Isley looked at Lucas. You know how long he said it would take to get to two-oh-five? Lucas shook his head. A year and a half. A fuckin year and a half, Lucas…
Ill tell you what, Dama, Lucas said bluntly. Youre either gonna lose it, or youre gonna die. Simple as that.
Not that simple, Isley said.
Oh yeah it is, Lucas said. After all the bullshit, thats what it comes down to.
I dont even like food that much… and Id like to live awhile longer, Isley said wistfully. Id like to quit thecompany, go to London and study money… find out what it really is.
Money.
Yeah, you know. Money, he said. Not many people really know what it is, how it works. Id like to spend some time finding out.
So start hitting the McDonalds, Lucas said.
Fat chance.
The waitress arrived with the martini, and Isleys wistfulness disappeared, replaced by the steel-trap investment banker. So whats going on? Starting another business?
No. Lucas sipped the martini. When you took my company public, we ran some of the money stuff through Jim Bone over at Polaris. You seemed to know him pretty well. He was hunting with Kresge when Kresge got shot, and I need a reading on him. Bone, I mean. And Susan ODell, if you know her. And Wilson McDonald.
Isleys face went cautious: Is this official?
No, of course not. Im just trying to get a reading. Nobodyll be coming back to you.
Isley nodded. Okay. I know them all pretty well socially and business, both. Either Bone or ODell has the guts to shoot Kresge, but I dont think either one did. These people are very smart and very serious. If theyd wanted to lose Kresge badly enough, they would have done it another way.
What about Robles or McDonald?
Robles is a software genius. He does the math. But hes more of a technician than a manager. He also doesnt have the motive. With his math, he could go about anywhere. McDonald… Isley looked away from Lucas, pursed his fat lips, then turned back. There are McDonalds who are good friends of minesame family. Not Wilson, though. Thereve been rumors… Again, he paused.
What? Lucas asked.
No comebacks?
No comebacks.
Therere rumors that he occasionally beats the shit outof his wife, Isley said. I mean, she goes to the hospital.
Huh.
Alcohol, is what you hear, Isley said. Hes a binge drinker. Sober for two months, then has to take a few days off.
Smart?
Pretty smart. Not world-class, but he got through law school with no problem.
I didnt know he was a lawyer.
He never worked at it. Hes always been a salesman, and a damn good one. Knows everybody. Everybody. Access to all the old money in townhis family built a mill over on the river, hundred and some years ago, and eventually sold to Pillsbury to go into banking and real estate. Like that.
Okay, Lucas said. So heres another question. Everything Ive heard about him says McDonalds rich, he comes from an old family, and all that. Why would he kill Kresge, just cause Kresges gonna merge the bank? Hes got all the money in the world anyway.
No, not really, Isley said. He dabbed at his lips with a linen napkin, tossed the napkin aside, and made a steeple out of his fingers. After a moment of silence, he said, Hes maybe worth… seven or eight million. The older generation was a lot richer, relatively speaking, but there were a lot of kids, and a lot of taxes, and the money got cut up. After taxes, and including his after-tax salary, Id imagine his real expendable income is something in the range of a half-million. If he doesnt dip into his capital, and assuming he puts aside enough to cover inflation.
Well, Jesus, Dama, that just aboutisall the money in the world, Lucas said.
No, its not. Its a lot by any normal standard, but having ten million dollars is nothing compared to being the CEO of a major corporation. Being an American CEO is like being an old English duke or earl. He paused again, his eyes unfocusing as he looked for the right words. Say you have a spendable income of a half-million a year, andyour wife likes to fly first-class to Hawaii or Paris every so often. You can spend fifteen thousand after-tax bucks flying a couple first-class to the islands. You go out of town a half-dozen times a yearHawaii, the Caribbean, Europe you can spend a hundred and fifty grand, no trouble. And its all out of your own pocket. Plus youve got big real estate taxes, youre probably running a couple of fiftythousand-dollar cars… I mean, you can spend a halfmillion a year and feel like your collars a little too tight. But if you run a business the size of Polaris, screw first classyouve got your own Gulf-stream waiting at the airport. Youve got several thousand people kissing your ass day and night. Youve got people driving your cars, running your errands. From everything I can tell by watching it, this all must feel better than anything in the world…
So even if he had a lot of money, a guy might have reason to waste old Kresge.
Especially McDonald. Bone, ODell, and Robles are essentially hired guns. They are very good at what they do, but theyreheremostly by chance. They could go anywhere else. But everything Wilson McDonald is is tied to the Twin Cities. In New York or L.A. or even Chicago, they could give a rats ass about a Wilson McDonald.
Do you think Bone would talk to me about McDonald? Off the record?
Isley shrugged: Maybe. If the idea appealed to him. He played a little ball at Ole Miss.
Yeah?
Yeah. Good quick guard. Probably not pro quality, but he wouldve been looked at. Called him T-Bone, of course. If you want, I could give him a ring. Just to say you asked about him, tell him youre okay.
Lucas grinned. Maybe Im not.
Isley said, Ah, youre okay… if hes innocent. And Im pretty sure he is.
Anybody mourning Kresge?
Isley had been about to stuff a slice of chicken in his mouth, and stopped halfway to the target. Shook his head. Not a single person that I know. He spent his life fucking people in the name of efficiency. He stuck the chicken in his mouth, chewed, swallowed. Why would you do that? he asked. I know all kinds of people who do, but I cant figure out why.
Make money.
Hell, Lucas, Ive made a pile of money, and I dont fuck people. You made a pile, and your ex-employees think youre a hell of a guy. But why would you do things in a way that youd end up in life with a pile of money, but not a single fuckin friend?
Maybe you figure that if you get enough money, you could buy some.
Isley nodded gloomily. Yeah, probably; thats the way they think.
Lucas finished the last of the three olives, and the last of the pleasantly cool martini, and said, Listen, Dama. I got a pickup game once a week, bunch of cops, couple lawyers. You start eating those Big Macs and Id like to get you out there.
Goddamnit, Lucas…
Feel good, wouldnt it? Playing horse in the evening. Down on Twenty-eighth?
Isley tossed his fork in the salad bowl. Get out of here, Davenport.
Lucas stood up. Call Bone for me?
Yeah, yeah, soon as I get back. He looked at his Patek Philippe. Give me twenty-five minutes.
LUCAS GOT BACK TO THE OFFICE, STUCK HIS HEAD into Administration, and said, Got anything for me?
The duty guy said, Computers down.
How long?
I dont know, its not just us. Some state road guys cut a major fiber-optic. Half the goddamn citys down.
Road guys?
Shovel operators.
JAMES T. BONES SECRETARY SUSPECTED LUCAS OF MAKING sport of her. When she told him, peremptorily, on the phone, that Mr. Bone was making no new appointments, Lucas had answered, Go tell Mr. Bone right now that a deputy chief of police wants to talk to him, and if he says no, Ill have to come down and shoot him.
I beg your pardon?
I think you heard me, Lucas said. He almost added, sweetheart, but decided that might push it too far.
She went away for a moment; then another voice came on, feminine, cooclass="underline" Mr. Davenport? This is Kerin Baki, Mr. Bones assistant. Can I help you?