Бретт Холлидей - Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 46, No. 9, September 1982

The lecturer, a Professor Hardy, was your basic academic type, Eddie decided. The beard, the tweed jacket, the pipe, and the soft voice. He pranced around in front of the furcoated dames and tuxedoed guys. How could these people be so interested in an old Greek play about some creep who wasted his father and married his mother? Besides, Eddie had more important things on his mind. Mr. Antonio had called a meeting for the next morning, and nobody knew why.

“Edward,” Helen said as they finally left the lecture hall, “isn’t Oedipus Rex marvelous? The characterization, the poetry...”

“The only good part was where the dame stretched her neck.”

“Oh, Edward,” Helen tittered, brushing his slate-gray hair from his forehead. “I wish you could learn to appreciate some of the finer things of life.”

Stepping off the elevator onto the eighteenth floor that belonged to Unicorn Enterprises, Eddie felt the familiar uneasiness. He hated the smiling secretaries, the walls lined with computers, the parade of three-piece suits. He missed the back room on 49th St. and the guys with their racing forms and poker chips. He longed for the old excitement of swigging liquor from brown bags while trying to stay one step ahead of the cops.

Listening to Richard Gregory’s report on the take (now called “quarterly income”), Eddie was more aware that Mr. Antonio was getting sicker. For months the old man had been growing thinner, and now after every sentence the boss had to take a deep breath from an ever-present oxygen tank. Eddie was bothered more though by Mr. Antonio’s comments about the business. What did he mean by “weak cash flow strategy,” “inflationary hedges,” and “retrenchment”?

Eddie was sick too — sick of young guys like Gregory. He seemed to always get Mr. A’s attention with his taperecord of voice and armful of charts.

“Thank you for the encouraging report on our last quarter, Gregory,” wheezed the boss. “You’ve made me feel better.”

“I appreciate your confidence in my ability to handle the corporation’s management,” said the youthful figure in the blue-flannel suit.

Mr. Antonio took a breath. “Now about the grand jury probe into our affairs.”

Eddie beamed. “I took care of that, boss.”

“I know,” frowned the old man, “but my idea of an efficient business transaction doesn’t involve having the prosecutor found in a hotel room with a shiv stuck between his ribs.”

“You said we had to do something.”

“In another week,” Gregory interrupted, “we would have met the hotshot’s price, and the probe would have quietly disappeared. Now every law enforcement agency in the Big Apple is out to get the prosecutor’s killer.”

“Don’t worry,” said Eddie, “I contracted the best — The Iceman.”

Mr. Antonio slowly turned toward him. “You never learned we can’t operate the way we used to. Our organization is big business.”

“You and me go way back, Mr. A., even before WWII,” Eddie said. “My way of handling problems was always good enough in the past.”

“The past is dead.” Mr. Antonio picked up his portable respirator. “The doctors don’t give me long, and I want to spend what time I’ve got left in the Florida sunshine. The real reason I called you two together is to tell you I’m stepping down. Starting next Monday, Richard, you’ll be running Unicorn Enterprises.”

Eddie was flabbergasted. “But...”

“And Eddie,” continued the old man, “I want you to know you’ll be provided for, too. It’s time two old horses got out of the race.”

“Me retire! Mr. A., I got a lot of good years left. I can whip anybody it the business.”

“That’s just it. Force isn’t the answer anymore. It might have worked down on 49th St. when we were muscling our way uptown, but now we play by different rules.”

Eddie started to protest, but the old man waved his hand and departed. The young executive stood across from him, fidgeting with computer sheets. “Say, Eddie, didn’t I see you at the lecture last night. Frankly, I thought Hardy’s discussion of Macbeth last week was much more astute.”

“Cut the small talk, Gregory. I’m not taking this lying down.”

“What does that mean?”

Eddie left him, the question still on his face.

Helen put down her shakespeare the minute he walked in and fixed him a double bourbon. Eddie like his liquor strong. As usual she was quite interested in his day, making him repeat everything that happened.

“Look on the bright side,” she said when he finished. “You’ve survived in a business with a high mortality rate more years than you could expect. We could travel, visit Europe, the Orient — see all the things we’ve read about. We certainly have all the money we need.”

“The money’s not important. It’s never been. It’s not right. Guys like Gregory haven’t paid their dues. You don’t get your knuckles bruised typing reports in business school.”

“Edward, it’s like Tennyson says: ‘The old order changeth yielding place to new.’ Accept the change.”

“Not without a fight. Tomorrow I’m going to see Louis. He owes me.”

The next time Eddie saw Louis Antonio his former boss was laid out in the most expensive casket money could buy. His lungs hadn’t held out long enough to breathe the Miami air. Eddie tried to corner Richard Gregory, but the new president of Unicorn Enterprises successfully dodged him, hiding behind the mountain of tears and flowers.

Finally after the last carnation had been tossed into the grave, Eddie caught up with his youthful adversary.

“Gregory, we’ve got to talk.”

“There’s nothing more to be said. You’re through.” The slender man in the cashmere topcoat turned his back to leave.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” Eddie retaliated, spinning Gregory around and pinning him to the limousine. “I can cause you a lot of trouble with what I know. You’ll only get rid of me over my dead body.”

His dilated eyes scanning the shocked entourage, Gregory slowly straightened his tie. “That, old timer, can be arranged.”

The following week was frustrating for Eddie. Nobody at Unicorn would talk to him. A new man had taken over his office, and even the computers had no record of his existence. He was persona non grata.

Eddie was almost grateful when Helen led him off to the University Lecture Series. But, despite his troubles, he found it difficult to concentrate on Professor Hardy, who treated the lecture platform like a ballet stage.

“So in the final analysis,” concluded the lecturer, “it’s difficult for one to determine Montresor’s exact motivation in getting his best friend drunk on the infamous cask of amontillado, leading him downstairs, and immuring him in his wine cellar.”

“Right now,” whispered Eddie to Helen, “I’d like to have some of that wine myself.”

“Ssssh!” she said.

“Next week will be my last lecture. Please read Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls .”

The bell almost tolled for Eddie later that night. After dropping Helen at the front door, Eddie went back, locked the gate, and headed toward the house. In the dry grass ahead he heard a snap. Instinctively he lunged behind a marble statue. His face buried in Helen’s geraniums, he heard a distinct sound from his past — the unmistakeable chatter of a chopper.

Then silence.

After a while Eddie rose. In front of him the ancient gladiator still stood, a pockmarked mass of marble.

It took him an hour to calm Helen down.

Then the telephone rang. In hurried whispers the Tampa Truck confirmed what Eddie had just learned first-hand — a contract was out on him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was paying for it.