Phantom Point
by Gary Inbinder
Chapter 32: Wrap Up
conclusion
Morning sunshine streamed in through Max’s bedroom window. Peg Rooney sat on the edge of the bed, her fair skin glowing with a thin film of perspiration. Max eased up behind her, placed a gold chain around her throat and fastened the clasp.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
She held the amethyst and peridot pendant in her hand and studied it for a moment. Then she let it hang between her firm, rounded breasts. “It’s lovely, darling. You’re so sweet to think of me.”
“I saw it in a shop in Los Angeles and thought of you immediately.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed the nape of her neck.
Peg got up and walked over to a full-length mirror to view her present from a different perspective. She was naked except for her lace-and-ribbon trimmed linen drawers. Max admired her heart-shaped buttocks clearly visible through the diaphanous material.
Peg turned to Max and smiled. “You’ve changed, somehow. Maybe it’s from the California sunshine or that bump on your head. I don’t know, but I like it.”
Max came to her, kissed her lips and stroked her cheek. “How have I changed?”
“You’re awfully sweet and thoughtful. That ain’t like you, at least not most times.”
“Maybe I learned something on this case. I might not be as hard-boiled as people think. But don’t say nothing. It’d be bad for business.” He smiled and toyed with the curls hanging down over her forehead.
“Don’t worry, lover. Your secret’s safe with me.” She glanced wistfully at the rumpled bedclothes. “Do you have to go now?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. Joey’s waiting for me at the office. Then I have a meeting with an important client. You can hang around, if you’ve got nothing better to do. I’ll take you to dinner tonight.”
“I got to get ready for a matinee. Will you pick me up at the theater after the last show?”
“Sure, baby. And tomorrow’s Sunday. How about I take you to Lincoln Park for a row on the lagoon?”
“You have changed. You were kind of rough with me before you left town.” She gazed up at him with gleaming eyes.
“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that, kid.”
“That’s all right, Max.” She sighed before adding, “I guess we better get dressed.” She rested her head against his chest.
“I guess so. I don’t want to be late for my appointment. Business before pleasure.”
* * *
Max waited in the same richly furnished room where, two weeks earlier, he had met Cassandra Van Dorn. He did not have to wait long. Jasper Morton entered and approached Max with an extended hand and an ingratiating smile. Max rose to greet him.
“Welcome back to Chicago, Mr. Niemand. I have looked forward to meeting you.” Tall, lean, well-groomed and well-tailored, Morton was the sort of man who moved up the ladder of success by kissing the ass above him and kicking the head below.
“The feeling’s mutual, Mr. Morton.” Max gripped the smooth, moist hand and gave it a firm shake.
“Please take a seat, Mr. Niemand.” Morton pointed to a comfortable armchair. Max sat and Morton took a chair facing his guest. He noticed the cuts and bruises on Max’s face. “I hope you don’t mind my asking. Were you in an accident?”
“No accident. My face ran into a guy’s fist. A hazard of my profession. Anyway, the guy’s dead, legally. He was shot while running away from a posse.”
Morton raised an eyebrow at the reference to Western justice before saying, “Serves him right. Would you care for a whiskey before we get down to business?”
“No, thanks.”
“Are you sure? We have excellent scotch. Scotch is your drink, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t know my drinking habits were a matter of public record.”
Morton laughed nervously, like clearing his throat. “Word gets around. After all, you are something of a legend in Chicago.”
“If you say so.”
Morton opened his jacket and began fidgeting with his platinum and diamond watch fob. “Mr. and Miss Van Dorn regret they couldn’t be here to thank you personally for your splendid performance. In their absence, they’ve authorized me to pay you in full including the agreed-upon bonus. I trust this will be satisfactory.” Morton reached into his inner jacket pocket, produced a check and handed it to Max.
Max examined the check and deposited it in his wallet. “This is satisfactory, thank you. And please give my condolences to the Van Dorns.”
“Yes, of course. We are all pleased that Mr. Hugo was able to return home and reconcile with his father, and you played an important role in making that possible.” Morton regarded Max for a moment with a self-conscious smile that was wearing thin. Then he said, “Well, Mr. Niemand, I suppose that concludes our business.”
“Excuse me but, if you don’t mind, I do have a few questions.”
“Oh, yes, of course. I’ll answer, if I can.” Morton’s forced smile faded.
“Who will be running the Van Dorn enterprises?”
“Miss Van Dorn, with my assistance and the advice of others.”
“I see. So did the late Mr. Van Dorn change his will?”
“Yes, he executed a final codicil shortly before he passed away, though I don’t see how this concerns you.”
“It doesn’t, really. However, when I agreed to take this job, Miss Van Dorn implied that Hugo’s inheritance was conditioned upon his taking over the business. I assume that’s changed?”
“Yes, it has. Miss Van Dorn has taken his place in that regard.”
“I see. So in effect, she’s replaced Hugo as the heir to the Van Dorn fortune.”
“Not entirely, of course, but she is the primary beneficiary.”
“Hugo is an accomplished artist. Was some provision made for him to continue in his chosen profession?”
Morton stopped fiddling with his watch fob. He took out a handkerchief, wiped his sweaty hands and forced another smile. “That was one of the changes in the new will. Mr. Hugo will return to Paris to continue his artistic endeavors and will be paid a generous annuity for the remainder of his life.”
“That’s fine. Thanks. Just one more question. Did Judge Moran help draw up the new codicil?”
“Well... uh... I don’t know for certain. Judge Moran is a trusted adviser and friend of the family—”
“That’s all right, pal,” Max broke in. “The judge recommended me for this job, so I was curious. We can leave it at that.” Max got up and shook Morton’s cold, damp hand.
On his way out to the car, Max thought: The old man’s dead, everyone appears to be satisfied, and I got a couple of nice fat checks to put in the bank. Case closed.
* * *
Max walked around the block before entering Otto’s Tavern. The bar on North Avenue was Max’s hang-out, Otto and the regulars knew he was back in town; he was expected. His failure to make an appearance could start tongues wagging, stirring up more unwanted speculation.
Max didn’t want to talk about California, the case, or any related matters. Otto wouldn’t press him for information, but his pals Jimmy Dolan, an old beat cop, and Gus Merkel, a sports reporter, tended to be more inquisitive and chatty. Max didn’t like being evasive among friends but, if necessary, he’d clam up.
Thankfully, the barroom was quiet; Jimmy and Gus were nowhere in sight. Max walked up to the long oak bar and placed his shoe on the brass foot railing. Otto, a brawny middle-aged man with the face of an old street fighter, spotted Max and came over.
“Welcome home, Max. The guys have been asking about you. How was sunny California?”
“Not bad, pal. I’ve come back healthy, for the most part, wealthy and wise. Give me a shot and a beer.”
Otto noticed the battered face, but said nothing. “Right. It’s good to see you again.”
Otto grabbed a bottle and glasses from the back counter, then went to the pump to draw a beer.
While waiting, Max stared at his reflection in the mirror that lined the wall behind the counter. He tried to force a smile with little success.
Otto returned with the drinks. Max downed his shot and swallowed some of the beer chaser.
“You want to talk about it?” Otto asked.
“Not now, pal.” Max looked down at his drink, shook his head and said, “Otto, sometimes you step around shit only to find yourself in quicksand.”
“I wonder why that is.”
“You can see shit coming, and smell it, too. But quicksand isn’t so obvious.” Max faced Otto with a wry grin.
“That’s life, I guess.” Otto wiped the bar with a towel. A moment later he stopped wiping and asked, “You got plans for tonight?”
“Yeah; I’m taking Peg out to dinner after her last show.”
“Peg’s a nice girl. She was asking about you all the time you were gone.”
“She’s a swell kid.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Say, Otto, you’re a happily married guy, right?”
“After twenty years and five kids, I’d better be.”
“Do you think you can love someone you don’t trust?”
Otto wrinkled his brow as if in deep thought before answering. “I dunno, Max. Everyone lies, sometime or other, but in a marriage you gotta have trust.”
Max shrugged and went back to his drink without saying anything.
After a moment Otto said, “You’ll want a cab. Looks like it’s gonna rain.”
“I noticed. Funny, it was raining when I left Los Angeles.”
“You don’t say? I heard it hardly ever rains out there, especially not in summer.”
“It doesn’t, but like someone said, the gods must have ordered it up special, just for me.” Max grinned and took another swig of his beer.
Otto nodded toward a couple of cabbies at a table near the street window. “Nick and Joe are taking a break. You want me let them know you need a ride?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Otto whistled to the cabbies, a signal that they had a fare. The bartender pointed to Max, and Nick replied with a high-sign.
Max finished his beer and checked his watch. “Guess I’ll be going,” he said and reached into his pocket for change.
Otto waved him off. “This one’s on the house. A welcome home present.”
“Thanks, pal. Say hi to the guys for me. I’ll be around.”
Otto returned to wiping the bar. Max walked over to the cabbies.
“Hey, Max,” Nick said. “Where to?”
“The Follies, Nick. Make it snappy and there’ll be a nice tip for you.”
Nick grinned. “Sure thing, boss.”
Max followed the cabby out to the street. Bright electric lamps lit North Avenue for as far as the eye could see. A welter of horse-drawn and motorized vehicles moved slowly up and down the avenue. A street car clanged and rumbled through the congested traffic. A lightning flash streaked over Lake Michigan followed by a thunderclap that startled the horses. A storm was coming that would break the heat wave.
Copyright © 2022 by Gary Inbinder
