Chapter Fourteen:
‘Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
—FIGARO
THE POSSIBILITY OF an extensive check on my off-dimension background worried me, but not so much that I forgot my manners. J.R. had saved my skin in the alley fight, and, throughout the police grilling, a part of my mind had been searching for a way to repay him. As we left the police station, I thought I had the answer.
“Say, J.R.,” I said, turning to him on the steps, “about that business you want to start . . . how much capital would you need to get started?”
I could see his neck stiffening as I spoke. “I told you before, Mr. Skeeve, I won’t take a reward for saving your life.”
“Who said anything about a reward? I’m talking about investing in your operation and taking a share of the profits.” That one stopped him in his tracks.
“You’d do that?”
“Why not? I’m a businessman and always try to keep an eye open for new ventures to back. The trickiest thing is finding trustworthy principals to manage the investments. In your case, you’ve already proved to me that you’re trustworthy. So how much would you need for this plan of yours?”
The street vendor thought for a few moments.
“Even with backing I’d want to start small and build. Figuring that. . . yeah. I think about five thousand in gold would start things off right.”
“Oh,” I said, intelligently. I wasn’t about to question his figures, but the start-up cost was higher than I had expected. I only had a couple thousand with me, and most of that was going to cover Edvick’s services and the hotel bill. So much for a grand gesture!