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someone
pretending to be Gertrude Sommers,” I said. “Would the company make her whole?”
Ralph rubbed the deepening crease between his eyes.
“Don’t ask me to make moral decisions without the facts. What if it was her
husband—or her kid? He’s listed as a secondary beneficiary after her. Or her
minister? I’m not going to commit the company to anything until I know the
truth.”
He was talking to me but looking at Rossy, who was
looking at his watch, not at all discreetly. Ralph muttered something about
their next appointment. This made me more uneasy even than the fraud over the
claim: I don’t like my lovers, even long-former lovers, to feel the need to be
obsequious.
As I left the office, I asked Ralph for a photocopy of
the canceled check and the death certificate. Rossy answered for him. “These
are company documents, Devereux.”
“But if you don’t let me show them to my client, then
he has no way of knowing whether I’m lying to him,” I said. “You remember the
case this last spring, where various life-insurance companies admitted to
charging black customers as much as four times the amount they did whites? I
assure you, that will leap into my client’s mind. And then, instead of me
coming around asking for documents in a nice way, you might have a federal
lawsuit with a subpoena attached.”
Rossy stared at me, suddenly frosty. “If the threat of
a lawsuit seems to your mind to be ‘asking in a nice way,’ then I have to ask
myself questions about your business practices.”
With the dimples in abeyance, he showed he could be a
formidable corporate presence. I smiled and took his hand, turning it to look
at the palm. He was startled into standing motionless.
“Signor Rossy, I wasn’t threatening you with a
lawsuit: I was an indovina, reading your fortune, foreseeing an
inevitable future.”
The frost melted abruptly. “What other things do you
divine?”
I put his hand down. “My powers are limited. But you
seem to have a long lifeline. Now, with your permission may I copy the canceled
check and the death certificate?”
“Forgive my Swiss habits of being unwilling to part
with official documents. By all means, make copies of these two papers. But the
file as a whole I think I’ll keep with me. Just in case your charm makes you
more persuasive with this young lady than her normal loyalties would allow you
to be.”
He gestured at Connie Ingram, who blushed. “Sir, I’m
really sorry, sir, but can you fill out a slip for me? I can’t let a claim file
stay out of our area without a notice of the number and of who has it.”
“Ah, so you have respect for documents as well.
Excellent. You write down what you need, and I will sign it. Will that fulfill
the requirements?”
Her color spreading to her collarbone, Connie Ingram
went out to Ralph’s secretary to type up what she needed. I followed with the
documents I was allowed to have; Ralph’s secretary copied them for me.
Ralph walked partway down the hall with me. “Stay in
touch, Vic, okay? I would be grateful to hear from you if you learn anything
about this business.”
“You’ll be the second to know,” I promised. “You going
to be equally forthcoming?”
“Naturally.” He grinned, briefly showing a trace of
the old Ralph. “And if I remember right, I’m likely to be much more forthcoming
than you.”
I laughed, but I still felt sad as I waited for the
elevator. When the doors finally opened with a subdued ding, a young
woman in a prim tweed suit stepped off, clutching a tan briefcase to her side.
The dreadlocks tidily pulled away from her face made me blink in recognition.
“Ms. Blount—I’m V I Warshawski—we met at the Ajax gala
a month ago.”
She nodded and briefly touched my fingertips. “I need
to be in a meeting.”
“Ah, yes: with Bertrand Rossy.” I thought of putting
her on her guard against Rossy’s accusation that she was siphoning off company
documents for Bull Durham, but she
pretending to be Gertrude Sommers,” I said. “Would the company make her whole?”
Ralph rubbed the deepening crease between his eyes.
“Don’t ask me to make moral decisions without the facts. What if it was her
husband—or her kid? He’s listed as a secondary beneficiary after her. Or her
minister? I’m not going to commit the company to anything until I know the
truth.”
He was talking to me but looking at Rossy, who was
looking at his watch, not at all discreetly. Ralph muttered something about
their next appointment. This made me more uneasy even than the fraud over the
claim: I don’t like my lovers, even long-former lovers, to feel the need to be
obsequious.
As I left the office, I asked Ralph for a photocopy of
the canceled check and the death certificate. Rossy answered for him. “These
are company documents, Devereux.”
“But if you don’t let me show them to my client, then
he has no way of knowing whether I’m lying to him,” I said. “You remember the
case this last spring, where various life-insurance companies admitted to
charging black customers as much as four times the amount they did whites? I
assure you, that will leap into my client’s mind. And then, instead of me
coming around asking for documents in a nice way, you might have a federal
lawsuit with a subpoena attached.”
Rossy stared at me, suddenly frosty. “If the threat of
a lawsuit seems to your mind to be ‘asking in a nice way,’ then I have to ask
myself questions about your business practices.”
With the dimples in abeyance, he showed he could be a
formidable corporate presence. I smiled and took his hand, turning it to look
at the palm. He was startled into standing motionless.
“Signor Rossy, I wasn’t threatening you with a
lawsuit: I was an indovina, reading your fortune, foreseeing an
inevitable future.”
The frost melted abruptly. “What other things do you
divine?”
I put his hand down. “My powers are limited. But you
seem to have a long lifeline. Now, with your permission may I copy the canceled
check and the death certificate?”
“Forgive my Swiss habits of being unwilling to part
with official documents. By all means, make copies of these two papers. But the
file as a whole I think I’ll keep with me. Just in case your charm makes you
more persuasive with this young lady than her normal loyalties would allow you
to be.”
He gestured at Connie Ingram, who blushed. “Sir, I’m
really sorry, sir, but can you fill out a slip for me? I can’t let a claim file
stay out of our area without a notice of the number and of who has it.”
“Ah, so you have respect for documents as well.
Excellent. You write down what you need, and I will sign it. Will that fulfill
the requirements?”
Her color spreading to her collarbone, Connie Ingram
went out to Ralph’s secretary to type up what she needed. I followed with the
documents I was allowed to have; Ralph’s secretary copied them for me.
Ralph walked partway down the hall with me. “Stay in
touch, Vic, okay? I would be grateful to hear from you if you learn anything
about this business.”
“You’ll be the second to know,” I promised. “You going
to be equally forthcoming?”
“Naturally.” He grinned, briefly showing a trace of
the old Ralph. “And if I remember right, I’m likely to be much more forthcoming
than you.”
I laughed, but I still felt sad as I waited for the
elevator. When the doors finally opened with a subdued ding, a young
woman in a prim tweed suit stepped off, clutching a tan briefcase to her side.
The dreadlocks tidily pulled away from her face made me blink in recognition.
“Ms. Blount—I’m V I Warshawski—we met at the Ajax gala
a month ago.”
She nodded and briefly touched my fingertips. “I need
to be in a meeting.”
“Ah, yes: with Bertrand Rossy.” I thought of putting
her on her guard against Rossy’s accusation that she was siphoning off company
documents for Bull Durham, but she
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