Wild Card

9

Bob Cantor carefully applied a Van Dyke — style mustache and goatee to his face, and pasted on eyebrows heavier than his own, then he left his bedroom in Stone Barrington’s house and took the elevator down to the garage and got into the car he had rented under another name. He drove up to P. J. Clarke’s and parked on the side street, then went inside to the bar. The girl and three of her friends were having their usual TGIF date after work. He had trailed her there the week before.

He found a spot next to them at the bar and injected himself into their conversation, while ordering them another round on him. He introduced himself as Van.

Sherry, the receptionist stationed outside the computer room at Thomas, looked happier than she had the week before.

Two of the girls left for home and husbands, and a third began gathering herself to go also. Bob pounced. “Sherry, as long as we’re here, would you join me for dinner? I have a table booked.”

She hesitated until her friend nodded. “Sure, Van, I’d like that.”

Bob showed her to the back room, where a table awaited. “Would you like another drink, or just some wine with dinner?” he asked.

“I think wine with dinner is the better idea,” she said. “Weren’t you here last week?”

“I was. I saw you here, too. You’re the reason I came back.”

“Well, that’s flattering,” she said.

“It seemed to me that you look happier tonight than last week, or is that my imagination?”

“You’re very perceptive,” she replied. “I had a bad couple of days the week before. My employer seemed to think I had done something disloyal. But finally, after a lot of questions, they believed me. They transferred me to another department, though.”

“You don’t seem like a disloyal person to me, Sherry.”

“Thank you for that.”

They ordered dinner and wine, and got along swimmingly. When the check came, Bob paid it. “I’ve got my car. Can I give you a lift home?”

“Which way are you going?” she asked.

“Whichever way you’re going.”

“Thanks, Van, but I think I’ll just get a cab.”

“May I have your number?”

She wrote it in a notebook and tore out the page. “Sure, call me sometime.”

Bob gave her a number, too, then he walked her outside and hailed a cab for her. He drove back to Stone’s house, put the car away, and then went upstairs and called Sherry.

“Hello?”

“It’s Van,” he said. “There was something I forgot to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“I bear some of the responsibility for the hard time they gave you at work. I want to make it up to you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look in your handbag,” he said. “There’s a gift for you there, wrapped in a napkin.”

“Well, that was sneaky,” she said.

“Go ahead, take a look.”

There was silence when she did, then a little gasp. “What is this?” she asked.

“It’s ten thousand dollars in hundreds,” Bob replied.

“Van, can I ask you a question and get an honest answer?”

“Certainly.”

“Are you the copying-machine guy?”

“I was,” Bob replied, “but I won’t be paying any calls in the future.”

“They think you planted a bomb in the office.”

“They can think what they like,” Bob said. “I’m just sorry they tried to blame you. I hope the money will make up for that.”

“This is all so mysterious,” she said.

“And it will have to remain so. Listen, don’t put the money in your bank account. If you ever had a tax audit they would want you to pay taxes on it. Just hide it somewhere and use it whenever you need it. Don’t be seen paying with hundreds, though. Pop into a bank — not your own — now and then and break them for smaller bills. Also, it’s not impossible that your employer might take a look at your account, understand?”

“I don’t entirely understand, but I’ll do as you say, and thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“Will I see you again, Van?”

“Maybe after some time has passed we can meet again, but not for a while. The people you work for are unforgiving. Tell me: Is your new job as good as your old one?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Then, after a while, you might look for something better. You have my number. Call me, and perhaps I can help find you something.”

“All right, I will.”

“No one will answer, so just leave a message, as detailed as you like. No one but me will ever hear it, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Oh, Van, there’s a telephone with the money.”

“It’s a throwaway,” Bob said. “You can use that to contact me; never call on your office phone or from your apartment. Both lines are almost certainly tapped.”

“I’m not surprised,” Sherry said. “My employers can be creepy at times, especially Rance Damien. He was burned in the fire, and he looks creepier than ever.”

“Your instincts are very good, Sherry. I’ve got to run. Call me, if you should need me.” He hung up.