Page 65 - The Myth and the Moment

Evening

hardwoods. Not incriminating, except in taste. Drawers locked?
Nope. Pens, envelopes, old utility bills, the detritus of any
household’s accounting. An address book: yes, the very volume in
which I signed away my life’s work. Ah, can the bathos, Evangelino.
Now, everything back the way it was. Fingerprints? Who cares? I’m
an honored guest here, right? Right. But where are the papers relating
to his business? Does he have an office somewhere else? At least a
real sofa in here: check under the cushions. Ah, a nickel: I won’t leave
empty-handed!
The closet. Why not? Probably just old shoes and—hello! A heavy-
duty industrial-strength solid steel filing cabinet. Four drawers,
labeled. Taxes. Projects Pending. Projects Completed. Treatments.
Yeah. Treatments. Let me just have a look at those. Locked!
Damnation! Others: all locked. That is a serious-looking mechanism;
needs two keys to open. What the hell does he have in there, the
Pentagon’s war plans? This isn’t a safe; couldn’t be jewels or gold
coins or negotiable securities. Phil would have all his rake-offs in a
safe-deposit box in a respectable bank somewhere. Maybe
Switzerland. But this is it, the source of his Midas touch. Intellectual
capital, invested in the right places at the right time. Ideas for TV
series, scripts for schlock exploitation movies, scenarios for beer
commercials.
My God! That’s what he did! Scooped up everything I was working
on, didn’t even look at it, threw it in the Treatments drawer, intends
to doctor it up later and sell it as his own.
Urnk!
Open, damn you! Open! Calm down, Nate: you want to dislocate
your shoulder? You don’t have the strength to wrench this open.
Kolpak must have the keys on him. Spares? Hidden in here? I’ve
already searched the desk. God! What to do? What’s that? Car
coming up the hill, shifting down. Quick, close the closet door.
Chimney lacking, Sanity Clause has no egress but his ingress; and
that’s a good guess. Zip! Out onto the deck, clean as a whistle, swift
as a cat, quiet as a mouse. Car doors closing. Should I pretend to be
asleep in the chair? Can’t: the note’s in my shoe, damn it! Well, just
be casual, eh? The old Hollywood character lounging lizard-like
poolside. And here he comes around the side of the house. Trying to
sneak up on me?

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