Peter Spiegelman - Death's little helpers

She shrugged. “I don’t really know. Maybe he got a little too fond of one of his own theories, or maybe he didn’t pay enough attention to new data; maybe he was a little slow to reevaluate certain companiesI don’t know. Like I said, it’s as much art as science, and you don’t always get it right; no one does. At the end of the day, Greg was less wrong than a lot of people. The guy is a fucking genius, March.”

I nodded. “Genius isn’t always easy to be around.”

Pratt smiled ruefully. “You got that right,” she said. “But Greg can surprise you. He can be… nice. You don’t expect it from him, but he can be incredibly generous and loyal.”

I looked at her and raised an eyebrow. Pratt shook her head, and her hair tumbled free of the clip and fell around her shoulders. She didn’t seem to mind.

“I’d been at Pace a year and a half when my mom got sick. Breast cancer- very aggressive. It’s just the two of us, and she’s out on the Island, and I didn’t know what the fuck to do. I go into Greg’s office one morning and tell him about it- and that I might need some time off- and he just looks at me and nods and basically doesn’t say shit. Great, I think, real supportive. One more thing to worry about.

“That afternoon, he calls me back in his office. He hands me a slip of paper with an address and a time on it. Tells me my mom has an appointment the next day at Sloan-Kettering with the top breast cancer guy, and he’s made arrangements with Bobby Loyette about us using the corporate apartment if my mom needs to stay in the city for treatments.

“I was blown away. I just sat there, not knowing what to say. Greg didn’t seem to expect me to say anything. Hell, he barely looked at me the whole time he was telling me this stuff. I sat there, and he sent some e-mails, and after a while we started talking about Intel’s valuation.” Pratt picked up the bottle again and looked at it, but put it down without drinking.

“He’s fucked up, like a lot of people are.” She paused and stared at me. I wasn’t going to argue with her. “But he’s a decent guy too.” Pratt leaned back and worked her fingers through her thick hair. Her clip fell to the ground and she stooped to get it. She steadied herself on the table on the way up and laughed. “Christ, four beers on an empty stomach. You got me shitfaced.”

I nodded. “You want dinner? My treat.”

She looked at me and straightened her glasses. “And then what, you going to take advantage of me?”

I shook my head and laughed. “No more than I have already.” I signaled the waitress, who brought two menus.

“Why not? You married or something?” Pratt blushed even as she asked the question.

I smiled. “Or something.”

She nodded and looked over the menu.

The waitress came again and Pratt ordered a burger and a Coke; I had the vegetarian chili. Pratt was quiet, and I thought that embarrassment and worry might be setting in. I didn’t want her dwelling on it.

“I heard he had a lively meeting with Turpin the day he left,” I said.

Pratt smiled. “Lively- that’s a nice term for it. Any more lively, and we would’ve called the cops.”

“Any idea what it was about?”

“The same old thing, I’m sure: the lawsuits. That’s what Greg and Tampon always argue about.”

“Tampon?”

Pratt colored again. “That’s what Greg calls him. It’s kind of caught on.”

“I can imagine. What about the lawsuits do they argue over?”

“Fight or flight, Greg calls it: fight it out in court or settle. Greg is all about fighting.”

“And Turpin wants to settle?”

Pratt nodded. “That’s what they brought him in to do.”

“Who are they?”

“Management. They brought Tampon in five, six months ago-to clear the air, they said- so we could focus on other things. Apparently that meant settle the cases quickly, quietly, and as cheaply as possible.”

“Greg disagrees with that strategy?”

Pratt snorted. “It makes him crazy. He says they aren’t giving him an opportunity to clear his name and that they’re selling him out. Greg is not the most trusting guy in the world to begin with, and this plays right into his paranoia.”

“I gather he doesn’t have that market cornered, though.”

Pratt gave me a quizzical look. “You mean Turpin?”

I nodded. “If his attitude is anything to go by, Pace management seems pretty nervous about Danes.”

“Between the arguments and the rumors about another look-see from the regulators- and now with Greg being gone- yeah, I guess they’re tense.”

“Should they be?”

“About Greg turning on them or something?” I nodded, and Pratt’s brow furrowed. “I’d like to say no, but the truth is- I don’t know. Greg is paranoid, and he never, ever leaves his ass uncovered. He’s definitely not a guy I would play musical chairs with- not without a lot of padding. But… I don’t know.”

The waitress brought our food. Pratt took a desperate swallow of her Coke and a bite of her burger. Juice ran down her chin, and I handed her a napkin. I took a spoonful of vegetable chili. It tasted like old succotash, soaked in Tabasco. I pushed it aside.

“You’ve said Greg can be difficult”- Pratt snorted-“is there anyone he was particularly difficult with? Anyone holding a grudge?”

She shook her head. “He’s difficult with everyone.” She chewed some more of her burger. “But someone holding a grudge? Nobody jumps out, unless you count the people suing him.”

“Who else is he close to, besides you?”

Pratt wiped her hands on her napkin and pulled her hair back and was quiet for a while. She shook her head slowly.

“I don’t really know. I know he loves his kid- Billy- as much as he loves anybody. He may not know what to make of him half the time, but he loves him. Besides that?” She shrugged.

“No other family?”

“There’s the ex, if she counts. They still talk- about the kid, mostly- and she still pisses him off. And I think he has a brother or stepbrother who got himself in trouble a few years back- somewhere out in Jersey, I think. A reporter picked up on it, and it was five minutes of embarrassment for Greg.”

“How about his friends?”

“There’s some guy he goes to hear music with, up in the country someplace. I don’t know his name, though.” She thought some more and hesitated. “And… there was Sovitch.”

“Linda Sovitch? From Market Minds?” Pratt nodded. “They’re friends?”

“They used to be- when Greg was on the show all the time. I’m not sure how friendly they are now; he wasn’t happy when the guest spots dried up. But I know Greg had lunch with her- right before his last session with Tampon.”

I finished my ginger ale and crunched on an ice cube and thought. “Did he ever talk about leaving?” I asked.

“Leaving Pace? We talked about it a lot- especially lately- about going out on our own, setting up a research company. One of the things that drove him nuts about settling the lawsuits was he thought it would screw that up- screw up his reputation and his earning power. Screw them up more, I guess.”

“You would do it- go into business with him?”

She nodded vigorously. “For an equity stake? You bet I would. Nothing like that is coming my way at Pace.”

“You’re not in line for Greg’s job if he walks?”

Pratt made a derisive sound. “Are you kidding? I’m fine to keep the seat warm while Greg’s away, but when it comes time to fill his spot permanently, they’ll bring a name in from outside- assuming they want to keep a research department at all. If Greg leaves, I’ve got to make plans, one way or another.” She fiddled with the pile of slaw on her plate and looked at me. She wasn’t as light-headed now, and worry was coming back into her eyes. I didn’t have long.