The Union Club Mysteries by Isaac Asimov

Author:Isaac Asimov [Asimov, Isaac]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Union Club Mysteries
Published: 2010-07-01T18:30:00+00:00

[snapshot of this text from the original follows]

To Contents

The Appleby Story

Jennings said, "Extraordinarily expensive, this white-collar crime. I don't know how many billions of dollars a year it costs us."

His words rang a little hollowly in the august confines of the Union Club library. It was a mild evening and the city was sufficiently alive so that few were so at a loss for something to do as to come to the Club—except for the four of us, of course.

Baranov said, "I don't think anyone cares much about white-collar crime. The prevailing attitude is 'as long as no one gets hurt.'"

"Yes, I know," said I indignantly, "so that some poor slob who holds up a liquor store at gunpoint and gets away with fifty dollars has the book thrown at him. And some junior-executive smoothy who cleans up fifty thousand by rifling the public sits on the jury that throws the book and is considered a leading citizen."

"The gun makes the difference, doesn't it?" said Baranov with a scowl. "Your 'poor slob' can maim or kill. How do you equate that with money?"

"Hold on," I said. "Take your smoothy from behind his desk, put him in the slums, deprive him of any real chance in life, surround him with people with money who don't give a damn for poor slobs and what do you think the smoothy will do? Or, conversely, take the poor slob, clean him, educate him, change his color or heritage if necessary, and put him behind a desk in a cushy job. He won't need any guns, either.

Baranov said, "It's always society according to you bleedingheart—"

For once we had forgotten the existence of Griswold, who, without any assistance from us, actually had his eyes open. His bushy eyebrows curled low and he growled in his deep voice. "What makes you think those two classes of crimes are eternally separate? One can lead to the other. In one case I remember, it did, though I doubt that it would interest you."

He paused to sip at his scotch and soda, and I said, "Even if it didn't interest us, you'd insist on telling us, so go ahead."

The person in question [said Griswold] was named Thomas Appleby and he had a number of qualities, some endearing, some not, all of which collaborated to bring on his violent death.

He was an outgoing person, an extraverted one, a gregarious one. He was short, plump, rubicund, friendly, talkative, unselfconscious. He was what Santa Claus might have looked and acted like, if he had shaved himself clean, cut his hair and gotten into a shirt, jacket and pants.

Appleby had his little vanities. He was an accomplished jokester and could tell his stories with verve and excellence, and being aware of this accomplishment, he practiced it continually and smugly.

He could hold the most unlikely audience enthralled and he rarely failed to get a laugh, usually a big one, from every person in the place. He had an uncommon memory for funny stories; never forgot one; and could continue without repeating, for hours—and sometimes did.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.