Boy wanted to stroll up and down, though there were no sidewalks, and the Galaxy’s cars lined both curbs. So they walked in the street, on which, fortunately, there was rarely any traffic, and Binx said, “Just tell me one thing straight out. Am I fired again?”
Boy smiled like a gargoyle made of bread dough. “But of course not, dear boy,” he said. “Our lords and masters admire your persistence; they esteem you. Really.”
“They sent you here.”
“To assist, dear boy, assist, nothing more.” Gazing around in mild amuse, he said, “What a charming corner of Americana this is, every bit. One will enjoy working here, rubbing elbows with the hoi polloi, taking the pulse of the great unwashed.”
“What’s going to happen to me, Boy?”
Boy looked at Binx as though a bit surprised to see him still there. “You, dear boy? Why nothing. Everything’s already happened to you.”
“Why do they think I need to be assisted?”
“Oh, well, our employees in Newgate overnight, you know, there was the feeling, just the slightest feeling, you know, that perhaps the hand on the tiller was not quite so firm as it might be.”
“How can that be my fault? How?”
“No one’s talking about fault, dear boy, blame, all that sort of thing. You take these things too much to heart, if I may say so. Take the long view, lad, take the long view.”
“I will,” Binx said grimly, his mind hardening. “I definitely will.”
“We’re closing down, you know, that little bacchanal of yours over at that hovel called the Palace,” Boy said.
“We are?”
“Its effectiveness has diminished. We’ll retain the space, however; in fact, I’ll be staying there.” With a pouting little smirk. Boy said, “One has always wanted to live in the Palace.”
“When do you want me to shut it down?”
“Oh, it’s done, Binx,” Boy said, and showed his awful rotting teeth. “What I’ll want you to do, gather so much of your team as is not in durance vile—”
“Nobody’s in jail now.”
“Praise heaven for small favors. I’ll want to see them all this afternoon, in my digs at the Palace, at fourteen hundred hours.”
Binx added and subtracted: “Two o’clock, in Two-two-two.”
“Felicitously phrased.” Boy yawned, a dreadful sight, and stretched his diseased soft body. “I take it you’ve breakfasted.”
“Or whatever it was.”
“Such a long drive,” Boy said. “I believe I’ll nappy-doo. Ta ta till two, in Two-two-two.”
“Ta ta,” Binx said, smiling on the outside, gnashing his teeth to slivers on the inside. He stood in the street while Boy clambered into the anonymous gray Galaxy sedan he’d driven all the way from central Florida, then drove off one-handed, ignoring the road to consult his map of Branson. His wobbling departure did not hit any parked cars, but it came close.
Binx remained where he was, like Lot’s wife, until Boy and his gray chariot disappeared. Outside, there appeared to be no change in him, but within, Binx had annealed. A particular fantasy that had always been too terrifying to consider transmuting into the real world had now become marginally less terrifying than reality. Action, daring action, had suddenly become possible.
With a firmness of step and a clarity of eye that would have astounded anyone who knew him, Binx turned and marched back into the house and over to the phone farthest from prying ears. He dialed the Lodge of the Ozarks, folded his shoulder down between his mouth and the rest of the room, and said, “Jack Ingersoll, please.”
It was Sara’s voice that answered, warm and sleepy from bed. “Mmm? Yes?”
Binx’s resolve stumbled. If only I had a Sara, he thought in a regression to the former self, as sexual arousal worked through him like hot-pepper sauce in his blood, then I wouldn’t have to do what I have to do. Voice trembling with more emotions than he understood, he said, “Sara, it’s me. Binx.”
“Oh, Binx, hi.” Rustling sounds in the background. She’s sitting up, the covers falling from her breasts. Binx managed not to moan. “What can I do for you?”
Many answers swirled in his head. He said, “Is Jack there?”
“Sure. You want to talk to him?” Off, she said, “Jack, wake up. It’s Binx.” Muffled mumbling. “He says, ‘What’s it about?’ ”
“I have to talk to him, Sara.”
More muffled conversation, then Sara back. “He has to drive to Springfield this morning, fly back to New York. He says why not call him at Trend?”
Panic and dread. “No. Back to New York? I have to see him now. It’s important.”
Mutter, mutter. Sara: “Important to who? Whom?”
“All of us. I’m not kidding.”
Mutter, mutter. Sara: “How about the coffee shop here in twenty minutes? But he can’t stay long.”
“He shouldn’t stay,” the new Binx said, “any longer than he’s interested. When I’m boring him, he should go away.”
Surprised, Sara said, “Why, Binx. What’s gotten into you?”
“It isn’t in, Sara,” Binx told her. “It’s out.”
And he hung up, went to the bedroom, got out the attaché case with his project in it, and carried it with him out of the house, into a Galaxy car, and through the Sunday-morning traffic jams of Branson to the Lodge of the Ozarks, where Jack — without Sara, damn it — lounged over muffins and coffee. From somewhere, he’d obtained a Sunday New York Times, but to show he was still a regular guy, it was the sports section he was reading.
Binx slid into the booth across from Jack and ordered from the nice waitress three glasses of grapefruit juice. Jack raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to do?”
“Increase my acid.”
Jack closed up Sports and gave Binx his attention. “What’s going on, Binx? You’re looking clear-eyed.”
“Boy arrived this morning,” Binx said. “To assist me.”
“Boy? That guano dweller?”
“He’s going to live in the Palace now.”
“I’m sorry, Binx.”
“Two of my people spent Thursday night in the Branson jail.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“They didn’t say it yet, but they’re going to fire me again.”
“Sooner or later,” Jack said, “they fire everybody.”
Binx’s upper lip curled. “I’m not everybody, Jack,” he said. “I’m me. They’re going to fire me.”
“Your problem is,” Jack said, “you take things too personally. Besides, maybe they won’t.”
“You’re going to do us in Trend.”
Jack looked away, shrugged, crumbled a muffin. “Maybe, maybe not. Nobody’s sure yet.”
“If I’m not fired already, I will be then.”
“Well, you know, Binx,” Jack said, “every once in a while in life, there comes this opportunity for a career change.”
“That’s right,” Binx said.
Jack peered at him. “It is?”
Binx said, “The last time I was fired, I had time on my hands, you know.”
“That’s what happens, when you’re fired.”
“I thought I’d do a Galaxy exposé myself,” Binx said.
“I bet you’d do a good one, too,” Jack assured him.
“It’s hard, though,” Binx said, “without something to drive you. The paycheck, the boss, all that.” Sure.