looked to me like it was working out fine.”
“He’s worked for you the whole time, then?”
Richard Damm nodded. “He handled the warehouse job for a couple of years, and then asked if he could start doing installations. He could make a lot more money doing that. I figured what the hell. He was a good enough worker. Turned out I was right. At least it looked that way at the time. He was a little slow at first, but he caught on.”
“What did he get sent up for?” Al asked.
“Vehicular manslaughter. DWI. He came out of the joint sober and went straight to AA. Hasn’t had a drop since, as far as I know.”
“How about lately? Any unexplained absences before this morning?”
Damm shook his head. “Not so as you’d notice. But he screwed up a truck over the weekend. My mechanic is pissed as hell about that, and I’ve been waiting all morning to hear whether or not he got that dentist’s office finished before he took off.”
“Dr. Nielsen’s office?” I asked.
Richard Damm seemed surprised. “That’s right. How’d you know about that? Nielsen’s a son of a bitch to work for. I call him ”Mister Got Bucks.“ He’s just like an old woman— fussy as hell. If Larry took off without completing that job, Nielsen’ll have my ass. I tried calling his office a couple of minutes ago. No answer.”
And there isn’t going to be, I thought. I said, “What makes you think Martin didn’t complete the job?”
“You wanna know what I really think?” Richard Damm demanded.
“Yes.”
“I think he went out on the town Friday night, fell off the wagon, and got himself in some kind of hassle. Maybe even skipped town. If he did, he took off with enough of my tools to be able to get himself another job wherever the hell he ends up.”
I happened to know that most of Larry Martin’s tools, minus the kicker that was down at the crime lab, were still in Dr. Frederick Nielsen’s office, but I didn’t tell Richard Damm that. I wasn’t about to tell him anything I didn’t have to. For some reason—maybe the phony hair, maybe the phony smile—Richard Damm rubbed me the wrong way.
“You always jump to these kinds of conclusions when one of your employees doesn’t show up for work
Al and I sat down side by side on the couch. “Larry Martin,” I answered.
Richard Damm sighed, punched his remote control, and froze a mass of naked, nubile bodies in midscrew. “That little shit,” he said. “I’m looking for him, too.”
“He didn’t come to work today?”
“That’s right. He left a note saying that he was taking this week off. The whole goddamned week, when I’ve got twenty-three installations scheduled. He can take the rest of his life off, for all I care. If he shows his face around here again, I’ll fire his ass.”
Damm got up, walked to the kitchen, and came striding back with a stack of Styrofoam cups and a coffeepot. “A hell of a lot of thanks a guy gets for trying to help.”
In his agitation, Damm must have forgotten I had told him we didn’t want coffee. Truth be known, he probably hadn’t been listening. He poured coffee into three cups, passed one each to Al and me, then flopped back down on the couch with his own. He punched a button on the remote control and the bodies on the screen resumed their impossible contortions.
“What do you mean, ”thanks“?” I asked.
Richard Damm shook his head. “Larry’s been straight for five years, give or take. I figured he had his act together, that I could trust him. But now this.”
He lit a cigarette and pulled a brimming ashtray within easy reach.
“Straight?” I asked. “I don’t understand.”
“Me either. It’s guys like him who make it tough on everybody else.”
“You’d better tell us about it,” I suggested.
“Like I said, I hired him about five years ago, fresh out of the slammer. I let him work in my warehouse. It was like my civic duty, know what I mean? One of those work-release arrangements. It looked to me like it was working out fine.”
“He’s worked for you the whole time, then?”
Richard Damm nodded. “He handled the warehouse job for a couple of years, and then asked if he could start doing installations. He could make a lot more money doing that. I figured what the hell. He was a good enough worker. Turned out I was right. At least it looked that way at the time. He was a little slow at first, but he caught on.”
“What did he get sent up for?” Al asked.
“Vehicular manslaughter. DWI. He came out of the joint sober and went straight to AA. Hasn’t had a drop since, as far as I know.”
“How about lately? Any unexplained absences before this morning?”
Damm shook his head. “Not so as you’d notice. But he screwed up a truck over the weekend. My mechanic is pissed as hell about that, and I’ve been waiting all morning to hear whether or not he got that dentist’s office finished before he took off.”
“Dr. Nielsen’s office?” I asked.
Richard Damm seemed surprised. “That’s right. How’d you know about that? Nielsen’s a son of a bitch to work for. I call him ”Mister Got Bucks.“ He’s just like an old woman— fussy as hell. If Larry took off without completing that job, Nielsen’ll have my ass. I tried calling his office a couple of minutes ago. No answer.”
And there isn’t going to be, I thought. I said, “What makes you think Martin didn’t complete the job?”
“You wanna know what I really think?” Richard Damm demanded.
“Yes.”
“I think he went out on the town Friday night, fell off the wagon, and got himself in some kind of hassle. Maybe even skipped town. If he did, he took off with enough of my tools to be able to get himself another job wherever the hell he ends up.”
I happened to know that most of Larry Martin’s tools, minus the kicker that was down at the crime lab, were still in Dr. Frederick Nielsen’s office, but I didn’t tell Richard Damm that. I wasn’t about to tell him anything I didn’t have to. For some reason—maybe the phony hair, maybe the phony smile—Richard Damm rubbed me the wrong way.
“You always jump to these kinds of conclusions when one of your employees doesn’t show up for work
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