“Yes, sir, how may I help you?”
“Personnel, please.”
“May I ask in regard to what?”
“I’m calling to inquire about employment with your firm.”
“Then it’s Mr. Bergeron you’d be needing. Please hold. I’ll see if Mr. Bergeron’s in his office.”
He was, but it took us both a while to find out.
I was calling from a pay phone facing a Frostop on St. Charles. Icy mugs of root beer and some of the best hamburgers in town inside. One of your more fascinating processions outside.
A white guy minced past in denim miniskirt and pink tights through which you could see whorls of leg hair. Baby-blue sleeveless blouse above, breasts like those castanet-size finger cymbals Indian dancers use. His Adam’s apple stuck out a lot further. He kept brushing at the blond wig and catching himself just before he fell off three-inch heels. Arms suddenly out at his sides like a tightrope walker’s.
A young woman in high-collared white blouse, oversize spectacles, and a dress that swept fastfood wrappers from the sidewalk as she passed. Walking beside a pure Marlon Brando type in T-shirt, jeans, and scowl, a foot shorter than she was.
Unshaven older guy in a baseball cap with belly arranged just so over the Texas-shaped buckle of his belt, belly and torso encased like sausage in a black T-shirt reading Love a Trucker-Or Do Without.
“Hello? Are you still there? Please hold, I’m trying to track down Mr. Bergeron.”
At least she didn’t switch me over to Hawaiian music or an arrangement of “Mack the Knife” for strings. Just a dead line with ghost voices far back, unintelligible, within it.
A thirtyish woman with bleach-blonde hair, bright red lipstick, tight cashmere sweater and full skirt came by. The Marilyn Monroe look, I suppose.
When he came on, he was breathing hard. Maybe he spent every lunch hour working out. Maybe when the receptionist tracked him down he took a shot at her. Or maybe he was just fat off other people’s work. The world was what you made it. Sure it was.
“Bergeron here. Please. To whom am I speaking?” I told him.
“And you’re interested in employment, my secretary says. In what capacity, if I might ask?”
I sketched my background in paper serving, skip tracing, bodyguard and security work. Most of the last was pure invention, but set up by the rest, which was true, it sounded good.
“Well,” he said. “Ordinarily we wouldn’t consider accepting an application over the phone. I’m sure you understand. But as it turns out, we find ourselves in need of extra help tonight-unexpectedly. A good and regular customer. Else we would have declined. And you do seem to be the kind of experienced professional we’re always looking for.”
“Had a feeling this might turn out to be a good day,” I said.
“First name spelled L-O-U-I-S?”
I corrected him, then went ahead and spelled my last name too.
“And you’re currently employed …?”
“I’m not-though not for lack of trying, I assure you. Generally I work freelance. Bodyguard work, collections, like I told you. And I walk a lot of paper for Boudleaux amp; Associates. But things have been getting thin for a while now.”
“Frankie DeNoux?”
“Yeah.”
“I know him. Everybody knows him.”
“Seems like it.”
“Your training?”
“Military.”
No reason to tell him I’d gone from civilian to MP back to civilian in a hop and a skip. More skip than hop, come to think of it.
“Address?”
“Wouldn’t do you much good. I move around a lot.” I had my fish, I could slack off now.
“I understand. Some place you can be reached, then? Since the law requires it.”
I gave him Verne’s address.
“Social Security number?”
“Let’s see …” I tried a couple of three-digit sequences. “Sorry. Can’t remember it just this minute.”
“No problem. Happens all the time. Just bring it in when you come by for your check.”
“Then I have work?”
“Are you free from seven to around twelve tonight?”
“I can be.”
“Then you have work. Pays four dollars an hour, four hours guaranteed, probably run between five and six. You’ll need to be at Esplanade and Broad by seven at the latest. Report to Sam Brown. Big guy, hair and beard completely white. You can’t miss him. He’s front man on this, and whatever he says, goes. Checks will be ready to pick up here by four tomorrow afternoon. We can cash your check on the premises, if you want. Sam likes you, puts in a good word, we’ll be using you again.
“Thank you for getting in touch with us, Mr. Griffin. Any questions?”
“Only one. What am I going to be doing?”
“Of course. I did fail to mention that, didn’t I. You’ll be working crowd control.”