Chapter 12
He awoke with a blinding, scorching, screaming headache. The apartment was a sickening mess in shambles; Edie and Karen were gone, and the phone was ringing. He stumbled through the empty apartment and found the phone. It was Sinclair.
"Christ, Bill, I've been trying to reach you for the past hour. Harrigan is at the airport. Where in the hell have you been?"
He blinked his eyes and tried to come fully awake. He didn't want to say that he'd overslept, that there'd been a drunken orgy. "I was out"
"Well you'd better get your motor racing. Harrigan is having a fit. He just called."
Balls, he thought. He leaned on an end table for support and groped for a cigarette. "Relax, will you?"
But Sinclair could not relax. "Too much hanging in the balance," he said.
"So I'll page the airport and calm him down. Quit your worrying."
"I have a right to worry."
Short on patience this morning, Bill decided there was no use in arguing with the old bastard. He started to hang up.
"And by the way," Sinclair went on, "that detective was here again. "Detective?"
"You know ... the one I told you about."
"Oh."
"Everything is all right, isn't it, Bill?"
"I told you it was. Do you want a signed statement?" he said rudely, then hung up and ran for the bathroom.
After he had vomited, he showered and dressed, phoned Harrigan and apologized for the mix-up. Harrigan was politely good-natured about the whole thing; said he was enjoying the view meaning the airline stewardesses and he agreed to meet Bill on the southwest corner of Times Square within the hour.
He arrived early for their meeting, and he was glad of it. It gave him a chance to run to a nearby drug store, swill down some black coffee.
With two cups down, he felt the nuts and bolts returning, giving him back self-confidence and poise; however, he was still worried about Edie and decided to phone. There was no answer. Where in the hell had she gone? he wondered.
He returned to the Times Square building, wishing that he had dressed with a little more care. His suit was baggy, could have stood a pressing. But he reminded himself that Harrigan was a casual man and also a casual dresser. Besides, it was a warm, humid day.
Five minutes went by and Harrigan still hadn't showed up. He went to an outside phone booth and tried Edie again. Couldn't take Harrigan up there with the apartment looking such a mess, and he cursed himself for not forewarning Edie. Again, no answer. Then he saw Harrigan's taxi and ran to greet him.
In the noisy clamor of midtown New York, of beeping taxis and crowded sidewalks, the two men shook hands warmly, and Bill was introduced to Harrigan's son, Keith. The boy was about 16 and, un-like his father, short, sallow-complected and soft of voice. His close-set dark eyes swept Bill's in a cursory glance. Then, with robot-like precision, he fell unobtrusively to the background.
On their way to a 46th street restaurant, Harrigan did most of the talking; not un-like the man, Bill thought. Harrigan had a golden tongue fit for oratory, a large man with a hearty handshake, one who looked considerably less than his 45 years. By way of confession, he preferred sport jackets to business suits, beer to Scotch, and he claimed that big tits were better than big business.
At the restaurant, they polished off sausages and eggs. Harrigan had already checked in at a hotel, so there would be no sweat about accommodations.
He was quite pleased with the food, didn't go for those airline preparations just the hostesses. And had a nice one aboard, he added. Dark hair and nice breasts the presence of his son didn't seem to curb his comments and she had an ass that was fittingly tailored to travel by jet.
"Built for speed." Harrigan grinned. "And which brings us to the present, Bill. Are you getting anything strange?"
Bill shot an uneasy glance at the boy, who seemed unaware of what they were saying; then he offered his stock-in-trade reply: "If I get anything at all, it'll be strange."
Harrigan laughed, and this was the whole secret of winning him over, Bill remembered. Keep sex uppermost in the conversation and signed contracts would take care of themselves.
With this in mind, he guided Harrigan through a string of the latest dirty jokes, ably described the hot shape of their new office girl, and suggested that Harrigan come to their annual Christmas office party. Harrigan gleamed like a new automobile; he was game for anything.
Midway in the final cup of coffee, Bill excused himself, saying he wanted to call home. He could, he supposed, take Harrigan down to the office, or even go to Harrigan's hotel suite; however, he was depending on the homey touch to put Harrigan in the right mood. Besides, if Edie looked cute, flirted a little bit with the man all this would help the cause.
He reached the phone, dialed, and to his immeasurable relief, she was there.
"Where were you?" he asked.
"Went for a walk. Karen woke up early. I thought if I got her out of the house, you'd be able to sleep."
It was thoughtful of her, a consideration not beyond her, but surprising after last night's orgy all at her expense. Feeling cheered, he said, "I should have mentioned this before, honey...." He told her about
Harrigan and the boy. "...I didn't want to bring them up there with the place such a mess...."
She told him not to worry. Give her 30-minutes, she said. She'd fix everything.
"You're a darling," he burst out.
She was quiet and he thought that she had hung up. Then, very solemnly, she said, "I've always tried to do what you wanted, Bill."
He felt embarrassed. The suggested sentimentality of her remark left him groping for words. Finally, he said, "I know, Edie. I know that."
"Last night, too," she added.
He was silent.
"I did what you wanted last night, Bill." She waited. "You did want me to, didn't you?"
He stuttered. "Y-you were fine, honey. Just fine." He wanted to hang up.
"You're not mad?"
"Of course not," he said quickly.
But she had more questions: Did he still love her? Why hadn't he said so? And did he feel strange about last night?
He assured her that nothing had changed. Yes, he loved her. He didn't know why he hadn't told her; and, no, he didn't feel strange about last night.
Walking slowly back to Harrigan's table after he had hung up, he was more certain than ever that she had been cheating on him. She'd been obviously afraid that he had discovered the truth, and now mistakenly convinced that he knew nothing, she was basking in glee. How wrong she was, he thought. How very wrong, indeed.
"Blonde or red head?" Harrigan asked, as he sat down.
"Both," he replied, and then he shot the boy another awkward glance. Keith Harrigan, however, was unconcerned. The youth had brought a rumpled girlie magazine from his coat pocket and was idly thumbing its contents.
Noting Bill's surprise, Harrigan explained, "They don't teach him a damn thing in those exclusive eastern academies. Have to make sure he learns some way, so...." He pointed to the magazine. "Better that way than on some street corner." He draped his arm around the boy. "How 'bout it, Keith?"
The boy said nothing. He covered his embarrassment with the flip of another page.
"He's a good kid," Harrigan said. "Takes after the old man."
Bill jokingly suggested that that was too bad. And then there were more jokes, sassy observations on the restaurant's swivel-hipped waitresses, and it was finally time to leave. Edie should have the apartment ready, he thought; they would tackle those new jobs, get the worry monkey off of Sinclair's back.
Bill picked up the tab had to argue with Harrigan on that one and then they were out on the street hailing a taxi. He was happy about the way things were shaping up. Harrigan was in a good mood; so was Edie. The two of them had never met, but their meeting was bound to influence the cause. In fact, any round ass in New York would help the cause; and a little proudly, Bill thought of Edie's as the roundest of all.
When they arrived at the apartment, Bill smiled approvingly at the bang-up job she had done with her housecleaning. He was also pleasingly startled by the revealing pink short-shorts she wore; even more startled by the crimson pullover a lustful creation that bound her tight enough to reveal her nipples. And her white kid leather boots were the very latest in women's fashions.
He finally commenced with the introductions, feeling a mixture of pride and embarrassment the embarrassment being for the young boy, whose eyes were blankly fastened on the wide V of Edie's sweater.
Harrigan was visibly impressed, though more sophisticated in his admiration than was his son. "Bill, you've been holding out on me." He shot Edie a flirtatious smile. "Mrs. Trumball, your husband's been telling me that you're fat, had buck teeth and wore horn-rimmed glasses." He smiled warmly. "I'd call that false representation." His eyes ran up and down her body. "I'd say he's the luckiest man in New York."
Edie glowed. "Thank you, Mr. Harrigan, but it's really the other way around." She took warm possession of Bill's forearm. "I'd say I was the luckiest woman in New York."
Harrigan called them lovebirds, said it made him nauseatingly envious, and if they didn't stop cooing for each other's benefit, he was going to catch the next jet back to Chicago.
Eventually, after some cold beers, they assumed possession of the kitchen table. Harrigan opened his attach‚ case and brought out a stack of blueprints. Edie, meanwhile, excused herself a bath for Karen, she explained and the boy, Keith, went to the living room to watch TV.
Harrigan unfurrowed a master assembly print. Bill's eyes lit with interest, and he listened to Harrigan's enlightening description of the job. They were coming out with an electrical stapling gun, something new in the field, an instrument that would require some 75 component parts. These parts would be stampings, Harrigan explained, "And the tolerances are damn close, Bill. But we know you fellows can do the job. Our problem, though, is time." And he wanted to know how soon they could expect sample parts, and when those samples were approved, how much longer would it take for the full-scale production run.
Bill hedged on delivery dates. He'd have to appraise the blueprints more carefully; there was also the undiscussed question of costs.
"I'm not worried about costs as much as I am delivery dates. Besides, cost has never been a barrier before, has it?"
Bill laughed, but it was a hollow laugh; price hadn't been a barrier because it was often ridiculously low. However, this time Bill sensed an urgency for the parts and maybe Olson Electronics would be willing to pay through the nose. Harrigan wouldn't disclose that fact, naturally; but Bill sensed that a good business screwing was now in order.
Edie thoughtfully delivered fresh beers can't drive a car without fuel, she said and neither man debated the merits of her proposal.
When she set the beers down, he sensed that something was different about her; however, he didn't guess what it was until he followed the direction of Harrigan's stare. Edie had removed her bra. Her breasts were practically spilling into Harrigan's lap.
Bill motioned his disapproval. There was no need for Edie to flaunt herself in front of Harrigan; the man was already an easy sell, and her flirting would only stall the processes. However, Edie failed to grasp his eye signals and flirted even more. She purred back and forth past their table, shook her hind end in Harrigan's face and continued to display her wicked short-shorts and the fetishly stimulating leather boots.
Unfortunately, her efforts diverted Harrigan from the blueprints, and that was exactly what Bill had feared. Frequently Bill found himself talking to space, while Harrigan gazed fondly at Edie's sweeping motions back and forth through the tiny kitchen.
Hiding his annoyance, Bill studied the blueprints by himself. New tools would have to be made, special punches and dies machined out of their tool room time-consuming when time was precious. However, at a slightly added cost, it could be rushed with special handling, some overtime.
"The parts won't come cheap," he warned Harrigan.
Edie passed through the room. Harrigan smiled at her, then absently, he said, "We need parts, Bill. No reasonable estimate is going to be refused. Bear that in mind." And then Harrigan's gaze was swept away; Edie was bent over him, administering a fresh beer, the rosy pink of her nipples plainly visible for his admiring eyes.
Bill felt a mixture of jealousy and excitement, and then suddenly he had an idea better, a superb brainstorm. He could shaft Olson Electronics and make them like it. He'd set the cost much higher than necessary. Harrigan wouldn't argue; he wanted parts. And with Edie's cute little nipples knocking the hell out of the man's business acumen, he'd stand still for any estimate that Bill set forth.
Hurriedly, he scratched out some figures. The usual marginal profit on any job was ten percent. If the job turned out to be gravy, the company made a killing. If, as was sometimes the case, the job developed production problems, then the company was forced to absorb a loss. With this in mind, he set the marginal profit at thirty percent. A triple killer, really, but Harrigan gave him no arguments on the first three jobs he quoted.
Bill could hardly contain his excitement. He had drawn Harrigan into the throes of a king-sized swindle. A fish, he thought, and this project would become a gold mine. Sinclair would become wealthy; his own bonus would be most rewarding.
In the next hour, Harrigan gave but little attention to Bill's further computations. His eyes were enraptured with Edie's lithe movements around their table; he seemed genuinely disappointed when Edie announced that she was going out for a spell, had to do some shopping for supper.
"I won't be gone long, honey. And if Karen wakes up before I get back, just give her a bottle. Okay?"
Bill agreed.
"She's a lovely girl," Harrigan said, when Edie had left. "Huh?"
"Your wife. I said she was lovely." Bill nodded absently; he was intent on the screwing that he was delivering to Harrigan, his words failed to register. He sank over another blueprint, one that was a real dilly. Six operations, one a deep draw. He could shaft 'em good on this one, he thought. Right up the middle.
Only it didn't work. Edie was gone and Harrigan was expertly on top of every calculation. Was the material really that expensive? And wouldn't stock tools perform the job just as effectively as special ones?
"I'm not hedging on costs, Bill, but we do want to be reasonable about it, don't we?"
The bastard, Bill thought. Smiling, telling him that costs weren't important, just a short time ago; now the sonofabitch was splitting hairs.
"Well, I suppose we could pare it down a little," he said, faking a smile. He put a new figure before Harrigan. Harrigan winced. Bill cut the figure anew. Now Harrigan grinned his approval.
After checking that part off his list, Bill reminded himself that price-cutting wasn't a good practice, but dammit if he wouldn't make it up on the next job. Unfortunately, it didn't work.
Harrigan tightened the purse strings. Wanted to know if two operations couldn't be combined with the right tooling and be performed as one.
Reluctantly, Bill had to agree with him. The bastard was sharp and, once again, the profit was nibbled away to nothing. Disgustedly, Bill suggested a rest. He threw Harrigan the all-work-and-no-play bit. Made dull boys. Harrigan agreed; they couldn't and mustn't become dull boys.
Bill switched Harrigan off from beer to bourbon. He made the drinks punishingly strong; had to do something with the man. Any ass could quote lowly and get the jobs; the trick was yielding a substantial profit. He'd simply wait until Edie returned. Let her again prance around Harrigan in her short-shorts. That was the secret for selling him the moon, and it was no wonder that large companies spent thousands of dollars annually to entertain their customers. Sex was the bait; once hooked, you could sell them anything.
Switching the conversation to sex, Bill described a few of his more wicked high school experiences. A hay-ride during which he had lost a girl's panties. Then a birthday party: He had screwed two girls downstairs in the coal bin. A real mess, and Harrigan roared.
"Once when I was just ten-years-old . . . " He told Harrigan how he had stood guard while a gang of neighborhood boys, all older than he, had gang-banged a ripe-and-ready girl of no more than 14. Watching her pant and wiggle and get hot had been more fun than doing it, he said. Harrigan's eyes were as large as saucers.
"Sounds like you led a pretty interesting youth."
"And still try to," Bill added. He described his new neighbor, Alice Bradford. "Not much of a looker, but the way she sits around here with her dress pulled up...."
Harrigan wanted to meet her.
"I just might be able to arrange that," Bill hinted. "Maybe we could have a party, or something."
"Hey, that's it. A party!" He rubbed his hands together. "like you say, Bill, all work and no play...." He laughed at his own funny. "...what about her husband?"
"Tom?" He shrugged his shoulders. "If he behaves, maybe we'll let him watch."
Harrigan was visibly excited, and that was exactly what Bill wanted. Give him a good case of hot pants, make him spin like a top, then shove his nose back at those quotes, and he'd be too damn distracted to argue.
He watched Harrigan closely, then decided to bait the hook even further. He mentioned nude pictures. "If we get this Alice drunk enough, maybe she'll even pose for us. I've got a Polaroid, you know."
"What about your wife? She won't stand still for something like that ... will she?"
Bill waved it off. "Edie's no prude. If she gives us a hard time, then we'll strip her, too."
Harrigan was thrilled. Bill could read him like an open book. He was visualizing a scene like that two women naked in front of him he was going crazy.
Suddenly, Bill went to the bedroom and brought back the Polaroid pictures that he had taken of Edie. "She-likes to pose, herself," he said. He dropped the pictures in Harrigan's lap.
Harrigan whistled. His eyes darted to the door. "What if she finds out?...."
"That I showed them to you?" Again, he shrugged. "She wouldn't care. Anyway, they're only pictures."
Harrigan shot him an incredulous stare. Bill told him to go ahead and look. Harrigan did. His eyes were about three inches away from the snapshots, and he wasn't interested in photo techniques, either. He was hooked on the sight of Edie's voluptuous naked breasts.
Suddenly, Keith came through the archway to the kitchen. He had evidently overheard some of their conversation and now wanted to see the pictures. Harrigan told him to go back to the living room and sit down. The boy frowned.
"Go ahead," he commanded. "Do as I say."
Reluctantly, the boy turned and walked slowly away.
"Curious little pip-squeak," Harrigan said with a slight grin. "Wants to learn everything in one day."
"He oughta meet our babysitter, then. She'd teach him."
Harrigan grunted. His eyes were again on the photos. 'Think maybe I'd better buy one of those cameras."
"You can always use mine," Bill pointed out "All you need is the film."
"And the model."
"And there she is," Bill said, nodding to the pictures.
"Your wife?" His eyebrows were raised. "She might not be a prude, but she'd never agree to a thing like that."
"Care to make a little wager?" Bill asked. Harrigan was speechless. He was also hooked.