until
the bottom had fallen out. If he could help it, he wasn’t going to let Bobby do the same thing.
17
T HE CLATTER OF PLATES AND BOTTLES WAS GIVING K LEIN a headache. If he had been in any other company there wouldn’t have been a problem, but he was eating at the steak house
with Pomeroy, who had been explaining things in detail—gesturing, offering Klein unnecessary and unwanted advice.
There were ten good reasons not to be there listening to Pomeroy, and only one good reason
to
be there. Pomeroy was becoming a liability. It was necessary right now to humor him, and then to damned well think of some
way to get him out of the picture entirely. Short of murder, Klein didn’t have any ideas.
Pomeroy had even come up to the house today. Thank God Lorna hadn’t been home. Pomeroy couldn’t be persuaded that he and Klein
shouldn’t seem to be closely associated with each other, and he dropped by like an old friend, full of howdies, smirking around
as if he had a secret that he couldn’t share. Either he was the most happily self-deluded man Klein had ever met, or else
he had a bigger agenda, and was running some kind of lowball bluff. He yammered on now, looking grave, talking about the world
of car sales.
Klein had lost track of what the point was. He realizedhe hadn’t eaten half of his steak, which was the size of a packing crate. Normally he could put away the sixteen-ounce sirloin
without any problem, but Pomeroy had killed his appetite. He was nervous about simply being seen in the company of the man.
The words
fraud
and
collusion
kept popping up in his mind like idiot cards.
The waitress appeared right then and Pomeroy couldn’t keep his eyes off her tight jeans. Klein almost told him to quit being
such a damned hormone case, but talking sense to him was like shooting peas into a can.
“Another beer?” the waitress asked Klein. She picked up his empty bottle.
“I’m fine, Peg, thanks.”
“I’ll have another glass of milk. A refill,” Pomeroy said to her. “And
cold
this time, if you please. That last one was tepid. Check the date stamp on the dispenser. I think it’s about to turn. If
you start giving your customers bad milk, you won’t have any customers left. That’s a tip.”
The waitress nodded at him. “Sure,” she said, taking away his half-empty glass.
When she was gone, Klein said, “I used to work in a restaurant, back before I got into construction. There was a guy I worked
with, a waiter, who used to hate that kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing was that?”
“Advice from a customer. Complaints.”
“Hey,” Pomeroy said, holding his hands out. “The milk wasn’t cold, period. It’s another case of the customer being right.”
“This guy I worked with, you know what he’d do to your milk?”
“What?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“That’s disgusting,” Pomeroy said, “whatever it
was. Typical of small minds, I suppose.”
Klein shrugged.
The waitress returned with the fresh milk along with asmall stainless steel mixing bowl half full of ice. She sank the milk into the ice, winked at Klein, and left.
“What you have to realize,” Pomeroy said, nodding at the milk, “is that if you can judge a person’s character, eventually
you can get what you want from them. ‘ He stared at Klein for a moment, as if he had said something significant and was letting
it sink in. Then he turned away and watched the waitress work the tables along the far wall. Smiling faintly, Pomeroy spun
the milk glass in the bowl of ice, cooling it off. Klein wanted to dump it over his head.
“This pal of yours …” Pomeroy started to say.
“What
pal
?”
“Your friend who … what? Spit in people’s milk?”
“That was a guy I
worked
with. He was an asshole He wasn’t my
pal
.”
“Well, he’d love this.…”
Klein listened with growing attention to the story of the rats in the water tank. Pomeroy seemed to have worked it all out
very
the bottom had fallen out. If he could help it, he wasn’t going to let Bobby do the same thing.
17
T HE CLATTER OF PLATES AND BOTTLES WAS GIVING K LEIN a headache. If he had been in any other company there wouldn’t have been a problem, but he was eating at the steak house
with Pomeroy, who had been explaining things in detail—gesturing, offering Klein unnecessary and unwanted advice.
There were ten good reasons not to be there listening to Pomeroy, and only one good reason
to
be there. Pomeroy was becoming a liability. It was necessary right now to humor him, and then to damned well think of some
way to get him out of the picture entirely. Short of murder, Klein didn’t have any ideas.
Pomeroy had even come up to the house today. Thank God Lorna hadn’t been home. Pomeroy couldn’t be persuaded that he and Klein
shouldn’t seem to be closely associated with each other, and he dropped by like an old friend, full of howdies, smirking around
as if he had a secret that he couldn’t share. Either he was the most happily self-deluded man Klein had ever met, or else
he had a bigger agenda, and was running some kind of lowball bluff. He yammered on now, looking grave, talking about the world
of car sales.
Klein had lost track of what the point was. He realizedhe hadn’t eaten half of his steak, which was the size of a packing crate. Normally he could put away the sixteen-ounce sirloin
without any problem, but Pomeroy had killed his appetite. He was nervous about simply being seen in the company of the man.
The words
fraud
and
collusion
kept popping up in his mind like idiot cards.
The waitress appeared right then and Pomeroy couldn’t keep his eyes off her tight jeans. Klein almost told him to quit being
such a damned hormone case, but talking sense to him was like shooting peas into a can.
“Another beer?” the waitress asked Klein. She picked up his empty bottle.
“I’m fine, Peg, thanks.”
“I’ll have another glass of milk. A refill,” Pomeroy said to her. “And
cold
this time, if you please. That last one was tepid. Check the date stamp on the dispenser. I think it’s about to turn. If
you start giving your customers bad milk, you won’t have any customers left. That’s a tip.”
The waitress nodded at him. “Sure,” she said, taking away his half-empty glass.
When she was gone, Klein said, “I used to work in a restaurant, back before I got into construction. There was a guy I worked
with, a waiter, who used to hate that kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing was that?”
“Advice from a customer. Complaints.”
“Hey,” Pomeroy said, holding his hands out. “The milk wasn’t cold, period. It’s another case of the customer being right.”
“This guy I worked with, you know what he’d do to your milk?”
“What?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“That’s disgusting,” Pomeroy said, “whatever it
was. Typical of small minds, I suppose.”
Klein shrugged.
The waitress returned with the fresh milk along with asmall stainless steel mixing bowl half full of ice. She sank the milk into the ice, winked at Klein, and left.
“What you have to realize,” Pomeroy said, nodding at the milk, “is that if you can judge a person’s character, eventually
you can get what you want from them. ‘ He stared at Klein for a moment, as if he had said something significant and was letting
it sink in. Then he turned away and watched the waitress work the tables along the far wall. Smiling faintly, Pomeroy spun
the milk glass in the bowl of ice, cooling it off. Klein wanted to dump it over his head.
“This pal of yours …” Pomeroy started to say.
“What
pal
?”
“Your friend who … what? Spit in people’s milk?”
“That was a guy I
worked
with. He was an asshole He wasn’t my
pal
.”
“Well, he’d love this.…”
Klein listened with growing attention to the story of the rats in the water tank. Pomeroy seemed to have worked it all out
very
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