Nightlines by John Lutz Page B

shade. Agnes Boyington was leaning over the table, opening her purse to get out her checkbook.
    “I didn’t come for a check,” Nudger told her.
    She turned to face him, cocking her head back and to the side in the distinctive Boyington manner. “Oh? Then just why are you here?”
    “To ask about Hugo Rumbo.”
    She gazed with icy appraisal at Nudger, as if trying to see right through the front of his skull into the machinations of his mind. She was an accomplished player on the board of life. She knew how to compete in whatever game he might initiate. “I know Mr. Rumbo,” she said. “Why are you inquiring about him? Do you need the services of a handyman?”
    “I sift my own swimming pool,” Nudger told her. “I’m inquiring to see if it was you who arranged an unpleasant encounter between Hugo Rumbo and me.”
    “Encounter?” She was amused.
    “Yes, yesterday. It seemed to me that Rumbo was in a destructive frame of mind.”
    “He threatened you?” Nicely feigned disbelief.
    “I think he intended to go beyond threats.” Nudger mentally gagged himself. Why should he carry on this conversation on Agnes Boyington’s genteel terms, using innuendos and euphemisms? He said, “He was determined to beat the shit out of me.”
    She raised her eyebrows, not from a shocked sense of propriety, but in mock concern. “Then he implied violence.”
    “He implied it strongly. There’s no room for doubt; he was going to work me over.”
    “He struck you?”
    “He would have hit me several times, I’m sure, only he was interrupted.”
    Agnes Boyington smiled and shook her head. “You’re mistaken, I’m certain. Oh, I can understand how it might happen. Mr. Rumbo has an assertive nature.”
    “So does an MX missile.”
    She zipped her purse closed. No check for Nudger now, even if he changed his mind. That was what happened to bad boys who balked, who had nasty tongues. “Mr. Rumbo also has a loyal and helpful nature. He’s eager to please. It could be that he knew of my dealings with you and decided on his own to talk with you in a firm manner that might persuade you to see reason.”
    “You hired him to rough me up,” Nudger told her, “so I’d accept your check and drop the case without telling Jeanette.”
    “I hire Mr. Rumbo for odd jobs,” Agnes Boyington said, “not to commit mayhem. What he does on his own time, away from my property, is his business.” Again the cold, sweet Boyington smile. “Of course I pay him very well.”
    Nudger saw that it was pointless to argue with Agnes Boyington. He’d learned what he came to find out. She’d had Hugo Rumbo follow him for the purpose of intimidation, as insurance that Nudger would accept her offer and, in effect, work for her instead of for Jeanette. He’d learned also the extent to which Agnes Boyington could deceive herself. It was probable that she habitually thought in the self-serving, convoluted fashion in which she’d just described her employment of Rumbo. Some people could rationalize anything. Nudger wouldn’t be surprised if she and Rumbo really believed Rumbo had acted entirely on his own; they were both the type that drove polygraph operators to distraction.
    “I do have to leave now, Mr. Nudger,” Agnes said. She tugged at her white gloves to tighten them around her fingers. “I have an appointment that must be kept.” Stepping adroitly around him, so as not to soil herself with physical contact, she reached, stretching, and opened the door for him.
    Nudger didn’t move. “I’m afraid of Hugo Rumbo,” he said. “He might trip over his ankle and fall on me. I’ve been to the police about this, and if Rumbo slips his collar again and tries to attack me, they’ll know you had something to do with it.”
    “But I thought I made it clear that I’m not responsible for Mr. Rumbo. And there’s certainly no law against me talking to him as a friend and not an employer. If he finds out you’ve decided to reject my suggestion