The old man started at the word. “Come in, Counselor,” he said formally. “I’m a member of the bar myself——”
He broke off into a fit of coughing, leaning against the doorframe.
Mundin half-carried him into the living room and eased him into a sagging overstaffed chair. A Coleman lamp, blowing badly, cast a metallic blue-green glare into every corner of the room. A fire smoldered on the hearth, billowing against a closed register. A tinny radio was blaring, “—nately was kept from spreading, though the four houses involved in the arson attempt were totally destroyed. Elsewhere in Belly Rave, warfare broke out between the Wabbits and the Goddams, rival junior gangs. One eight-year-old was killed instantly by——”
Mundin clicked it off and opened the register. The smoke began to clear from the room and the fire to flicker. The old man was still folded up hi the chair, his parchment face mercilessly picked out by the flaring light. Mundin fiddled aimlessly with the valve and accidentally got it to stop roaring. There was a green glass shade; he put it on and the room was suddenly no longer a corner of a surrealist hell but simply a shabby room.
“Thank you,” the old man muttered. “Counselor, would you please see if there is a small, round tin hi the bathroom cabinet?”
The bathtub was full of split kindling and the cabinet shelves loaded with the smaller household staples—salt, spices, and such. There was an unmarked tin, which Mundin pried open. Small, gummy-looking pills and an unmistakable odor: Yen pox. He sighed and brought the old man the opened tin.
The old man took it without comment and slowly swallowed five of the opium pills. When he spoke his voice was almost steady. “Thank you, Counselor. And let this be a lesson to you: Never get a belly-habit. It’s weakening, humiliating. You said you had an appointment with Norma? She should have been here hours ago. Naturally—the neighborhood— I’m worried. I’m Harry Ryan. Member of the S.E.C. Bar, and other things. Of course——” he stared at the tin of yen pox— “I’m retired from practice.”
Mundin coughed. “I believe Miss Lavin mentioned you. As I understand it, you would be attorney of record and I’d do the legwork in some sort of stockholder’s suit, if we work it
out.” He hesitated and went on to tell the old man about the arrest of the boy.
“Yes,” Ryan said matter-of-factly. “I told her it was a mistake to go to Mr. Dworcas. It is inconceivable that Green, Charlesworth would not get wind of it.” i
“Green, Charlesworth?” Willie Choate had once mentioned the name, in some connection or other. “Are they the investment house?”
“They are. They are the investment house, just as you say.”
“But she told me her business was connected with G.M.L. Homes. How does Green, Charlesworth get into it?”
Ryan chewed another opium pill and swallowed it. “Mr. Mundin,” he said, “you will find that Green, Charlesworth do not get into things. They already are in everything. Raw materials, belt-transport patents, real estate, insurance, plant financing—you name it, Mundin.”
“Even ward politics in the 27th?”
“Even that. But don’t let it disturb you too greatly, Mundin, It is probable that Green, Charlesworth are only casually interested hi the Lavins at the present time. They no doubt wish to keep posted on what Don and Norma are up to, but I do not expect they will intervene.”
“You think that?”
Ryan explained heavily, “I have to think that.” The door knocker rattled and the old man heaved himself from the overstaffed chair, waving Mundin aside. “I’ll get it,” he said. “Ah—this was just a temporary indisposition. You needn’t mention it to——” He jerked his chin at the door.
He came back into the living room with Norma and Don Lavin.
“Hello, Mundin,” she said tonelessly, her voice leaden with depression. “I see you found us. Have you eaten?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Then excuse us while we have something. The Caddy broke down five times on the way out here. I’m beat.”
She and her brother morosely opened a couple of self-heating cans of goulash. They spooned them down in silence.