a low conversation. Then she covered the phone with her hand.
`May I say what it’s in connection with?’
`I’m a friend,’ I said.
She resumed the phone call and then directed me to an elevator. I had to go to reception on the seventeenth floor. I got in the elevator and tapped the button. Stood there while it carried me up.
The seventeenth floor looked even more like a gentleman’s club than the entrance foyer had. It was carpeted and panelled and dim. Full of glowing antiques and old pictures. As I waded across the thick pile a door opened and a suit stepped out to meet me. Shook my hand and fussed me back into a little anteroom. He introduced himself as some sort of a manager and we sat down.
`So how may I help you?’ he asked.
`I’m looking for Paul Hubble,’ I said.
`May I know why?’
`He’s an old friend,’ I said. `I remembered him saying he works here, so I thought I’d look him up while I’m passing through.’
The guy in the suit nodded. Dropped his gaze.
`Thing is, you see,’ he said, `Mr Hubble doesn’t work here any more. We had to let him go, I’m afraid, about eighteen months ago.’
I just nodded blankly. Then I sat there in the clubby little office and looked at the guy in the suit and waited. A bit of silence might set him talking. If I asked him questions straight out, he might clam up. He might go all confidential, like lawyers do. But I could see he was a chatty type of a guy. A lot of those managers are. They love to impress the hell out of you, given the chance. So I sat tight and waited. Then the guy started apologizing to me because I was Hubble’s friend.
`No fault of his own, you understand,’ he said. `He did an excellent job, but it was in a field we moved out of. A strategic business decision, very unfortunate for the people concerned, but there you are.’
I nodded at him like I understood.
`I haven’t been in touch for a long time,’ I said. `I didn’t know. I didn’t even really know what he did here.’
I smiled at him. Tried to look amiable and ignorant. Didn’t take much effort, in a bank. I gave him my best receptive look. Guaranteed to set a
chatty guy talking. It had worked for me plenty of times before.
`He was part of our retail operation,’ the guy said. `We closed it down.’
I looked enquiringly at him.
`Retail?’ I said.
`Over-the-counter banking,’ he said. `You know,
cash, cheques, loans, personal customers.’
`And you closed that down?’ I said. `Why?’
`Too expensive,’ he said. `Big overhead, small
margin. It had to go.’
`And Hubble was a part of that?’ I asked him. He nodded.
`Mr Hubble was our currency manager,’ he said. `It was an important position. He was very good.’
`So what was his exact role?’ I asked him.
The guy didn’t know how to explain it. Didn’t know where to start. He made a couple of attempts and gave them up.
`Do you understand cash?’ he said.
`I’ve got some,’ I said. `I don’t know if I understand it, exactly.’
He got to his feet and gave me a fussy gesture. Wanted me to join him at the window. We peered
out together at the people on the street, seventeen floors down. He pointed at a guy in a suit, hurrying along the sidewalk.
`Take that gentleman,’ he said. `Let’s make a few guesses, shall we? Probably lives in the outer suburbs, maybe has a vacation cabin somewhere, two big mortgages, two cars, half a dozen mutual funds, pension provision, some blue chip stock, college plans, five or six credit cards, store cards, charge cards. Net worth about a half-million, shall
we say?’
`OK,’ I said.
`But how much cash does he have?’ the guy asked me.
`No idea,’ I said.
`Probably about fifty dollars,’ he said. `About fifty dollars in a leather billfold which cost him a hundred and fifty dollars.’
I looked at him. I wasn’t following his drift. The guy changed gear. Became very patient with me.