“Can I offer you a drink, Mr. Daniels?” Beeker said, clearly reassured that he had, indeed, admitted the right man to his employer’s quarters.
“Well, if you got a couple fingers of brandy in that wet bar I see over there, I wouldn’t say no … And it’s ‘Charlie.’ I’m only ‘Mr. Daniels’ to my lawyers-mine and other people’s. “
“Very good, Mr… . Charlie.
“I’ll take care of that, Beeker,” Phule said, tossing his towel back into the bedroom and closing the door. “I want you to run down to the main ballroom and keep an eye on things.”
“Yeah!” the Legionnaire on communications put in. “Tell ‘em I’ll be down for my fitting as soon as someone gets up here to relieve me.”
The butler cocked a chilly eyebrow at him.
“…please,” the Legionnaire added hastily.
“Very good, sir.”
“Why don’t you just go along with him now … Do-Wop, isn’t it?” the commander suggested from the bar. “I can cover the console while I chat with Charlie, here.”
“Thanks, Captain,” the Legionnaire responded, uncoiling from his chair and slipping his knife into a pocket before following the butler out the door.
“That’s a relief,” Daniels commented, turning his head and craning his neck to see if Do-Wop was out of hearing. “For a while, I thought we were going to have our chat with one of your boys sharpening his knife at me. That would kinds give you an edge, if you’ll pardon the expression. Assuming you invited me up here to talk a little business, that is.”
“If that had occurred to me, I might have had him stay.” Phule smiled, passing his guest a snifter of warm brandy. “I do appreciate your stopping by, though; Charlie. Normally I would have come to you, but I pretty much have my hands full trying to reorganize the company, and I didn’t want to wait too long before talking with you.”