The buzz of the intercom interrupted him. Miss Sprague’s voice, full of disapproval, said, “Cynthia MacNee is on the line. Shall I ask her to hold, or do I tell her you’re in conference?”
“Put her on,” Hastings said to her, and to Burgess, “Don’t move, I want to hear the rest of it.” He picked up the phone. “Hello, Cynthia?”
“Dahling,” Cynthia MacNee drawled, “it’s not really necessary to sound so overjoyed to hear my voice.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“My deah, that tone of voice will never get you elected to office. I want to see you-it’s important. I’m in the East Village in a telephone booth that’s full of broken glass and the scent of piss, so I won’t prolong this delightful conversation. I’ve just spent an hour looking at the most hideous paintings in the world and I’m prepared to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge, but en route to it I could tell the taxi driver to stop at Foley Square. I can be there in ten minutes. Have you got a few moments to spare me?”
“I’m kind of busy. But you said it was important?”
“I did say that, didn’t I?”
“You’re insufferable,” he said.
“I know. Isn’t it wonderful? It is important, lover, and I’ll see you in ten minutes. Hasta luego.”
He cradled the phone, rearranged his thoughts, and said to Bill Burgess, “And Salvatore Senna runs one of these boiler-room operations in Montreal?”
“He appears to. I doubt he owns the operation-he’s fronting for somebody. Maybe it belongs to one of the mobs. Anyhow it’s worth pondering. When you get a mobster nosing in on the legit securities business, it spells Cosa Nostra and that starts with ‘C’ and that rhymes with ‘T’ and that stands for ‘Trouble,’ according to the impeccable logic of Professor Hill. We’ve traced some sizable stock-theft hauls to the Mafia, and I suppose the dons must own chunks of blue-chip stocks, but your interest in Senna is one of the first hints I’ve seen that they might be muscling in on the market itself. Have you got anything for me?”
“Nothing worth broadcasting. Senna bought a block of gilt-edged a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been curious to find out why.”
“If you do turn up anything, let me know so I can pass it on to the hotshots over at FBI.”
“I’ll have to clear it through Quint first.”
“Sure, I know.” Burgess was out of his chair and moving. “I’ll hold a chair for you at the game Wednesday,” he said, and went.
Cynthia swept into the office with imperious clumsiness and came around the desk to deposit a smacking kiss on his cheek. “Dahling!” she cried at the top of her lungs; she grinned impudently and settled asprawl in the chair Burgess had vacated a few minutes earlier. “That was for the benefit of your sterile secretary,” she said under her breath. She wore a ridiculous hat; her dress, a loud print, was girdled under her abundant breasts. There was a great deal of irrepressible mischief in her face, but-it always surprised him-it was essentially a very lovely face, an ivory shield surrounded by long dark hair, as fine and straight and liquid as an Oriental’s, falling softly to her big shoulders.
She said, “You look fine, Russ. You look like a surfer. You must like your job here.”
“It has its points. What’s up?”
She nodded. “You didn’t want to see me. I guess I understand that-you don’t want reminders. In the terminology of the pulp magazines, you’ve still got fresh scars that haven’t healed over. Am I warm?”
“You are always very warm, Cynthia.”
“How am I to take that?”
“With a grain of salt,” he said. Then he smiled. “All right, it is nice to see you, after all.”
She laughed. “My deah, you’ve made my whole day. Christ, it needed a boost, let me tell you. The horse shit I’ve had to look at in those East Village galleries. But what can you expect in a civilization whose most popular cultural achievement is Bonanza? America is divided into quality and equality, and we at Nuart are resoundingly dedicated to the latter.” She was incapable of speaking without the accompaniment of vast sweeps and lunges of her arms. Gesticulating wildly, she said, “I should never have been given an education, you know. Think of the bliss of ignorance. I could have been a truck driver. I mean, I did try my best. At Bennington I drank all my classmates under the table, but they graduated me with honors anyway. It’s a fucking trap, Russ, don’t let anybody kid you.”
“I see you’re your usual cheerful self today. Looking for a sympathetic ear?”
“In a way I am, lover, but not for myself. Yes, that’s right-steel yourself. I have come to speak of her ladyship.”
“Did she send you?”
“No. God forbid. She doesn’t know I’m here, and she had better not find out.”
“What is it, Cynthia?”
“I think she’s in trouble.”
His jaw clicked. “She can take care of herself.”
“She thinks she can. Question, Russ-have you heard of one Mason Villiers?”
“The one who gutted Lee Central Plastics?”
“Among others. Have you ever met him?”
“No. Have you?”
“Once,” she said. “Would you like to see my Purple Heart? Never mind. The point is, he’s persuaded Diane to go into business with him.”
He sat up straight. “What?”
“He’s quite a panther, you know. To use the most apt cliche, a lady-killer.”
“With Diane?” Hastings’ smile twisted. “I wish him luck.”
“Don’t be too sure. When I asked her about it, her face became a study in scarlet. She admitted she’s authorized him to set up incorporation proceedings for Nuart. She’s planning to go public. Of course, it’s something we should have done before this-I don’t object to incorporating the business. But Villiers is a barracuda, Russ. He’ll swallow her whole. You need a deaf ear and a tough skin to survive his type, and whatever you think of her, she’s not that hard. As soon as she told me about it, I tried to talk her out of it. I used all the artillery I could think of. I told her Mace Villiers is trouble. I told her the business world has been treating him as if he had financial halitosis for good reason. He’s not the type who likes to see people dead-he’s the type who enjoys watching them die.”
The girl’s big dark eyes pressed at him. “She wouldn’t listen to me. I don’t know what he used as a persuader-I have visions of him caressing her erogenous zones like a musician playing on an instrument, that’s the kind he is, but with Mace Villiers there’s always a knife concealed in his palm. Whatever it is, he’s using her. Only she can’t see it. Or she refuses to. Maybe you think of her as a tough bitch, Russ, but where men are concerned she’s la plus grande imbecile de la cite.”
His hand had formed a loose fist. He said, “Why did you come to me, Cynthia? What do you expect me to do about it?”
“You’re a financial cop. You must have files and records on Villiers. Trot them out-show her his record. Prove to her what a bastard he really is.”
He laughed ironically. Cynthia said, “I’m scared, lover. Not just for Diane-for me too. I’ve got a big stake in the business, and I have visions of the whole thing being flushed down the tubes. But mainly I hate seeing my best friend offer herself on the chopping block. I was hoping you still had enough feeling for her to help me get her out of this mess.”
“Even if I did,” he said, “I doubt I could even get an audience with her.”
“You don’t have to hold hands with her, dahling. Of course she’ll see you. She’s not vindictive. Maybe you don’t realize how broken up she was when you left her. Shit, I’m not saying she wants you back, Russ, but she doesn’t hate your guts.”
“Cynthia, what the hell could I say to her? She’d suspect my motives the instant I said an unkind word about him.”
“That would be childish. She’s not a fool-oh, hell, I take that back. Where he’s concerned, she’s a fool. But don’t you see that’s why somebody has to talk her out of it? God knows what he’s got in mind, but his touch has always been the kiss of death to any business he got involved with. He’ll destroy her if somebody doesn’t pry her out of it in time.” She flung her arms wide and demanded, “Don’t you believe he intends to gut Nuart the way he’s gutted everything else?”