“Yes, by all means, have them stop. I am sure we will have chores for them later.”
That afternoon, when Wolfe was up in the plant rooms with Theodore Horstmann, and I was logging in orchid germination records in the office, the phone rang. “Nero Wolfe’s office, Archie Goodwin speaking.”
“I want to speak to Nero Wolfe — and right now!” a hoarse voice rasped.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Wolfe is not available at the moment. Who is calling?”
“I will tell you who’s calling — it is Stanley Jurek, that’s who, and I want to talk to this Wolfe character about the way he treated my wife!”
Wolfe may indeed be a character, although I have never heard him called that. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jurek, but as I said, Mr. Wolfe is not available at the present time. In what way did he mistreat your wife?”
“He browbeat her, goddamn it, that’s what. And he is going to answer to me for it.”
“I will give Mr. Wolfe the message. May I have your telephone number?”
“Here are two, at work and at home,” he said, reading them off. “I had better hear from him today, got that, Mister Whatever-your-name-is? And remember this: I know where he lives.”
When Wolfe returned from his orchid playtime at six, I gave him Jurek’s message, verbatim.
“I would like to meet this gentleman.”
“Based on my brief conversation with him, I believe you are stretching the definition of that description. But I quibble. When would you like to see him?”
“Tonight, at nine.”
I reached Jurek at home, and he was still exorcised. “Tonight? That’s damned short notice!”
“You sounded most anxious to meet Mr. Wolfe, which I made clear to him. If you want to see him, tonight is the time. Take it or leave it.”
Jurek swore, twice, but he said he would be at the brownstone and slammed down his receiver. Next, I did something Wolfe would not have liked, but among my many duties, explicit or otherwise, is to keep the man safe. For that reason, I made a telephone call.
The doorbell made its noise at 8:57 p.m. by my watch, which is never more than fifteen seconds off. I did the honors, first looking through the one-way glass. Jurek was thick all over — not fat, but thick. He was an inch taller than me and easily twenty-five pounds heavier. He had just begun to go to fat in the middle, but he still looked like he would hold his own in a barroom brawl.
“Mr. Jurek, you are right on time,” I said as I swung open the front door. He stormed in without a word and whipped off his raincoat. “I’ll hang that up,” I said, maintaining a cordial tone, even though he looked like he was going to start growling. “This way to the office,” I said as we walked down the hall to the office. I was pleased to note that as we went by, the door to the front room was ajar.
Jurek bulled his way into the office and looked around. “Where’s Wolfe?” he demanded.
“He’ll be in shortly,” I said, gesturing him to the red leather chair, which he plopped into. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No! I didn’t come here to socialize. I am—” He stopped in midsentence as Wolfe walked in and detoured around his desk, taking a seat.
“Geez, you’re, you’re...”
“Fat, Mr. Jurek? That is patently obvious. Would you like something to drink? I will be having beer.”
“I already made the offer, and he passed,” I said.
“Just so. Mr. Goodwin said you asked to see me.”
Jurek lifted halfway out of the chair. “You bullied my wife right here, and you are going to pay for that!”
“Indeed, sir? And just how did I bully her, to use your word?”
“You treated her like she was some sort of a crime suspect, with all of your questions. She came home a nervous wreck.”
“I am sorry to hear that. I treated her with the utmost civility. As you are aware, your wife’s employer, Maureen Carr, is missing, and we are investigating her disappearance.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to make Sofia seem like she’s some kind of suspect, and I said you’ll pay!” Before I could react, Jurek stood up and leaned across Wolfe’s desk, thick arms out, reaching for him.
“Hey, get back, what the hell do you think you’re—” Jurek spun around and grabbed me in an armlock and began to squeeze as I pummeled his soft midsection and yelled “Geronimo!” Within seconds, the aggressor’s arms lost their strength and he groaned, but it wasn’t just from my punches. When I spun away, I saw and heard Fred Durkin, who put a full nelson on our visitor and was exerting pressure. “Stop fighting me or I’ll make it plenty worse, pal,” Fred said.
“Get away from me, damn it!” the man yowled, but Fred didn’t let go of him until he had collapsed into the red leather chair amid swearing and more yowls of pain.
“Enough, Fred,” said Wolfe, who had his beer stein cocked in his right hand, ready to hurl it as he rolled his chair backward to get away from the lunge. “I believe the gentleman now comprehends the situation.”
Durkin retreated to a corner of the office but crouched as if to pounce and kept his narrowed eyes on the slumped Jurek, who was still groaning and testing his arms to see if they still functioned. “Sorry, Mr. Wolfe, I didn’t mean to hurt him. I used to be a boxer, not a wrestler, and maybe I just got carried away.”
“Who said you hurt me?” Jurek snarled. “You blindsided me, that’s what. Sneaking up from behind like that. I would’ve mashed you if we were face-to-face.”
“There are occasions when it is prudent to concede defeat, sir,” Wolfe said. “This is one of those occasions.”
Jurek swore again, but his words had lost much of their force. “Can I get you a drink?” I asked him for the second time.
“Uh... yeah, okay, how ’bout a rye on the rocks?” Going to the liquor table, I did the honors and told Fred I felt conditions were under control and that he could return to the front room.
“Now, sir,” Wolfe said, smoothing his hair, “are you ready to continue our discussion?”
“I don’t see that we have anything to discuss other than your treatment of my wife.”
“I disagree. When you chose to interrupt our conversation, I was about to ask you if you have met Miss Carr.”
“Yeah, a few times, and so what?” Jurek said as he took a healthy swig of his drink.
“Do you feel she has been a good employer to your wife?”
“I guess,” he replied with a shrug. “Be nice if Maureen paid her better — hell, she’s got the dough.”
“Did your wife request higher wages?”
He waved the question away. “Nah, Sofia is just too shy, too meek. I told her she should ask for a raise, but she didn’t want to. She’s never been very assertive.”
“I understand you met her in England during the war.”
“Not that it is any of your business, but I did. She was a DP from Poland, and the Brits took her in, along with a lot of others like her.”
“A most admirable stance by one of our wartime Allies,” Wolfe remarked. “Did you see combat during the war?”
“Did I? Hell yes — I was with Patton’s Third Army in ’44 as we barreled across Germany. By then I’d been promoted to master sergeant,” he said, puffing his chest out. “What a bloody time that was, lots of hand-to-hand combat along the way. I went up against one Jerry near Oppenheim and shot the bastard dead.”
“You are owed our gratitude for your service, sir,” Wolfe said. “Switching back to the present, it would seem she has adjusted well to life in the United States.”
“She has, and why shouldn’t she? Sofia is no dummy, I knew that from the first time I met her.”