Read Online The Seersucker Whipsaw by Ross Thomas - Free Book Online Page A

luck.”
    â€œThat’s a thought.”
    â€œWell, you better keep close check on Shartelle.”
    â€œHe’s running the show.”
    â€œI was against it. I told Duffy I was against it. Clint might be the best in the States, but he’s not in the States now.” Downer paused and lighted a cigarette. His hands trembled and the cigarette shook in his mouth. Maybe he drinks, I thought. It was a vain hope; he wasn’t the type. His ego didn’t need it.
    â€œYou know what Clint’s got to watch out for?” Downer asked.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œCultural shock. That’s what.”
    â€œYou think he’ll go native, Paul?”
    Downer puffed on his cigarette some more. He didn’t inhale and when he smoked he took short, rapid sucking puffs and blew them out quickly with little swooshes. It was a mannerism that had long irritated me.
    â€œNot native. He’s not Gauguin. I mean that he’s been in the States all his life except for that time in Europe with Duffy and me and then we had to lead him around by the hand.”
    â€œThat’s when all three of you were in the O.S.S.?”
    â€œRight. Hell, he could speak a little French, that’s all. But Africa’s different. A guy like Shartelle may not be able to adapt. Now you and I have lived abroad, Pete. We can take it as it comes. Heat, dirt, diseases, strange customs—these don’t faze us the way they might a guy like Shartelle.”
    â€œWe’re sort of cosmopolites,” I said helpfully.
    â€œThat’s right—you put your finger on it. I’ve lived in London for twenty years now. I spend a lot of time on the Continent. But I feel as much at home in Paris as I do in New York. London’s no different to me than Chicago.”
    â€œThere’s a small language barrier,” I said.
    â€œIn Paris?”
    â€œNo. In Chicago.”
    Downer laughed. “That’s not bad, Pete.”
    He wasn’t all that stupid. He had a great passion for detail, he worked hard, he could—upon occasion—turn out workmanlike copy fast, a knack he had picked up from Hearst where he had spent his working life until Duffy brought him into DDT in 1952. But he was sententious, pedantic, and god, how he could talk. He believed in the infallibility of Duffy, Downer, and Theims, Ltd. He bought all the products, used them faithfully, and touted them to his friends. His clients—the accounts he handled—had no faults. If they had had any faults, they wouldn’t be DDT clients.
    â€œI’ll break him in easy—not too much shock all at once,” I said.
    Downer nodded. “That’s smart. And listen, Pete, if you get in a bind—any kind of bind—and you need help, I’m as close as the phone.”
    â€œI’ll remember.”
    â€œNow then—the house in Ubondo is open and staffed. Here’s a set of keys.” He tossed them to me. “The account at Barclay’s is in your name. It’s got around five hundred quid in it and use it for expenses. Revolving fund sort of thing. When you run low, send in a chit and we’ll top it up. You’ll pay the staff—here’s a list of how much they get. Pay them monthly and let me give you some advice: don’t lend them any money. You’ll play hell getting it back. Food you can get at the supermarket in Ubondo. You’ll have to do the shopping—you can’t trust the staff to do it. Charge everything and settle the bill once a month.”
    â€œHow big is the staff?”
    â€œFive—plus the watch night. Six.”
    â€œWhat the hell do two men need with six servants?”
    Downer sighed. “Look, Pete. You need a cook. You need a steward. You need a small boy to help the cook and steward. You need a driver—that’s William. You know him already. You need a gardener—you’ve got an acre-and-a-half of grounds. And you need the watch