"No, Mr. Rumpp. The phones are dead."
"For Randal Tiberius Rumpp, the phones are never dead." He strode into his inner office, grabbed up the cellular phone, and gave it a flick. The antenna snaked out to its full length.
He dialed a local number as he stepped out of his wet pants, then laid them on the double-R monogrammed rug to dry.
"Office of Grimspoon ouse, Attorneys at Law," a professional voice said.
"Put Dunbar Grimspoon on. This is Randal Rumpp."
"Go ahead, Rumppster," said a firm male voice a moment later.
"I've moved up in the world. I'm called the Rumppmeister now."
"I'll write it down."
"Dun, I got a legal hypothetical for you."
"Shoot."
"Let's say the bank forecloses on the Rumpp Tower."
"Yes?"
"Let's say before they can serve papers, the building goes away."
"What exactly do you mean by 'goes way?' "
"It no longer occupies the block."
"Randal, what are you up to now?"
"It's a hypothetical," Randal Rumpp said quickly. "The Tower's not there. So. Who owns the air rights?"
"Air rights? Since the building itself is the collateral, I guess you do. The lot, too."
Randal Rumpp's brisk voice brightened. "Are you sure?"
"Not without a week's worth of intense research at six hundred per hour."
"If I made use of the lot and air rights, it would hold up in court, wouldn't it?"
"Maybe. Probably. It sounds like a precedent-setter. I think we could litigate it in your favor. Hypothetically."
"Thanks, Dun. You're a classy guy."
"I'll send you a bill."
Smiling, Randal Rumpp hit the disconnect. "Send me a bill. What a kidder." He dialed again.
"Office of Der Skumm s, Architects."
"Randal Rumpp here. Let me speak with Derr."
A flavorful Swedish voice came on the line, saying, "Der Rumppster! How's der boy?"
"Couldn't be better. Listen. I may have a deal for you."
"Dot so?"
"Don't sound so surprised. The stories that I'm on the ropes are highly exaggerated, Der. Tell you why I called. I want you to draw up plans for another Rumpp Tower."
"Anodder Rumpp Tower?"
"Only bigger, bolder, and brassier than the original."
"Dot vill take some doing."
"But you can do it, right?"
"It will have to be der same height as der first."
"No. Higher. I want it twenty stories higher."
"But der zoning laws . . ."
"Screw the Zoning Commission. With the deal I'm gonna offer them, they'll be happy to let me build this thing in Central Park."
"Okay. Dis I can do. But first, where do you intend to build dis new Tower of yours?"
As Randal Rumpp leaned into the telephone, his voice deepened and grew conspiratorial.
"Exactly," he said, "where the old one was."
"Vas?"
"Er, I hate to break this to you, Der, since you built the first one, but we lost it."
"Der bank foreclose?"
"They tried to. They were too late. I beat them to the punch."
"I do not understand what happen to my magnificent building. My pride and joy?"
"It suffered a business reversal," said Randal Rumpp unconcernedly. He reached down to test the crotch of his discarded pants. Definitely drying. He wiped his fingers on his tie.
"You are talking riddles. Speak plain English."