Dead Bolt (Harry Gould Thriller Book 4) by Raymond Obstfeld

Author:Raymond Obstfeld [Obstfeld, Raymond]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2018-07-11T22:00:00+00:00

PART III

Finish The Job Before The Job Finishes You

ITEM FOUR

The $168 Pink Wardrobe

Chapter Twenty-Two

People hurried sourly along the sidewalks as if they were being paid by the mile. The weather was just what you’d expect to find in San Francisco—an early morning fog slowly burning off in time for the noon lunch rush.

Twenty-three stories above the San Francisco people and the San Francisco weather, I sat at my desk and wondered if any of those bustling dots down there were on their way to kill me.

“Harry!” Borden Flintwick barked. “We don’t have time to be gawking out of windows around here. You’ve still got that Rawlings campaign to finish up.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said wearily.

“How’s it coming?” He was hovering over my desk now, more to display his good taste in clothes than anything else.

“It’s coming,” I said.

“Indeed, that’s something I wish I could say of myself,” he giggled. “Eh, Harry?”

“Heh, heh,” I agreed.

He giggled some more to himself, unable to get over how witty he was capable of being, and continued on to his desk. His desk was enclosed in a glass office that befit his position as Assistant Chief of Production for the food section of Evans, Billings and Partners, one of the top advertising companies in the country. My desk and those of my fellow workers were scattered about the floor, separated by colorful but flimsy partitions. We couldn’t see each other, but we could all see Flintwick. And he could see us.

Heaped about my desk in glossy and disorganized piles were the hundreds of drawings, photographs and models of my present project: a twelve-ounce package of Rawlings Frankfurters. Their motto for the past thirty years had been, “Frankly speaking, we’re the best.” Which is why they’d steadily declined from the respectable number three best-selling hot dog to the laughable number six. Now they were looking for a whole new approach, a whole new campaign. Which is where I came in.

Hot dogs were my new cover.

Uncle Deacon had been very enthusiastic when he’d told me how he’d arranged this job for me through an old college buddy of his who was Personnel Director for Evans, Billings and Partners. “It’s the perfect cover for you,” he’d extolled.

“Why?”

“Because you already have a little background. You’ve studied art and English. You’ve watched Vicky do the same thing in her business. And you have the one characteristic that all advertising people need: you’re a con man.”

“Gee, I sound like the perfect candidate for your job.”

He’d smiled a little. “Anyway, considering the circumstances, it’s just right for you. Nobody would think of looking for you there unless they’ve been tipped off. With any luck at all, you may even come out of this alive, Harry.”

But sitting there at my desk staring at a slimy package of Rawlings Frankfurters made me wonder if it was worth it. I had to remind myself that it would only be for four more weeks, after which I would receive fifty thousand dollars.

Still, it wasn’t easy to think about hot dogs when everyone you met looked like a potential killer.

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