Sol Stein - Other people

I had no alternative but to go up to her and apologize for the place and the circumstance.

"I didn't know," I said.

She said, "Hello," and nothing else.

Two sticks standing.

One of the doors off the anteroom opened, and somebody beckoned one of the messengers. The kid went in. I wondered how long we'd have to wait. It was five minutes after ten.

When the second door opened, it was for us. The man waving a hand at us was a tall very thin sallow-cheeked man of at least sixty-five or seventy. He was too old to be named after Herbert Hoover. "I'm Hoover," he said, pointing to himself. "Who's the lady?"

"My client. Miss Francine Widmer."

"Pleased to meetcha," said Hoover, offering us two straight-backed wooden chairs near his desk. There was a little American flag on a stand on his desk. Behind his desk hung a faintly tinted picture of Franklin D. Roosevelt.

"Where's your gorilla?" I asked,

"I talked to Jason. He says you're supposed to be a real hotshot in Westchester. I need a lawyer up there sometimes."

I said nothing.

"That was a question," Hoover said.

"My client list is full, Mr. Hoover."

He looked at me as if I was crazy to turn down his bribe, looked at Francine, who was examining the fingernails of her left hand, shrugged his skeletal shoulders, got up, and stick-walked to the door. "Be right back," he said.

I wondered what he was up to.

I glanced over at Francine. Her face was sad and beautiful. She reminded me of the Modigliani. Of someone I once knew.

I coughed just enough to attract her attention. "Remember," I said, "the main point is to get out of the lease."

"Thank you," she said, "for telling me what the main point is."

Reach over and touch her hand? She might as well have been on another planet. Was that how I seemed to her now?

Hoover came clacking back into the room. Heel taps.

"You," he said to Francine, "are the lady who got raped in the second floor west in number twelve, right?"

Francine did not answer him. Would she look to me to answer?

Hoover glanced at me. "Is she?"

I nodded.

He glanced back at Francine.

"All right." He turned to me. "The only time I see tenants, they want the same thing. How much is it worth to you to get out of that lease?"

"How much is it worth to you, Mr. Hoover, not to have me talk to my friends in White Plains about your unsafe buildings?"

"I got no violations. I don't work that way."

"You'll have to get rid of Jason after you pay his trespassing fine."

"I ain't paying no fines for nobody."

"You know he won't pay. He'll skip."

"Mr. Thomassy, finding a super who don't steal, don't drink all day, and doesn't need to call an eighteen-dollar-an-hour plumber or electrician for every little thing that comes up is very difficult. Jason is a good boy. He tells me…" Hoover looked over at Francine. "He tells me this fellow Koslak invited him for what he thought was a free ride. He wasn't interested in no one who wasn't interested. Everybody knows he's got all the ass — excuse me, miss — he wants in those three buildings."

I could see the color rise in Francine's face. She looked angry and exceptionally beautiful. I wanted to say to her Be patient, Hoover is the way the world is, we need to deal with him together.

"Mr. Hoover," I said, hoping my voice didn't betray what I felt, "do you think your tenants approve of your superintendent's activities?"

"They love it."

"Do their husbands?"

"What're you getting at, mister?"

"If this trespassing matter gets into the papers, Mr. Hoover, you'll have to get rid of Jason. Or we can arrange for Miss Widmer to move, and leave Jason to you."

"Look, Mr. Thomassy. I ain't an unreasonable sort of person. I'll let her out of her lease for an even thousand."

"That's outrageous!" said Francine.

I touched her hand, only for a second. I was afraid she would get up and leave.

"It's less than six months' rent," said Hoover.

"Mr. Hoover," I said, "I have no intention of my client paying anything to get out of an apartment that's proved dangerous for her to live in. Moreover—" I leaned forward across the desk— "I expect you to pay for Miss Widmer's moving expenses."

"You got some nerve." The broken capillaries in his face were suddenly visible.

"Francine," I said, "would you mind stepping out into the waiting room for a minute or two? There's something I'd like to discuss with Mr. Hoover in private."

I wanted her to stay, but the fact of her leaving the room heightened the value of what I was about to try.

The door closed behind her. I hoped she would be okay in that waiting room full of drifters.

"Mr. Hoover," I said, but he cut me off.

"You just listen a minute," he said. "You think you got me by the short hairs? I've never let anyone out of a lease without a settlement and I'm not about to start now. Pay for her moving? You gotta be nuts, mister."

I remained silent.

"Say something!"

"I was waiting for you to calm down a bit. Mr. Hoover, I don't care how you make a living, what other businesses you own, like this one, or the massage parlor downstairs, or the street-floor store, you can do anything you please."

"You're damn right, mister."

I thought I heard him mumble something else.

"I didn't hear you," I said.

He thought just a second whether he should repeat what he mumbled, then he said, "I could have you taken care of, busybody."

"It'd cost you more than a thousand."

"I got people on my payroll."

"Whoever you got would have to stand in a long line of people who have threatened me, Mr. Hoover, I just want you to dial this number."

I wrote the Westchester number down on his pad.

"I'm not making no phone calls for nobody."

"That's the Westchester District Attorney's office, Mr. Hoover. His name is Gary Cunham. Just ask for him. Say George Thomassy is calling."

"You're bluffing."

"I don't bluff. That's why I asked you to place the call."

"What's he got to do with anything?"

"Mr. Cunham has a special interest in Miss Widmer's case. What he doesn't know is that the building she was raped in is part of the Miltmac smut empire. He's sworn to keep that kind of thing out of Westchester."

"We don't operate anything like that in Westchester."

"You just convince Mr. Gunham of that. Maybe he won't like the idea of the connection to your New York operations. Try him. I'll pay for the call."

I plunked two quarters down on his desk.

"You think you're smart, don'tcha?" said Hoover. "You want me to tear up that lease without any payment for the loss we'll suffer? You're crazy."

"You won't suffer any loss. She's paid through the month. There hasn't been an empty apartment in that price range up there in years. Your rental income won't skip a beat. You were just trying to steal a thousand from her and I'm stopping you, that's all."

"I'm not going to pay for her moving expenses!"

"Just to show you I'm not unreasonable," I said, "I'll settle for the cancellation if you'll sign these papers now."

I handed him the short document I had brought with me.

He skimmed it quickly. "I've got to show this to my lawyer."

"Then call Gunham."

"I don't make a move without my lawyer."

"It's in simple English, Mr. Hoover. You've seen that kind of release before."

"I ain't never released nobody, not in forty years."

"There's a time to begin anything. Want to borrow my pen?"

"What about the trespass?"

"You really want to keep Jason?"

"You're damned right."

"I'll talk to the lady. I'll use my best efforts. If you sign. I'll also need your check for the deposit on the lease."

"You're a real son of a bitch, mister."