“If you don’t want it, Eunice,” her employer said gently, “You can step aside and let the Rare Blood Club have it.”
“Uh . . . Mr. Salomon, is that correct?”
“Yes, Eunice. But money is nice to have, especially when you don’t have it. Your husband might be annoyed if you turned down a million dollars.”
“Uh—” Mrs. Branca shut up.
“Take care of it, Jake. While thinking about how to buy a warm body. And how to get Boyle here and get him whatever permission he needs to do surgery in this country. And so forth. And tell—no, I’ll tell her. Miss MacIntosh!”
“Yes, Mr. Smith?” came a voice from the bed console.
“Get your team in; I want to go to bed.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll tell Dr. Garcia.”
Jake stood up. “Good day, Johann. You’re a crazy fool.”
“Probably. But I do have fun with my money.”
“So you do. Eunice, may I run you home?”
“Oh, no, sir, thank you. My Gadabout is in. the basement.”
“Eunice,” said her boss, “can’t you see that the old goat wants to take you home? So be gracious. One of my guards will take your Gadabout home.”
“Uh. . . thank you, Mr. Salomon. I accept. Get a good night’s sleep, Boss.” They started to leave.
“Wait, Eunice,” Smith commanded. “Hold that pose.
Jake, pipe those gams! Eunice, that’s obsolete slang meaning that you have pretty legs.”
“So you have told me before, sir—and so my husband often tells me. Boss you’re a dirty old man.”
He cackled. “So I am, my dear. . . and have been since I was six, I’m happy to say.”
2
Mr. Salomon helped her into her cloak, rode down with her to the basement, waved his guards aside and handed her into his car. Shotgun locked them in, got in by driver-guard and locked that compartment. As she sat down Mrs. Branca said, “Oh, how big! Mr. Salomon, I knew a Rolls was roomy—but I’ve never been in one before.”
“A Rolls only by courtesy, my dear—body by Skoda, power plant by Imperial Atomics, then Rolls-Royce pretties it and backs it with their reputation and service. You should have seen a Rolls fifty years ago, before gasoline engines were outlawed. There was a dream car!”
“This one is dreamy enough. Why, my little Gadabout would fit inside this compartment.”
A voice from the ceiling said, “Orders, sir?”
Mr. Salomon touched a switch. “One moment, Rockford.” He lifted his hand. “Where do you live, Eunice? Or the coordinates of wherever you want to go?”
“Oh. I’ll go home. North one one eight, west thirty-seven, then up to level nineteen—though I doubt that this enormous car will fit into the vehicle lift.”
“If not, Rocky and his partner will escort you up the passenger lift and to your door.”
“That’s nice. Joe doesn’t want me to ride passenger lifts by myself.”
“Joe is right. So we’ll deliver you like a courier letter.
Eunice, are you in a hurry?”
“Me? Joe expects me when I get there, Mr. Smith’s working hours being so irregular now. Today I’m quite early.”
“Good.” Mr. Salomon again touched the intercom switch. “Rockford, we’re gong to kill some time. Uh, Mrs. Branca, what zone for those coordinates? Eighteen something?”
“Nineteen-B, sir.”
“Find a cruising circle near nineteen-B; I’ll give you coordinates later.”
“Very good, sir.”
Salomon went on to Eunice. “This compartment is soundproof unless I thumb this switch; they can talk to me but can’t hear us. Which is good as I want to discuss things with you and make phone calls about that insurance policy.”
“Oh! Surely that was a joke?”
“Joke, eh? Mrs. Branca, I have been working for Johann Smith for twenty-six years, the last fifteen with his affairs as my sole practice. Today he made me dc-facto chairman of his industrial empire. Yet if I failed to carry out his orders about that insurance policy—tomorrow I would be out of a job.”
“Oh, surely not! He depends on you.”
“He depends on me as long as he can depend on me and not one minute longer. That policy must be written tonight.
I thought you had quit fretting when you learned that you could step aside for the Rare Blood Club?”