arranged to
protect me from my own worst urges. The result was a trust fund of truly
draconian complexity. For over twenty years, the trust had repelled all
attempts to break it. A succession of greedy relatives, annoyed creditors and
one remarkably resolute ex-wife had squandered bales of cash, only to be left
on the outside looking in.
- "What
the fuck does that have to do with anything?"
"Hey,
hey," Marty said. "Don't get upset. I didn't mean anything. It's just
that you tend to act unilaterally."
"Unilaterally?
I act unilaterally?''
"You're
just not a good team player, Leo."
"Exactly
what team would that be, Marty?"
Cordon ignored
the question. "Just keep me informed. Okay, Leo? No surprises. I've got
all I can handle. Okay?"
"I'll do
the best I can," I lied.
He stood,
placing his hands flat on the desk in front of him.
"I best
get downstairs and see about Lance."
Chapter 2
He was a mound.
A kimono-clad Kilimanjaro rising ro-tundly from the surrounding plains of
burgundy silk. Across his middle, a silver serving tray lent a flat working
surface to what otherwise was all slippery slope.
He worked his
massive jaws slowly, his eyes closed, his brow knit as he chewed and finally
swallowed the last morsel of sallsage from the silver plate before him. With a
sigh, he opened his eyes, looking around the room as if returning from a dream
state. Satisfied as to his surroundings, he made a flicking motion with his
fingers, seemingly shooing imaginary flies from the piled plates.
From the far
side of the bed, his manservant stepped forward and removed this morning's
repast, lifting it carefully over the mountainous middle and setting it on the
rolling cart along the far wall. Finished, he turned back to his employer.
"Well, sir?" Sir Geoffrey Miles pursed his small lips and wagged his
head.
"A
reasonable effort at sallcisse minuit, I suppose. Ambitious and agreeable, but
lacking . . ." He wiggled his fingers again as he searched for a word.
Unable to locate the proper reproach, he suddenly turned his attention to me
instead.
"Of
course, I apologize for the delay, Mr. Waterman," he began. "I had
planned on your joining me for breakfast."
Propped up in the
bed by a platoon of pillows, he now folded his weU-manicured hands over his
stomach and ran his clear blue eyes over the length of me.
"My fault,"
I offered. "I was late."
He wiggled his
three lower chins in agreement.
"I take
great pride in the regularity of my indulgences. Breakfast at ten, lunch at
two, dinner precisely at eight. Precision lends a certain substance to that
which might otherwise be mundane."
When I didn't
disagree, he went on. 'The playwright Luigi Pirandello once noted that while a
man with consistent habits can be said to have character, a man with
ever-shifting habits can merely be said to be a character. Do you agree,
sir?"
I reckoned how
I did and waited for him to get to the point. His stock rose with me when he
got right to it.
"I have a
delicate and demanding matter with which I believe you can be of service, Mr.
Waterman."
"What
matter is that?" I asked.
"The
matter of various people staying in this hotel, whose very lives I believe to
be in mortal danger." "I don't do bodyguard work."
He pursed his
rosebud hps. "Really? And, pray tell, why not?"
"Because
when you take on a bodyguard job, you're saying you're willing to get hurt in
the client's place. Which I'm not. I mean, I'll take on physical risk as an
occupational hazard, that's part of the business, but not as an
assignment."
"Indeed?"
"It's like
saying the client's life and well-being are somehow more important than my own.
Could be I'm provincial, but I just don't see it that way. The way I figure it,
my life is every bit as valuable as anybody else's."
"What a
wonderfully American notion."
"Besides
that," I went on, "anybody who wants to kill anybody else bad enough
can't be stopped."
"You will
be pleased, then, to know that guarding a body is not what I had
protect me from my own worst urges. The result was a trust fund of truly
draconian complexity. For over twenty years, the trust had repelled all
attempts to break it. A succession of greedy relatives, annoyed creditors and
one remarkably resolute ex-wife had squandered bales of cash, only to be left
on the outside looking in.
- "What
the fuck does that have to do with anything?"
"Hey,
hey," Marty said. "Don't get upset. I didn't mean anything. It's just
that you tend to act unilaterally."
"Unilaterally?
I act unilaterally?''
"You're
just not a good team player, Leo."
"Exactly
what team would that be, Marty?"
Cordon ignored
the question. "Just keep me informed. Okay, Leo? No surprises. I've got
all I can handle. Okay?"
"I'll do
the best I can," I lied.
He stood,
placing his hands flat on the desk in front of him.
"I best
get downstairs and see about Lance."
Chapter 2
He was a mound.
A kimono-clad Kilimanjaro rising ro-tundly from the surrounding plains of
burgundy silk. Across his middle, a silver serving tray lent a flat working
surface to what otherwise was all slippery slope.
He worked his
massive jaws slowly, his eyes closed, his brow knit as he chewed and finally
swallowed the last morsel of sallsage from the silver plate before him. With a
sigh, he opened his eyes, looking around the room as if returning from a dream
state. Satisfied as to his surroundings, he made a flicking motion with his
fingers, seemingly shooing imaginary flies from the piled plates.
From the far
side of the bed, his manservant stepped forward and removed this morning's
repast, lifting it carefully over the mountainous middle and setting it on the
rolling cart along the far wall. Finished, he turned back to his employer.
"Well, sir?" Sir Geoffrey Miles pursed his small lips and wagged his
head.
"A
reasonable effort at sallcisse minuit, I suppose. Ambitious and agreeable, but
lacking . . ." He wiggled his fingers again as he searched for a word.
Unable to locate the proper reproach, he suddenly turned his attention to me
instead.
"Of
course, I apologize for the delay, Mr. Waterman," he began. "I had
planned on your joining me for breakfast."
Propped up in the
bed by a platoon of pillows, he now folded his weU-manicured hands over his
stomach and ran his clear blue eyes over the length of me.
"My fault,"
I offered. "I was late."
He wiggled his
three lower chins in agreement.
"I take
great pride in the regularity of my indulgences. Breakfast at ten, lunch at
two, dinner precisely at eight. Precision lends a certain substance to that
which might otherwise be mundane."
When I didn't
disagree, he went on. 'The playwright Luigi Pirandello once noted that while a
man with consistent habits can be said to have character, a man with
ever-shifting habits can merely be said to be a character. Do you agree,
sir?"
I reckoned how
I did and waited for him to get to the point. His stock rose with me when he
got right to it.
"I have a
delicate and demanding matter with which I believe you can be of service, Mr.
Waterman."
"What
matter is that?" I asked.
"The
matter of various people staying in this hotel, whose very lives I believe to
be in mortal danger." "I don't do bodyguard work."
He pursed his
rosebud hps. "Really? And, pray tell, why not?"
"Because
when you take on a bodyguard job, you're saying you're willing to get hurt in
the client's place. Which I'm not. I mean, I'll take on physical risk as an
occupational hazard, that's part of the business, but not as an
assignment."
"Indeed?"
"It's like
saying the client's life and well-being are somehow more important than my own.
Could be I'm provincial, but I just don't see it that way. The way I figure it,
my life is every bit as valuable as anybody else's."
"What a
wonderfully American notion."
"Besides
that," I went on, "anybody who wants to kill anybody else bad enough
can't be stopped."
"You will
be pleased, then, to know that guarding a body is not what I had