Read Online What's The Worst That Could Happen by Donald Westlake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donald Westlake
Ads: Link
back,” Max mused, rubbing the ring against the point of his chin. “Looking for the ring, I suppose.”
“The what?”
“Nothing, nothing.”
“Max,” Walter said, leaning back in his chair so it made a noise like a mouse, “you know better than this. You’re supposed to confide in your attorney.”
“I know, I know, you’re right.” Max wasn’t used to feeling embarrassment in the presence of other human beings, and he didn’t like it; soon, he’d start to blame Walter. He said, “I’m just not sure you’ll think it funny.”
Walter raised his eyebrows, which made his bags look like udders. “Funny? Max? I’m supposed to find something in this situation funny?”
Max grinned a little. “Well, in fact,” he said, “I stole the burglar’s ring.”
“You stole …”
“His ring.” Max held up his hand, to show it. “This one. You see? It has the trigram on it, and —”
“You just happened to be holding a gun on him anyway, so you thought —”
“No, no, after. When the police came.”
“You stole the burglar’s ring, with the police standing there?”
“Well, they suggested I look around, see if he’d taken anything, and it was a spur–of–the–moment thing, I said, that ring on his finger, right there, that’s mine. And they said, give Mr. Fairbanks back his ring.” Max beamed. “He was furious.”
“So furious,” Walter pointed out, “that he then escaped from the police and came looking for you, and found a quarter million dollars worth of loot instead.”
“Not a bad trade, from his point of view,” Max said, and held his hand up to admire the ring. “And I’m happy as well, so that’s the end of it.” Dropping his hand, he shrugged and said, “And the insurance company will certainly pay. We own it.”
“And the judge,” Walter said, “will ask questions.”
“Yes, I suppose he will,” Max agreed, as a faint cloud darkened his satisfaction. “But we can limit the damage, can’t we? What I mean is, I can surely say I merely went out there to get some personal items that are not a part of the Chapter Eleven, and I happened upon the burglar just as he was breaking in, lucky thing I was there and so on, and we needn’t mention Miss September. Which is to say, Lutetia. That’s where there could be trouble, if we’re not careful.”
“It doesn’t look good to the court,” Walter said, “you leaving the country immediately after.”
“It wasn’t immediate, Walter, and this trip has been planned for months. Every move I make is planned well ahead, you know that.”
Walter said, “I’ve been on the phone with the judge.”
“And?”
“My most difficult job,” Walter said, “was to get him to agree to begin with a private conversation in chambers, rather than a session with all parties in open court.”
“A session in court? For what?”
“Oh, Max,” Walter said, exasperated. “For violating the terms of the Chapter Eleven.”
“For God’s sake, Walter, everybody knows that’s just a dance we’re all doing, some folderol, not to be taken seriously.”
“Judges,” Walter said, “take everything seriously. If you are making use of assets that are supposed to be frozen, he can if he wishes reopen the negotiation, bring in the creditors’ representatives —”
“ Those miserable —”
“Creditors.”
“Yes, yes, I —”
“Including the IRS.”
Max grumbled. He didn’t like to be crowded, he didn’t like it at all. Feeling ill–used, he said, “What do you want me to do?”
“Put off Nairobi.”
“Walter, that’s very difficult, they —”
“You can do what you want, and you know you can, at least on that front. Put off Nairobi, fly back to New York with me tomorrow, meet with the judge in chambers at one on Thursday afternoon.”
“And?”
“And look penitent,” Walter said.
Max screwed his face around. “How’s that?”
“You can work on it,” Walter said.
“The what?”
“Nothing, nothing.”
“Max,” Walter said, leaning back in his chair so it made a noise like a mouse, “you know better than this. You’re supposed to confide in your attorney.”
“I know, I know, you’re right.” Max wasn’t used to feeling embarrassment in the presence of other human beings, and he didn’t like it; soon, he’d start to blame Walter. He said, “I’m just not sure you’ll think it funny.”
Walter raised his eyebrows, which made his bags look like udders. “Funny? Max? I’m supposed to find something in this situation funny?”
Max grinned a little. “Well, in fact,” he said, “I stole the burglar’s ring.”
“You stole …”
“His ring.” Max held up his hand, to show it. “This one. You see? It has the trigram on it, and —”
“You just happened to be holding a gun on him anyway, so you thought —”
“No, no, after. When the police came.”
“You stole the burglar’s ring, with the police standing there?”
“Well, they suggested I look around, see if he’d taken anything, and it was a spur–of–the–moment thing, I said, that ring on his finger, right there, that’s mine. And they said, give Mr. Fairbanks back his ring.” Max beamed. “He was furious.”
“So furious,” Walter pointed out, “that he then escaped from the police and came looking for you, and found a quarter million dollars worth of loot instead.”
“Not a bad trade, from his point of view,” Max said, and held his hand up to admire the ring. “And I’m happy as well, so that’s the end of it.” Dropping his hand, he shrugged and said, “And the insurance company will certainly pay. We own it.”
“And the judge,” Walter said, “will ask questions.”
“Yes, I suppose he will,” Max agreed, as a faint cloud darkened his satisfaction. “But we can limit the damage, can’t we? What I mean is, I can surely say I merely went out there to get some personal items that are not a part of the Chapter Eleven, and I happened upon the burglar just as he was breaking in, lucky thing I was there and so on, and we needn’t mention Miss September. Which is to say, Lutetia. That’s where there could be trouble, if we’re not careful.”
“It doesn’t look good to the court,” Walter said, “you leaving the country immediately after.”
“It wasn’t immediate, Walter, and this trip has been planned for months. Every move I make is planned well ahead, you know that.”
Walter said, “I’ve been on the phone with the judge.”
“And?”
“My most difficult job,” Walter said, “was to get him to agree to begin with a private conversation in chambers, rather than a session with all parties in open court.”
“A session in court? For what?”
“Oh, Max,” Walter said, exasperated. “For violating the terms of the Chapter Eleven.”
“For God’s sake, Walter, everybody knows that’s just a dance we’re all doing, some folderol, not to be taken seriously.”
“Judges,” Walter said, “take everything seriously. If you are making use of assets that are supposed to be frozen, he can if he wishes reopen the negotiation, bring in the creditors’ representatives —”
“ Those miserable —”
“Creditors.”
“Yes, yes, I —”
“Including the IRS.”
Max grumbled. He didn’t like to be crowded, he didn’t like it at all. Feeling ill–used, he said, “What do you want me to do?”
“Put off Nairobi.”
“Walter, that’s very difficult, they —”
“You can do what you want, and you know you can, at least on that front. Put off Nairobi, fly back to New York with me tomorrow, meet with the judge in chambers at one on Thursday afternoon.”
“And?”
“And look penitent,” Walter said.
Max screwed his face around. “How’s that?”
“You can work on it,” Walter said.
Similar Books
