Jonathan Franzen - The Twenty-Seventh City - A Novel

Their eyes met. Buzz felt a laugh drawn out of him like a splinter.

It was after Probst had left the Wismer complex and turned south again, it was in the very middle of the long day he’d cut out for himself, when his breakfast was spent on the morning and remained only as metabolic by-products and a faint sourness of juice in his mouth — it was then that the weekend’s burden of facts and conjectures, possibilities and risen consciousness became too much for him.

He experienced a dullness. The low midwinter sun on the land ahead of him was blindingly white, unbelievably bright, and the wet and snowy streets were a catalogue of nonsense. Chunks of every size and every shape obliterated the simple lines underneath. In the brilliance, at traffic lights, he couldn’t see which of the three lights was shining, the red, the yellow, or the green. He slowed for all of them, coasting through the intersections.

And it was then, as his eyes sought relief in the rearview mirror, in the darker, cooler scenes behind him, that he began to suspect that he was being tailed. The car was a big old Chevy, a white one. He thought he remembered having seen it earlier, in Webster Park, and now it was a hundred feet behind him on Hanley Road. The windshield was a rough-edged bar of reflected sunlight.

The car followed him into Clayton, and when he made a right turn onto Maryland Avenue the car did too. He pulled into the Straub’s parking lot to buy some fruit for lunch, and the car drove on past, its occupants still masked by the glare.

In Jim Hutchinson’s living room he performed another stealthy check for bugs and got a green light. Jim returned from his study, where he’d taken a telephone call.

“I’m aware,” he said, “that the General finds it suspicious that the Warriors haven’t bagged me yet. On the other hand, they shoot real bullets. Have you ever been shot at? It’s not an experience I’m eager to repeat. For your information, the helicopter shot out these windows to your left, because we generally eat dinner in the front room. Contrary to what you’ve probably been told, these windows were not dark. The curtains in the breakfast room were drawn, however, and they’re also screened by trees and the house behind us. As far as the car bomb goes, I’m not sure. There are indications it detonated unexpectedly, an hour ahead of schedule. I was going out at eleven that morning. The grenade at our transmitter found its mark, and was not aimed at soft targets. Since then, I’ve taken more precautions. The police have also been helpful. Apparently the Warriors have changed their tactics. That’s fine with me. I’d prefer not to get gunned down on the street just to set the General’s mind at rest. It’s also true I’ve changed my mind about Jammu. There’s nothing to prove by stubbornness. I’ve met with her several times personally, and I can assure you that she’s not a terrorist.”

“How do you know?”

“Aren’t you the one who’s been arguing against it all fall? And anyway, I have a sense. I was a reporter for twenty years. Jammu isn’t completely straight with me — she has no reason to be — but she’s not that crooked, either. Not as crooked as Norris, for instance.”

“Is it true he’s buying the Globe?”

“He’d like to. Whether anyone will let him, I don’t know.”

“If he’s trying to, why hasn’t it been reported?”

Jim thought for a moment. “No comment. Let’s just say professional courtesy. At this stage, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Anyway, I’m sure the Post will run a story by the end of the week.”

“What about the Hammaker stock deal?”

“Now, that. That you’ll hear about on the news — nationally, I’d guess. It’s a good example of one of the ways Jammu isn’t playing straight. Asha Hammaker, née Parvati Asha Umeshwari Nandaksachandra, is not just another Asian glamour girl. For one thing, she’s forty-one years old—”

“Wow.” Probst’s head wagged. He would have guessed twenty-five.

“She has three advanced degrees, Berkeley, London School, and somewhere Indian, she spent five years working for the Tatas, rose to the equivalent of vice president, and then in 1975 underwent a political and perhaps religious conversion, completely unexplained, spent two years in jail, worked for three years in Bombay as a marxist agitator, and then, most surprising of all, embarked on yet another career, as a professional stage actress, at which again she was highly successful. Maybe you didn’t hear how young Hammaker met her?”

“I didn’t think anyone knew.”

“She was filming in Mexico, I think her first sizable film role. Hammaker was vacationing down there. This was February or March. April at the latest.” Jim paused, as if waiting for Probst to see something.

At length he did. “Jammu wasn’t invited here until July. In April she wouldn’t have known she was coming.”

“Couldn’t have known,” Jim amended. “Bill O’Connell could have stayed on as chief for another fourteen months, or Jergensen could have replaced him. She couldn’t have known she’d be coming here.”

“Unless Asha had something to do with—”

“With both the retirement and the replacement fight? Impossible. She hadn’t even moved to St. Louis, and she wasn’t a Hammaker yet.”

“Jim, why don’t you fill the General in on some of this?”

“It’s pointless. You know he isn’t rational. And there are certain coincidences he could exploit if he knew about them. Evidently Jammu and Asha were well acquainted in Bombay. How do I know? I asked Jammu. If I told the General, the facts would show that not only have two extraordinarily talented women from Bombay shown up in our unremarkable St. Louis within three months of each other, but they also happen to be friends. Clearly Jammu expressed interest in the job because Asha was on her way to St. Louis already, and it’s a fact of immigration that groups tend to cluster in one city. Jammu’s no exception. But the coincidence remains, and I don’t care to nurture the General’s illusions any more than I can help it.”

“So what about the stock?”

“I think Jammu and Asha engineered the deal. As far as Jammu goes, it’s a power play. You help rescue a city financially, you get to ask some favors in return, and it will be interesting to see in the next few months just what kind of favors she asks. She also has a much-expanded payroll to meet, and she’s very unwilling to lay off all the men she’s added in the last three months. As far as the Hammakers go, this won’t bankrupt them. I imagine she looks at it this way: she and Sidney are the only heirs to all those assets, there aren’t any children in the offing — although if Sidney doesn’t know her age he may not be aware of this — so what’s the point in hanging on to assets that are irrelevant to their present lifestyle? They cut it loose, send it to the city, get all the public credit, plus they have something valuable to add to their already-monstrous marketing arsenal: Hammaker is such an institution, it’s even owned by the city it’s made in. They lose none of their control of the corporation, and if Asha’s half as smart as she looks I bet they can take those shares back whenever they need to. Which will give new meaning to the term Indian giver. For now, the city will be putting the whole lump up immediately as collateral for a loan arranged by—”

“Chuck Meisner,” Probst said.

“The Felix Rohatyn of St. Louis. Is what he wants to be. Chuck’s OK, though. I think he’s overextended, but that’s partly because the city is overextended. I take it you’ve seen him recently?”

“This morning. It didn’t even occur to me to ask about the Hammaker thing. He’s not well, you know.”