he said.
“Get pretty good mileage out of it, do you?”
“Not bad, considering.” Chris got into the
driver’s seat, slid the key in, and cranked the engine. It purred. “Was there
anything else, detective?”
“No, nothing—” the cop turned away, then swung
back before Chris could shut the door. “One question, Mr. Bellamere. Just a quick
one.”
“God, you really are Columbo!”
“You don’t strike me as the type, but, do you wear
glasses?”
“Glasses—no. I don’t. Why?”
“Have good vision do you? Or do you wear
contacts?”
“Twenty-twenty,” Chris said. “What’s this about?
You think I might have missed something the other day?”
“No, chances are whoever did this was long gone by
the time you got there. Just idle curiosity.”
Chris didn’t think this cop had an idle bone in
his body, but he kept the thought to himself. “Fact is, I have nearly perfect
vision.”
“You’re very lucky, sir.”
He stepped away from the truck and Chris backed
out. He flipped his hand at Laine, who nodded, still fixated on the back of his
truck.
He was still staring when Chris pulled out of the
lot and headed west.
Monday,
11:35 am, DataTEK, Studio City, San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles
“Thomas, good to see you again.
Glad to see you’ve settled in.”
Executive row was a maze of small offices and
conference rooms. The walls were cubicle-thin, without doors. Chris glanced up
from the VP’s computer he’d been working on for the last ten minutes. He
recognized the voice of Saul Ruben, DataTEK’s chief financial officer. Then he
also recognized Tom Clarke’s voice.
“Uncle Saul. I thought you were on your way to San
Francisco.”
“This evening.” The distaste was heavy in Ruben’s
voice. “I prefer to spend as little time as possible in that Sodom and
Gomorrah.”
Tom made noises of agreement.
“How’s your father these days?” Ruben asked. “I
haven’t seen him since the last stockholders’ meeting.”
“He’s fine. Enjoying his retirement.”
“That’s right, he left his firm, didn’t he?” A
desk drawer slammed shut. “Still think he should have taken that House seat. We
need more men with his fortitude in Washington. Too many of these panty-waists
running things these days.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m glad you stopped by,” Ruben said. “Your aunt
wants you to come by this Sunday. We’re having some people over. The
Armstrongs’ daughter is visiting from Boston and she needs an escort.”
“Uncle—”
“Could do worse, boy.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chris grinned at the pain in Tom’s voice. A pair
of shadows crossed in front of the frosted glass fronting the VP’s office.
Chris watched Ruben pass by in his Brooks Brothers
suit. At least he knew where Petey got his fashion sense. Tom followed in his
knockoff Calvin Kleins. He needed a little more of his uncle’s money to afford
the real thing.
Chris finished up with the VP’s computer. He found
Tom in the cafeteria picking at a mandarin chicken salad. Chris dragged a chair
around and straddled it.
“Well that explains a lot,” he said softly.
Tom’s tentative smile froze, became a grimace.
“What the hell’s your problem, Bellamere?”
“Just wondering how a guy like you got here with
nothing going for him but brass balls.”
“At least I’ve got balls.”
“So, uncle bought you a job, did he? He trying to
buy you a society wife, too?”
Tom clenched his fists so hard Chris swore he
heard the knuckles crack. “I earned this position, same as you. Why the hell
can’t you give me any credit?”
“Because I’ve seen your work. And if you think I
don’t know about you trying to get Petey to can me, think again.” Chris thumped
to his feet. “You want respect, don’t ride in here on someone else’s coattails.
I could drag in a dozen guys who have forgotten more than you ever knew, who
don’t have cushy jobs because daddy sits on the board of directors. Even Petey
knows it.”
“Get pretty good mileage out of it, do you?”
“Not bad, considering.” Chris got into the
driver’s seat, slid the key in, and cranked the engine. It purred. “Was there
anything else, detective?”
“No, nothing—” the cop turned away, then swung
back before Chris could shut the door. “One question, Mr. Bellamere. Just a quick
one.”
“God, you really are Columbo!”
“You don’t strike me as the type, but, do you wear
glasses?”
“Glasses—no. I don’t. Why?”
“Have good vision do you? Or do you wear
contacts?”
“Twenty-twenty,” Chris said. “What’s this about?
You think I might have missed something the other day?”
“No, chances are whoever did this was long gone by
the time you got there. Just idle curiosity.”
Chris didn’t think this cop had an idle bone in
his body, but he kept the thought to himself. “Fact is, I have nearly perfect
vision.”
“You’re very lucky, sir.”
He stepped away from the truck and Chris backed
out. He flipped his hand at Laine, who nodded, still fixated on the back of his
truck.
He was still staring when Chris pulled out of the
lot and headed west.
Monday,
11:35 am, DataTEK, Studio City, San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles
“Thomas, good to see you again.
Glad to see you’ve settled in.”
Executive row was a maze of small offices and
conference rooms. The walls were cubicle-thin, without doors. Chris glanced up
from the VP’s computer he’d been working on for the last ten minutes. He
recognized the voice of Saul Ruben, DataTEK’s chief financial officer. Then he
also recognized Tom Clarke’s voice.
“Uncle Saul. I thought you were on your way to San
Francisco.”
“This evening.” The distaste was heavy in Ruben’s
voice. “I prefer to spend as little time as possible in that Sodom and
Gomorrah.”
Tom made noises of agreement.
“How’s your father these days?” Ruben asked. “I
haven’t seen him since the last stockholders’ meeting.”
“He’s fine. Enjoying his retirement.”
“That’s right, he left his firm, didn’t he?” A
desk drawer slammed shut. “Still think he should have taken that House seat. We
need more men with his fortitude in Washington. Too many of these panty-waists
running things these days.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m glad you stopped by,” Ruben said. “Your aunt
wants you to come by this Sunday. We’re having some people over. The
Armstrongs’ daughter is visiting from Boston and she needs an escort.”
“Uncle—”
“Could do worse, boy.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chris grinned at the pain in Tom’s voice. A pair
of shadows crossed in front of the frosted glass fronting the VP’s office.
Chris watched Ruben pass by in his Brooks Brothers
suit. At least he knew where Petey got his fashion sense. Tom followed in his
knockoff Calvin Kleins. He needed a little more of his uncle’s money to afford
the real thing.
Chris finished up with the VP’s computer. He found
Tom in the cafeteria picking at a mandarin chicken salad. Chris dragged a chair
around and straddled it.
“Well that explains a lot,” he said softly.
Tom’s tentative smile froze, became a grimace.
“What the hell’s your problem, Bellamere?”
“Just wondering how a guy like you got here with
nothing going for him but brass balls.”
“At least I’ve got balls.”
“So, uncle bought you a job, did he? He trying to
buy you a society wife, too?”
Tom clenched his fists so hard Chris swore he
heard the knuckles crack. “I earned this position, same as you. Why the hell
can’t you give me any credit?”
“Because I’ve seen your work. And if you think I
don’t know about you trying to get Petey to can me, think again.” Chris thumped
to his feet. “You want respect, don’t ride in here on someone else’s coattails.
I could drag in a dozen guys who have forgotten more than you ever knew, who
don’t have cushy jobs because daddy sits on the board of directors. Even Petey
knows it.”
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