“Mr. Brant,” Pelazi said, “I am not of a mind to argue my case outside the courtroom. You will have ample opportunity to establish your innocence when the time comes. In the meantime...”
“This has nothing to do with your case, Pelazi. I just don’t like your tactics, that’s all. And I don’t like your sitting there with your back to me. For two cents, I’d...”
“If you are innocent, Mr. Brant, if you indeed have not violated Section 62-A of Statute 431, then you have nothing to fear. If I’ve taken you away from your business, I’m sorry, but those are the rules of the game. And if your time is really quite so valuable, then shouldn’t you be leaving, rather than wasting it by talking to someone’s back?”
“You sap,” Van said. “We’re going to make you wish you never heard of the Belly...”
“Good day, Mr. Brant,” Pelazi said.
Van took a step forward, clenching his fists. He saw Pelazi’s back, saw the white hair above the high collar of the Ree’s shirt.
“Awh, go to hell,” he said. He turned on his heel and walked from the room.
Jo Houston called Van at thirteen that day, after Brant had killed most of the morning at the courthouse.
“Hello, Van,” he said. He was beaming broadly, and good news was scrawled all over his face.
“What’s the snap, Pap?”
“I’ve got a buyer.”
“Good. How much did you raise?”
“You sitting, Van?”
“Why?”
Jo grinned secretively. “How much did you want me to raise? For the lot, I mean.”
“You know how much. Stop catenmousing.”
“You wanted nine hundred gee, right? Well, I got a stone and two.”
“What!”
“A stone and two gee, that’s right. And I managed to buy back that twenty shares of Dale to toss into this package at a gain. Who’s the hottest accountant in town, boy?”
“A stone and two! Jo, how’d you do it?”
Jo smiled obliquely. “Trade secrets, son.”
“Well, who’s the buyer?”
“An outfit called Pall Associates.”
Van thought this over for a moment. “You mean Jerr Pall? That illidge will never make good, Jo; he hasn’t got a cent to his...”
“No, not Jerr Pall; this is a new outfit. I checked them thoroughly, Van. They’ve got more moo than Fort Knox.”
“You sure?”
“Positive; I saw their books. They’re loaded, Van.”
“A corporation?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not too good.”
“Why not? You say the word, and I’ll have their check in ten minutes.”
“A stone and two, huh?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Who’s behind the corp?”
“I couldn’t find out. Listen, their money is good; what the hell are you worried about?”
“I just don’t like doing business with shadows. Whom do I sue it the check hops?”
“It won’t hop; I’ll have it certified.”
“Mmmm.”
“What do you say, Van? This is damned good money. You said yourself you only expected to realize...”
“And I was shooting high,” Brant said, “just to get you to push.”
“So there. A stone and two is fabulous. Shall I close it?”
“Pall Associates, huh?”
“Pall Associates.”
“Okay, Jo, close it. I want the check by seventeen tonight, and certified. I’ll deposit it first thing in the morning. No delivery until I hear from the bank.”
“Even with a certified check?” Jo protested.
“I’m cautious, father.”
“Cautious? Father, you’re paralyzed!”
“Close the deal, Jo. And good work.”
“Thanks,” Houston said drily. “You’ll have the check by seventeen tonight. One stone and two. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Real. See you, Van.”
Chapter 8
“No, no, no!” Van shouted. He tossed his pencil onto the floor and stalked over to the bar. “You still haven’t got it! You’re still turning out Ree garbage, Lo. You’re back in the Middle Ages. You’re giving me Charles Dickens.”
“Dickens wasn’t in the Middle Ages,” Lois said coldly.
“All right, then you’re giving me Spenser.”
“He wasn’t...”
“I don’t give a damn what he was! This isn’t a seminar in English lit. That’s the whole damned trouble with you college broads. You read some junk by a guy who’s been dead for centuries, and he becomes your god. Nine times out of ten, half these guys couldn’t make livings as authors today.”
“I’m not making anyone my god,” she said. “And Spenser wasn’t...”
“Here we go again! You’re not giving me what I want. Is that clear?”
“I don’t think you know what you want,” Lois said. She sat in a chair with her long legs crossed, the skirt opened over her thighs. She wore no stockings, but a deep green garter set with a rhinestone circled the flesh of one leg. Her breasts were done in two golden sunbursts, and the echo of a small burst shaded her navel.
“I know what I need,” Van said. He opened his kit and selected a vial. “You’re enough to make a man mix, I’ll tell you that much.”
He popped off, closed his eyes for a moment, and then stared at her fixedly. “You had yours?”
“This morning,” she said. There was anger on her face. It smoldered in her eyes, put real color in her cheeks, pulled her brows together, swelled her lower lip into a pout.
“Have another,” Van said.
“No, thank you.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
He walked to the desk and slapped the back of his hand onto her script. “You think this is good, is that it? You think this is deathless prose. You think...”
She stood up abruptly, and her frontage bobbed with her sudden fury. “Yes, if you must know. I think it’s good. I think it’s better than any of the junk that Walt is turning out. In fact, I think it’s too good for...”
The buzzer on Van’s desk sounded, and he reached over to click on. Lois stamped her foot and turned her back, folding her arms across her breasts.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Clark Talbot, Van. I took the call, knew you didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“What did he want, Liz?”
“An advance.”
“Oh, mother. Again?”
“Wants a hundred. Until he gets on his feet with Lana, he said.”
“These guys think a literary agency is a bank. All right, make out a check for a clam. Bring it in and I’ll sign it. I’ll be damned.”
“He’s into us for three already, Van.”
“Another clam won’t hurt.”
“Okay.”
Van clicked off and looked at Lois hopefully. “Someday I’m going to write a novel,” he said.
“Really?” Her tone was still cold.
“Yes. About a literary agency. I’m going to call it To Borrow And To Borrow.”
“Do you mind if we get back to my script?” Lois asked.
“Not at all.”
“It’s good, Van, and you know it. Much too good for the...”
“I guess you don’t like the smell of that five gee.”
“...too good for the...” She paused. She let out an exasperated breath. Then she began pacing the floor. “It is good.”
“It stinks,” he told her.
“It’s just what you and Hayden said you wanted.”
“It stinks.”
“It’s the best I can do.”
“Then do better.”
“I can’t!” she fairly screamed.
“You can.”
“I can’t, can’t, can’t. I’ve had enough; I can’t take any more. Do it this way, do it that way. Change this, change that. How can a person write that way? Do you think I’m a robot? Do you think you can feed ideas into one end and get neatly typed pages from the other? Well, you can’t! You can’t!”