The telephone buzzed. I drummed my fingers on the desk. It buzzed again then, "Hello, Simpson's Skin Tanning and Preservation for the Deceased." A man's voice tired and bored.
"Hello, I'm Armando DeHavilland, proprietor of Nouveau Vogue, an art congregational in New Garden." There really was such a person and place. I took a bit of artistic license and gave him a German accent. "I'd like to know where I should send Mr. Adrian's Asia collection. He purchased it some months ago, and it only now cleared Authority red tape."
"I'm sorry, any outstanding bills should be sent to his executor…"
"Dear me. This is paid for, Mr. Adrian bought it himself, for a friend, I believe. I heard about his sad demise and the circumstances surrounding it, and since he is now unable to appreciate the pieces, I'd like to know where to send them. They're paid for."
"Well, you could send it to his uncle, Theodore Demarus. He has apartments at 1100 Galaxy Tower, 1000 Main Street North-New Garden. Mr. Demarus has been acting as executor of the will. Since Mr. Adrian cannot see to it himself."
"Thank you, you've been a great help." I looked across the desk at Elmo. We were in Grey's office again. I crossed another name off my checklist. I had already looked up Victor Davis' place of employment. A Speedy Prescriptions did exist, and they did indeed have record of a Victor Davis in their employ. He had disappeared without picking up his last check about two years ago. An interesting, and not wholly unexpected twist was that Speedy Prescriptions was a subsidiary of King Industries.
I called the operator and asked for the main office of King Industries. Another buzzing phone. Another secretary. This one a woman with a voluptuous voice.
"Hello, King Industries."
"Hello, I'd like to speak to Mr. King."
"Who's calling please?"
"Owen Grey." I was going to try to light a fire.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Grey. I can put you in touch with one of his personal secretaries."
"I want to speak to Mr. King."
"Nobody speaks to Mr. King without an appointment." Silence. "What firm do you represent?"
"I represent Regenerics. It's the latest thing going. I'd really like to speak to him."
"Mr. King does not handle calls without an appointment, Mr. Grey."
"Funny," I said. "I don't think so. Just tell him I called. I'll get an appointment. Just tell him I'll call again."
"Very well, Mr. Grey." She hung up. She had sounded so curvy and officious, I could have listened to her all day-just smile and count the syllables.
I looked at Elmo. His eyes were round and his face held disbelief.
"Don't worry, Fatso." I gave him my confident look, then sat very still for a while tossing the dice in my mind. I picked up the phone, dialed Authority.
"Authority, Crimdiv. Sergeant Yanik speaking." This fellow sounded angry.
"Inspector Willieboy, please." Silence.
A pause while Yanik matched fake names to real ones. "Just a sec." I was put on hold.
"Yeah, Crimdiv." Willieboy sounded all business.
"Inspector… I just can't say Inspector Willieboy with a straight face. I'll have to stick to Willieboy. This is Wildclown. I've got my man."
"Don't say anything on the phone. It's not clean."
"Which phone, exactly. Yours or mine?"
He paused. "Where have you been? You slipped us again."
"My driver knows his job better than yours."
"Can't argue that. Where can I meet you, I'd like to use another venue."
"I'll decide that later. It's my turn to call a few shots. Just don't travel too far from your phone."
"You bastard…" But I cut him off. I smiled. That felt good. I had half a mind to call him back, just to hang up on him again.
Now, the Twelve Stars Group. That was how they were listed in the phone book. They actually had an ad in the yellow pages. "JOIN US FOR