Day of Wrath by William J Coughlin

Author:William J Coughlin [Coughlin, William J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

a touch of power

Mickey Noonan knew the real function of the Downtown Athletic Club. It had a pool, gym, and showers, but they were seldom used; it was “athletic” in name only. The most prestigious of the local clubs, its principal purpose was to serve as a gathering place for the businessmen and financiers who actually made the city and its commerce flow. It reeked of wealth in understated but expensive furnishings. There was a feeling about it, as if its members were titled aristocrats shielded by the castlelike club from annoyance by a filthy and noisy populace. It was a feeling never expressed but generally shared by the men who belonged. It remained a man’s club despite the prevailing feminist winds. The men who belonged made the law, and they saw to it that judges understood that the “club” was indeed above the regulations imposed on the general public.

Judge Noonan was escorted to a small private dining room in the rear of the building. These rooms were secluded sanctuaries where gentlemen could discuss the most delicate business matters without fear of being overheard. Only the oldest and most trusted of the waiters served these rooms, and even then most conversation ceased until the waiter had withdrawn. It was that kind of place.

His invitation had come from Thaddeus Murch, the president and founder of Murch Savings and Loan. Murch was a steely-eyed financier who served on a number of boards for some of the city’s largest and most influential business concerns.

Noonan was surprised to see that Murch was not alone.

He recognized the other two men. Calvin Todd was the head of Selman and Todd, the giant advertising firm. Todd, like Murch, was in his sixties, tall, and elegant. The other man, Thomas Hardy Pratt, could buy and sell both of them. He presided over a conglomerate that controlled businesses from banking to construction. Pratt was the moving force behind the city’s new civic center, a billion-dollar monument of glass and steel. It was Pratt’s personal stamp on the city, a hallmark of his ownership.

They exchanged pleasantries. Noonan had met Todd and Murch before, but it was the first time he had encountered the legendary Thomas Hardy Pratt. Pratt was heavy, his portly figure encased in an ill-fitting, cheap suit. His much-worn tie was slightly askew. But there was something about his bearing and manner that proclaimed he was not a man to be trifled with. Both Todd and Murch showed him absolute deference as the luncheon went on.

Mickey Noonan had not risen from poverty. His father had been a successful contractor, and while not a millionaire, he had been able to shower Mickey with most of life’s blessings, including a good education at an Ivy League school. So Mickey Noonan felt at ease with men like Murch, Todd, and Pratt.

“We were discussing the crash program at criminal court before you came in,” Todd said, sipping his water. None of them had ordered drinks.

“It’s an interesting experiment,” Noonan said, careful not to commit himself.

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