Sara Paretsky - Fire Sale

He curled his hands in Peppy’s fur and spoke to her, not to me. “It’s funny, they have such a big vision for the company, how to make it an international giant, but the only people they really recognize as-as human-are themselves. They can’t see that Josie is a person, and her family, and all the people who work in South Chicago. If someone wasn’t born a Bysen, they don’t count. If they are Bysens, it doesn’t matter what they do, because they’re part of the family. Like Grandma, she is truly against abortion in every way, she gives tons of money to antiabortion groups, but when Candy, when my sister, got pregnant, Grandma whisked her off to a clinic-they were mad at Candy, but Grandma got her an abortion that they’d never let Josie have, not that Josie’s pregnant.” He turned beet red. “We-we did listen to what you said, about-well, being careful-but it’s just an example of what I mean about how my family sees the world.”

“Your grandfather wants to talk to you. If we did it in my office, would you come?”

He worked furiously on Peppy’s neck. “I guess. I guess.”

So the day before Thanksgiving, much against Lotty’s wishes, I went to my office for a meeting with Bysen and his retinue. For once, I had enough people in my office to make me glad of my huge space. Billy’s mother was there with his grandparents, Uncle Roger, and Linus Rankin, the family lawyer. Jacqui’s husband, Uncle Gary, had also shown up. Of course, Mildred was in attendance, gold portfolio in hand.

My team included Morrell and Amy Blount. Mr. Contreras insisted on being present, with the dogs-“just in case those Bysens try anything on you in broad daylight; I wouldn’t put nothing past them.” Marcena’s parents also attended, curious to see the people who had nearly killed their daughter. I’d had to borrow five chairs from my warehouse mate’s studio so everyone could sit down.

In the middle, stubbornly sitting next to Peppy after giving his grandmother a hug, was Billy. He wore an old flannel work shirt and blue jeans, setting himself apart deliberately from his family’s gray business suits.

When Billy’s grandmother said she was sure Linus could work something out with me, Mr. Contreras bristled at once. “Your son darn near killed my girl here. You think you can come in here and wave your big fat wallet around and ‘work something out’ with her? Like what? Give her back her health? Give the Loves back their daughter’s skin? Give that poor sick girl on Cookie-Vicki-on Ms. Warshawski’s basketball team her daddy back? What’s going through your head?”

Mrs. Bysen frowned at him, sadly, as if at one of her grandchildren who was fighting at mealtime. “I’ve never involved myself in my husband’s business, but I know he works with hundreds of small companies. We both admire Miss Warshawski’s courage and her tenacity; we’re sorry our son was so-well, did what he did. His behavior doesn’t reflect our values, I assure you. I think if my husband started giving some of his investigative work to Miss Warshawski, she’d find herself amply rewarded as her business gained in importance.”

“And in return?” I asked politely.

“Oh, in return you’d get rid of all those copies of that silly tape. We don’t want that out in public, it doesn’t help anyone.”

“And I can probably get it suppressed as evidence, if William ever comes to trial at all,” Linus Rankin added helpfully.

I rolled up my sweater sleeves and looked thoughtfully at my purple flesh. I had let Morrell photograph me, although I’d hated it, hated the sense of exposure. Now I didn’t feel any embarrassment, didn’t say anything, just let Grandma and Rankin look at my swollen, discolored skin.

“She doesn’t need that kind of help,” Billy said. “She isn’t about money, she-Grandma, if you really knew her, you’d know, even though she’s not a Christian, she lives her life by all the values you taught me: she’s honest, she looks after her friends, she-she’s so full of courage-”

“Billy.” I laughed in embarrassment. “That’s a beautiful testimonial. I hope I live long enough to deserve a quarter of it. Mrs. Bysen, here’s the problem: that recording doesn’t belong to me, it belongs to Marcena Love. I can’t speak for her. But I can make a little suggestion to you and your husband. You weren’t involved in William’s exploits. Stay away from them now. Even if Jacqui is right, that Buffalo Bill told her to bring Frank Zamar at Fly the Flag into line-that it was her test to see if she was worthy of the By-Smart management team-he didn’t specifically order anyone to set the plant on fire and kill Mr. Zamar, or to kill Bron Czernin. At least, I don’t think he did, did he?”

I gave Bysen and Linus Rankin my most brilliant smile. “So here’s my modest proposal. Don’t fight Sandra Czernin’s workers’ comp claim for Bron’s death. It should be the full $250,000 payout: that would take care of April Czernin’s medical bills, and maybe give her a nest egg for college. Second, get Rose Dorrado a job in your operation at the same wage she was making with Frank Zamar. She’s an experienced supervisor. Hire her full-time, so she gets whatever measly health benefits your full-time workers get. And, finally, fund the basketball program down at Bertha Palmer High School, that $55,000 I came asking you for a month ago.”

“Oh, yes, cut a dollar bill into forty thousand pieces, or whatever fool idea you had, hnnh?” Bysen said, some of his bluster returning. “And for that truck driver, even though he was stepping out on his marriage vows, I’m supposed to cut another bill into a quarter-million pieces. That’s like saying I should give people money for sins-”

“Now, dear.” May Irene put a reproving hand on her husband’s knee. “And what would you do for us, Miss Warshawski, if we did that for you?”

“I’d support your statement that your son and daughter-in-law acted behind your back, that you weren’t a party to all that bloodshed on the South Side.”

“That’s nothing, young woman!” Linus Rankin said. “That’s ridiculous!”

I leaned back in my chair again. “It’s the deal on the table. Take it or leave it, I don’t care, but I’m not going to dicker over it.”

“It doesn’t matter, Miss War-sha-sky,” Billy burst out, his cheeks flaming. “Because I’ll pay April’s bills if they fight Bron’s work comp claim, and I’ll put the money up for the basketball program. I’d have to sell some stock, and I need my trustees’ permission to do that, but if they won’t allow it, well, I guess a bank would lend me money, because they know I’ll get my shares when I’m twenty-seven. I guess I can pay interest that long.”

“That will make a wonderful headline.” I smiled at him. “‘Bysen Heir Borrows Money to Meet Grandpa’s Moral Obligations.’ You all go home and think it over. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving-you can call me on Monday with your decision, after the long weekend.”

Uncle Gary thought he would prove he was the tough son by arguing with me, but I said, “Good-bye, Gary. I need a rest. You go on now, all of you.”

The Bysen party filed out, muttering to each other. I heard Buffalo Bill snap at Gary, “Jacqui was bad news from day one. Claimed to be a Christian, hnnh, I guess if you’d been in Eden, you’d have listened to the snake, too, because-”

May Irene cut him off. “We have enough worries now, dear, let’s cherish what’s left of our family.”

My team stayed a little longer, hashing over the meeting, trying to guess which way the Bysens would jump. Finally, Morrell and the Loves left to visit Marcena. Amy was driving down to St. Louis to spend Thanksgiving with her family. I got up on my wobbly legs and hobbled out with Mr. Contreras and the dogs, heading to my own home for the first time in a week. We were going up to Evanston tomorrow, to have Thanksgiving with Lotty at Max Loewenthal’s house, but this afternoon I was glad to fall into my own bed.