Indefinite Renewal Page 25

  “He’d also like to purchase thirty thousand shares of DFA Aeronautics,” which Daniel had just dropped, “and another ten thousand of Stafford Lumber,” which Adams had assumed would be cut soon. “Plus, there’s that new company, TopX Hydraulics—Mr. d’Montan wants to . . . .”

  And so it went. Nick cut two of the stocks Adams thought were deadweight, and added two more that were making a small profit, in order to avoid suspicion—the rest he added from Daniel’s cut list and the broker’s own thoughts of worthless shares, and removed any that Daniel expected to do well. Ten minutes later he had completely rearranged Francisco’ portfolio of assets, and the broker was having a hard time maintaining his composure in the face of such obvious financial suicide.

  “And that’s about it,” Nick wrapped up, as Adams stood up and wandered around behind the desk, sinking into his chair without a backward glance. “Did you get all of that?”

  “Hm?” The older man seemed slightly dazed, and it took a second for him to turn and answer coherently. “Oh, yes, I got it.” Now he turned to face Nick again, and all traces of his false amiability were gone, replaced by business-sense and a genuine concern, for his own reputation if nothing else.

  “Mr. Harcourt—Jonathan—is Francisco sure about this? Some of these purchases I can understand, but most of them . . .” he removed his glasses and cleaned them absently on a handkerchief before replacing them on his nose. “Well, it’s his money, of course, but does he know what he’s doing? I would advise against almost all of the purchases he just requested.”

  Nick leaned forward, and Adams automatically moved to meet him over the desk. “Personally, Mr. Adams,” Nick admitted quietly, “I agree that he may not be using the best of judgment at the moment.” He straightened up and shrugged. “But what can I do? He’s the boss, and it’s his money.”

  “Yes, of course,” Adams agreed, a more normal expression falling over his features. Nick scanned him lightly and had to suppress a laugh; the thought that had cheered the other man up so was that, no matter what happens, I can honestly say I warned him, and none of it will be my fault. Plus, I get my commission regardless.

  “Well, thank you for your help, Mr. Adams,” Nick announced, rising from the chair and moving slowly toward the door. “But I must be going now.” I need to get back near real people who actually feel things, he clarified to himself as the older man stood and sauntered over to the door with him.

  “Yes, of course,” Adams gushed, now back to his normal self. “Tell Mr. d’Montan that I said hello, and tell him that if he needs anything else, to let me know.”

  “No, I don’t think I will,” Nick replied, reaching out and grasping the door with one hand. “In fact, I don’t think either of us will mention this to him at all.” He pulled the door upon with an easy tug and turned to regard the stockbroker again, his deep brown eyes locking on the other man’s confused bespectacled gaze. “We’ll just both forget that I’ve even been here, won’t we, Mr. Adams?”

  Adams nodded slowly, eyes never leaving Nick’s own, and Nick stepped back out into the hall.

  “But you will take care of those stock purchases,” he reminded the older man. “You’ll simply think d’Montan himself told you what to do.” Adams nodded again, and Nick smiled and pulled the door shut behind him.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Adams,” he whispered to himself as he walked away, and this time he allowed himself to smile. When Francisco found out what had happened, he would blame the slimy little stockbroker, and the man would possibly be ruined. Nick’s smile turned a little cold as he remembered the emotionless landscape of Adams’ mind. It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. Either of them.

  The lobby was empty when he reached it, and he waited for the elevator in silence, hands clenching and unclenching with stored adrenaline.

  He had done it! Of course, it would take a few weeks to see the effects, but Francisco should be out of the race soon, and Daniel over the top. And he had managed it, by himself! He had to force himself not to skip into the elevator when it arrived, and pushed the button with a shaking hand.

  The fact that he had just reached into another man’s mind and taken what he had wanted, then made the other forget he had ever been there, hadn’t really dawned on him yet. When it did, he would probably start shaking violently, as it finally sank in that he could now make anyone do anything he wanted, and get away with it—he could probably shoot someone in broad daylight and make everyone who had seen it forget that it had happened, and get off scott-free! But for the moment that was only a vague idea, and all he knew was that he had accomplished the second part of his plan without a hitch.

  The little lights flashed LOBBY and he stepped out from the little compartment, into the glass-lined entranceway, heading toward the beckoning revolving door without a second glance. Things were definitely proceeding apace, he admitted as the circular door gave way to his efforts, and released him back into the outer world.

  Now he just had deal with Daniel.

  That thought still scared him a bit, but he was too full of energy to deal with it now, and focused instead on the way the sun warmed his arms and face, and how the cool breeze beckoned him toward the beach. For now it was time to play some basketball or maybe some football, to find some friends and unwind, to release the energy his sudden success had built up inside him. He’d have a few weeks to recover before he would have to deal with his father.

  And then . . . depending on how things went with Daniel, he might not have to worry about anything else.

  Ever again.

  But that was later—for now he glanced around and then headed for the El, already trying to remember who had said they were free this afternoon.

  “I can’t believe this!”

  “Believe it! I checked it out—it’s legitimate!”

  “But how? To shift so suddenly—what happened?”

  “Who knows? Who cares? It’s over! Let’s celebrate!”

  “Finally, my boy, something we agree on!”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “Nicholas!”

  Nick spun at the sound of his name, keys dangling forgotten in the lock. Daniel was striding up the stairs, a large paper bag clutched in one hand, and Nick simply stared at him for a moment, unused to seeing the man outside of his rooms at the Club, before he remembered himself and glanced around to see if anyone was watching. Fortunately, nobody was that he could see, and he hurriedly finished unlocking his door and thrust it open, stepping inside and beckoning Daniel to join him.

  “What are you doing here?” he hissed as he shoved the door shut again and locked it securely. Daniel seemed a bit nonplused by the cool reception.

  “My dear boy, what’s the matter? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  Nick shook his head ruefully. Truth to tell, as much as he had been dreading the upcoming confrontation that he knew was building, he had missed seeing the urbane older man, and all of the others he knew at the Club; except for a brief and uneventful visit a few weeks ago to inform Daniel that the stocks had been purchased, he hadn’t gone by at all, but had kept himself busy with his editing, and preparing for classes next fall. But he had known that he couldn’t stay away forever—even had he wanted to, he had been certain Daniel wouldn’t let him.

  “Yeah, maybe I am,” he admitted to the older man beside him, as he tossed his keys onto the table by the door and dropped his books on a chair. “But I thought we had agreed that you wouldn’t come to see me—I’d visit you.”

  For a moment his companion looked puzzled, then comprehension dawned and he waved a hand dismissively. “You mean that silliness about the police? Nicholas, that was months ago! Surely they’ve forgotten all about you by now—even they must have better things to do than to pester poor college students with their tiresome questions.” He glanced around the place then, the faintest air of disapproval lurking in his tone. “Nice little place,” he finally opined, setting the bag down on the floor and claiming Nick’s one armchair as his own.
“It could certainly be a bit cleaner, perhaps more tastefully decorated, but it’s not bad for a student hovel.”

  “Thanks,” Nick cracked as he sank down on the couch, eyes still on his father. “So, what’s up? Why the sudden visit, or are you just bored?”

  That got a laugh, but it was a hollow one. “Ah, yes, I am bored,” Daniel admitted, and the eyes he turned on Nick were suddenly haunted and almost tragic. “We are all bored, my boy, as well befits men and women who have outlived even their native lands. Why else do you think we play such silly little games with one another, except to help pass the interminable time?” There was something in his tone that Nick hadn’t heard there before, a degree of bitterness and even self-pity that he hadn’t thought this cultured individual before him possessed, and it captured his full attention. “We can live on indefinitely, after all, but our interests and passions are as finite as any other man’s, and when they fade, we are left with nothing but the empty shells, for the rest of eternity. Sometimes, I wish that I had died like all of my brothers and sisters, so long ago, when I could still feel things!”

  The room was quiet for a moment, as his words echoed against the whitewashed walls and seemed to sink into the floor, and Nick simply stared, aware that he was seeing something Daniel had probably locked away for centuries, and wondering what had brought it out now. He considered examining his father’s mind to find the reason, but an odd sense of respect compelled him not to—everyone had a right to their moment of sorrow, and a right to have it uninterrupted. It was the closest he had ever felt to this man who had sired him, and he decided to let it be.

  After another minute or so, Daniel broke the stasis by sitting back, brushing a hand through his hair, and letting out a heavy sigh before assuming a casual smile—there was still a hint of tragedy behind it, a vast regret that Nick hadn’t noticed before, but it was well-masked. “But never mind,” Daniel announced, as if his momentary outburst hadn’t occurred. “Regardless, the reason I am here now is more than simple boredom.” He reached down and opened his bag, to expose a bottle of champagne, nestled in a wine-cooler and accompanied by two glasses. The bottle was removed and displayed before Nick with a broad smile as his father explained, “I am here to celebrate! And as you are my compatriot, the actual agent of my cause for joy, I thought it only fitting to share this moment with you.”

  Nick nodded, knowing what was coming, but constrained to ask anyway. “And what exactly are we celebrating?”

  “Success, my boy,” his companion crowed, shredding the tinfoil that sealed the bottle and wrestling with the cork. “The latest game has come to an end, with a rather abrupt change of circumstances.” He finally managed to unseat the stubborn obstacle, which shot across the room with a loud pop, and laughed almost playfully, scooping up the glasses to pour a healthy dose of the sparkling golden liquid into each. Then he passed one to Nick and retained the other for himself, setting the bottle back in its holder.

  “A toast,” he proposed then, raising his glass up until its contents caught the light streaming in through the window. “To us, and,” an odd smile creased his face for a second, “to our family. Long may we reign!”

  “Right, to us,” Nick echoed cautiously and tilted the glass to his lips, allowing himself a moment to enjoy the cool tart feel of the bubbles racing down his throat. Then he set the glass down and returned to his questioning.

  “I assume that you’re referring to this stock market contest of yours, then?”

  Daniel nodded and twirled his own glass idly. “Of course. Apparently Francisco’ broker made some rather . . . unwise investments without clearing them first, and the result is that Francisco has lost all of his capital, and been forced to quit the game. I, meanwhile, have continued to flourish, thanks to the purchases you obtained for me.” Here he lifted his glass again in mock-salute. “That being the case, Jonathan deferred to good sense and conceded the match to me, and Marion stated that she was not involved in the contest at all, so that I was left the sole remaining player. Thus, I win!” he laughed again and drained his glass, then poured more from the bottle at his feet. The offer to replenish Nick’s own glass was declined, and Daniel contented himself with drinking alone.

  “So it’s over, then?” Nick asked, relieved that there had been no mention of him in d’Montan’s sudden troubles.

  “Yes, it is,” his father agreed and, setting the now-empty glass at his feet by the bag, reached into his jacket pocket and removed a slip of paper, which he handed to Nick. “And, as per our agreement, here is your share.”

  Nick took the check and, compelled by the other man’s gleeful gesture, unfolded it and glanced at the writing it bore. The check almost dropped from his hand then, and he had to steady himself against the arm of the chair before checking again to make sure that he had seen correctly. But there was no mistake.

  “I take it that means you accept it?” His father inquired impishly, treating the matter with a nonchalance Nick found even more alarming than the vast amount of money he had suddenly come in possession of. “The value had increased a little since we first talked, and I included a slight bonus out of gratitude for your services.”

  “Thanks,” his son managed, taking the check and stashing it numbly in his pocket. He now possessed more money than he knew what to do with, and the suddenness of it was overwhelming. But he didn’t have much time to consider it, because his father was already leaning forward, that familiar predatory glint in his eye.

  “Now then, on to business. I have another proposition for you, one which won’t necessitate your going anywhere as far from the Club itself. You see, Guinness was boasting the other day that he could beat anyone at pool—you remember him, he’s the red-headed ruffian who hogs the billiards tables constantly—but I’ve found a young man in Georgia who can take out three balls on the break alone! If you were to take him, and then I were to take a lesser player, and we both challenge the flame-topped fool to a match, I could butter him up, as it were, inflate his already voluminous ego, and then you . . .”

  The rest of the scheme was cut off by a knock on the door. For an instant neither of them moved as this intrusion of everyday reality sounded once again, then Nick stood up and made his way back across the room. Still stunned by the amount he had received, and trying to determine how best to deal with Daniel before this new scheme could go too far, he didn’t bother to check through the peephole but unlocked the door and flung it open.

  “Can I help . . .” the words died on his lip as he found himself face-to-face with Detective Kanson—she had a file of papers in one hand and her eyes were as blue as ever, but not so cold as he remembered as she met his gaze and smiled in greeting.

  “Detective Kanson,” Nick managed, as the back of his mind screamed at him to close the door, run away, knock her out, anything. He didn’t move, and the door remained open as he and the detective studied each other; he saw her lips part but before she could speak her quick-moving eyes had swept over him and beyond, touring the room before finally coming to rest on the features of the other occupant. Then her smile faded and her face hardened as Nick saw her eyes turn measurably colder, until they were the Arctic blue he had first encountered.

  “Well, well,” she finally uttered, and the two words carried more weight than a cannonball, and about as much potential for destruction. Then she brushed by him and into the room, to stand directly before Daniel, who regarded her with only mild curiosity.

  “Do I know you?” Daniel inquired, and then turned a puzzled look to Nick, who closed the door and returned to the scene of the action. He had gone numb now, and had no idea what to do or say—of all the possible encounters he had pictured between his father and himself, the inquisitive cop had never played any part, and her presence upset all of his careful plans, and possibly his future as well.

  “Detective Linda Kanson, of the Chicago Police Department,” the woman identified herself, and then there was a gun in her hand as she stepped back to cover both Nick a
nd the still-seated Daniel with its steely barrel. “And the two of you are under arrest, for the murder of Amy Feldmar.”

  “Ah,” Daniel exclaimed, and rose from his seat to look at Nick. “This, then, is the detective you had mentioned earlier?” Nick nodded, but Kanson saw the motion and turned an angry glare on him.

  “You!” For a moment Nick flinched from the violence in her tone, half-convinced that the words alone could do him harm, couched in such emotion. “I believed you!” The gun never wavered, nor did the woman’s accusing stare. “I was only coming to drop off a police sketch we put together, so that you could keep an out eye for him.” A jerk of her head indicated Daniel. “But now I see that that wasn’t necessary, since the two of you seem to be well-acquainted. You must be very good friends indeed, to be,” her look of disgust encompassed the bottle and the two glasses, “sharing a drink! What were you celebrating, the death of an innocent girl or the duping of a police officer?” Her eyes narrowed further, to glittering slits. “Well, I can tell you right now that you’re not going to get away with either!”

  Nick risked a quick glance at his father, but the older man seemed hypnotized by the blue-gray metal that waved before him, and he knew that there wouldn’t be any help there. Apparently, no matter how bored he was with all of the years he had passed, Daniel still wanted as many more as possible, and wasn’t about to risk getting shot and killed now. After all, he could wait out any prison term, or perhaps buy it off so that it never even came to trial. But Nick, for all his new-found wealth, liked his present life too much to give it up, and so he took a step forward, to find the muzzle of the gun swiveling back to point at his chest.

  Ignore it, he told himself. It’s only a tool. Focus on her. She’s the real danger, not the weapon in her hand. And then he knew what to do.

  “Linda.” Her eyes jerked up to meet his at the sound of her name, and were held there, as if they were stuck to a surface as icy as themselves.