The Schack Job by Henry Kane

Author:Henry Kane [Kane, Henry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-11-08T00:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

At a quarter to twelve he was at the bank depositing seven thousand dollars and at five minutes to twelve he was in the office instructing Miranda. “We’ve got a new employee. Temporary employee but she’s got to be solidly set in the records. Salary, two hundred bucks. You’ll be making out the weekly checks minus, of course, the withholding and stuff.”

“A her?” Miranda said making notes in her spiral-topped notepad.

“A her,” he said.

“Nature of the job?”

“Administrative assistant.”

“Hmmf,” said Miranda. “Name, please?”

“Betsy Ross.”

“You want to play games?”

“Betsy Ross.”

“The kooky bitch giving us the rib over the phone?”

“No kook, no bitch, no rib. A lovely lady.”

“You and your lovely ladies. And this lovely lady is now our administrative assistant?”

“Temporarily.”

“Since when do you pay for it, boss?”

“I beg your pardon, Miranda.”

“Since when do you pay for the services of lovely ladies? Like two hundred bananas a week?”

“I am paying,” he insisted, “for an administrative assistant.”

“Hmmf,” said Miranda and returned to making notes on her pad. “Address, please?”

“Pierre Hotel.”

“Very fancy. Figures, at two hundred clams a week. Address, please?”

“Fifth Avenue at Sixty-first.”

“Social security number, please?”

“I don’t have it.”

“Well, you’re supposed to.”

“Jesus, easy on me, baby. I had a very rough night.”

“You betcha,” she said, “when you flip out for two hundred fish a week. You sure you know what you’re do-ing?”

“I’m doing,” he said.

“Oh I’m sure you’re damn doing. But is it worth getting trapped in a barrel for two hundred apples a week?”

“The social security number,” he said stiffly, “will be provided for you in due time.”

“Thank you very much,” she said and snapped shut the book.

But sat there and glared at him. And wanted to cross her knees, and tried, and could not quite make it. And did not cross her knees and clung to her notebook and glared at him.

He smiled his best-type, open, boyish smile for her: it sometimes helped to melt the steel of her glare. And suddenly remembered! And hoped it would take her mind off kooks, ribs, payrolls, administrative assistants and social security numbers. “You and I have a date,” he said.

“We have? Since when?”

“Since … yesterday.”

“Well, it’s very nice of you to tell me now. When’s our date for?”

“Tonight.”

” Very nice of you to tell me now.” Sadly .she shook her head and gently she sighed. Her gentle sigh eructed like a hot blast from a duodenal ulcer. “Where do you think you’re taking me, and what do you want me to protect you from?”

“A party.”

“What nutty party? And what are you afraid of?”

“No nutty party. Nothing afraid of. A real big shindig. Constantine Kriakos.”

Eh,” she croaked. “Eh?” she asked.

“Kriakos.”

“Eh eh eh,” she stammered.

“Easy, baby. Get hold of yourself.”

She got hold of herself. “Kriakos!” she shrieked. She flung her notebook into the air and flung herself out of the chair. The chair fell and she stood. Quivering.

“You son of a bitch,” she said.

“Me? What? Now what?”

“You’re no lady,” she said.

“No lady,” he said.

“You really inviting me?”

“Cross my heart.”

“Kriakos!”

“The yacht, the whole bit.”

“Goodbye, son of a bitch.

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