Where Are You Now?

45

H oward Altman was well aware of his boss’s shifting loyalties, but his first hint that something was seriously wrong occurred when Mr. Olsen did not go out to brunch with him on Saturday morning. He had noticed Olsen using the new Montblanc pen and correctly guessed that it was probably a present from Steve Hockney, Olsen’s nephew.

Steve is schmoozing the old man, Howard thought bitterly. It would be just like Olsen to leave everything to him. The first thing Steve would do is fire me. Then he’d sell all the apartment houses and pocket the cash.

The building he lived in on Ninety-fourth Street was one of the smallest Olsen owned. It was four stories high, with only two apartments on each floor. Most of the tenants had been there for years. His apartment was the only one on the lobby floor. Sparsely furnished and immaculately neat, the living room was dominated by his sixty-inch television set. Most of Howard’s evenings were split evenly by his two favorite activities, watching movies on television and visiting on the Internet with buddies from all over the world. He found them infinitely more interesting than the people he met in his daily life.

An excellent chef, he always cooked himself a good dinner, watched a movie while he had a couple of glasses of wine and ate from a tray table, then turned off the television set and went directly to his bedroom computer.

Howard loved this apartment, which came with his job. He loved his job, especially now that he was in charge of all Olsen’s buildings. I earned it, he told himself, defensively. I got it because I proved myself. I can fix anything that’s broken. I can put up a wall to make two rooms out of one. I can replace old wiring and build cabinets. I can paint and wallpaper and scrape floors. That’s why Olsen kept promoting me. But what happens if he leaves everything to Steve?

The question persisted in his mind. For once, he could not focus on the movie in his DVD player. How could he get Olsen to sour on his nephew?

And then the answer came to him. He had a master key to all the apartments in the building where Steve Hockney lived. He’d put a security camera in Steve’s apartment. I’ve seen him when he’s high, and I’ve always suspected that he deals in drugs, Howard thought. If I can prove it, that would finish him with his uncle.

Blood is thicker than water. Maybe.

Pleased at finding a possible solution to the impending problem, he turned off the television and went down the hall to his bedroom. He smiled at the familiar whooshing sound he heard as he turned on his computer.

He realized how much he was looking forward to connecting with his friend Singh in Mumbai tonight.