Summer Cool

7

Paine had picked up his phone to dial when Anapolos came into his office. He put the phone down.

"Sit down," Paine said.

"I'll stand, Mr. Paine," Anapolos said. He was a short man who always looked as if he were charging forward. His head was large, nearly bald. The top part of his body was barreled, on top of short legs. He was a Greek from Astoria, Queens, whose brother-in-law had sold him a building in Yonkers, telling him that it was a way to get rich and make his sister happy. Paine knew that the brother-in-law had been right.

"This. . letter I get from you, Mr. Paine," Anapolos said, waving a folded sheet of paper. "I don't like it."

"You weren't supposed to like it," Paine said. "I had a lawyer look at it before I sent it to you. He said I was right on every count, and that, if I wanted, he'd help me bring you to court."

The top of Anapolos's head reddened. He leaned closer to Paine's desk, hammering the paper down on it and raising his hand into a fist. "You are not a good tenant, Mr. Paine."

"You're a shitty landlord, Mr. Anapolos. When I moved in here in February there was no heat. I've seen five different species of roaches. There is at least one family of rats on this floor_; I've seen others on outings in the lobby and in the storage area in the basement." Paine pointed to the piece of paper Anapolos had put on his desk. "I listed enough building code violations, especially blocked fire exits, in that paper to have you shut down and fined till it hurts. The lease I signed with you promised air conditioning, and that microwave oven in the window hasn't worked since GE put it together in 1963. I don't like the way you run your building, Mr. Anapolos."

"And I don't like you, Mr. Paine. You're not a nice young man."

"I'm not so young, Mr. Anapolos."

Anapolos straightened slightly, put his hands on his hips. Paine was suddenly reminded of pictures he had seen of Mussolini. He almost laughed.

Anapolos raised one finger, and suddenly Paine did laugh. "This is not funny, Mr. Paine. I am going to have you evicted." Anapolos pronounced the last word like a curse. Paine shook his head; he could not stop laughing.

"You will hear from me again, Mr. Paine!" Anapolos said. With a flourish he spun on his little shoes and walked to the door, leaving his paper behind on Paine's desk.

Anapolos opened the door, closed it loudly behind him.

"Jesus Christ," Paine said. He took the paper Anapolos had left, slipped it into a fresh envelope, addressed it to the landlord and put it in his out box.

This time he picked up the phone and punched in a number.

The 800 number rang twice and he was connected to a computer voice that asked him to wait until an operator was free. Phone music played. Paine angled the phone away from his ear until a voice came on the line; it was the computer voice, asking him to please be patient. The music came on again. Paine moved the phone away from his ear until a human voice said, "American Airlines, may I help you?"

"I hope you can," Paine said. He made himself sound chagrined. "I'm sorry to bother you about something stupid, but I think I'm in trouble with my boss. A couple of days ago I took flight eighty-five out of New York, and I lost my ticket receipt. I. ." he paused, sounding embarrassed, "well, my boss isn't the kind of guy who believes what you tell him, and I was wondering if you could get me some sort of copy of the receipt, a Xerox or anything, just to prove I took the flight. My name is Bob Petty."

The cheery girl's voice said, "I'm certain we can help you, sir. If you'll just wait a moment. ."

Paine waited_; he could hear the soothing tap of computer keys, the pause while the information he wanted was pulled up onto a screen. There was another pause. More muted key tapping.

"That would be Robert Perry?" the soothing voice asked. Paine said yes. She confirmed Perry's address. "That was a one-way ticket to Dallas-Fort Worth?"

Paine said yes again.

"All right, sir. I can have a receipt mailed to you. You are aware that it will be marked duplicate?"

"That's fine," Paine said.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" the soothing voice said.

"Can you tell me if I connected with another flight?"

There was another pause. Paine didn't hear the immediate tapping of computer keys. He could imagine her trying to put his question into a form that made sense to her.

"Certainly, sir," she said, a little less cheerfully. She probably hadn't succeeded. But he heard the keys tap.

"I show only a one-way to Dallas-Fort Worth, sir. Would you like me to try the other airlines?"

"Please. I have a lousy memory."

A longer pause. No cheerful voice this time. But the keys tapped.

"I show only a one-way on American to Dallas-Fort Worth. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Nothing today, thank you."

"Thank you for flying American, sir," she said.

"Sure."

He hung up, and then called the 800 number back He got more recorded messages, more music, and then another cheerful voice came on and he booked a flight to Dallas-Fort Worth.

As Paine dropped the phone into its cradle it rang. He put it back to his ear.

"Paine?" someone said.

"This is Paine."

"Kevin Bryers. I'd like you to come in and talk, when you have a chance."

"Sure, Chief Bryers. But I won't have a chance for a couple of days."

Bryers paused. "All right. It's about Jim Coleman."

"Not Bobby Petty?"

"That's part of it. Mostly Coleman."

"If it was about Petty I could come now. Too bad."

"You'll come and see me?"

"You going to offer me my old job back, too?"

Bryers didn't laugh. "We'll talk," he said.

"Sure."

Paine hung up the phone, punched another number. It rang a few times, and then a sleepy voice came on.

"Wake up, Billy, I'm coming to see you," Paine said.

"Jack?"

"Yes." Paine gave his flight number, time of arrival.

"Great. You coming down to look through my telescope?"

"Not this time, Billy. Business."

"But we can talk."

"Great." Billy yawned. "What was that flight number again?"

Paine gave it to him. "I take it you were out all last night?"

"Yeah."

"Good skies?"

"Real good. Hot as hell, though."

"Go back to sleep, Billy."

"You bet I will. See you later."

Paine hung up the phone. This time when he put the receiver in its cradle, it stayed mute. He fumbled with the message machine for a few minutes until he was reasonably sure it would work, then locked the office and went home to pack.