Whirligig

by Fish, Robert L. ;

  Mr. Fairbanks’ third drink came. He tackled this one with a little less appearance of urgency—at least outwardly—and turned to face his young friend.

  “My dear Jan,” he said in an almost fatherly tone, “I should be most happy to. As a matter of fact, we have an export department that deals with precisely these matters and nothing else. Any day you wish—or even later this afternoon, if you care to make it—I can take you up there and introduce you to the vice-president in charge of it. His name is Tim Brennan, and he’s a very close friend of mine. He can tell you anything you want to know.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  “But actually,” Mr. Fairbanks continued, as if Kek had not spoken, “there really isn’t very much for you to know or to worry about. It’s the poor bastard importing the stuff who has to fill out all the millions of forms and satisfy the thousands of agencies and fight with the banks at his end. All you have to do is hope the son-of-a-bitch is successful.”

  He smiled gently, burped politely, and finished his drink. Kek hurriedly completed his martini and climbed down from his stool. He had completed his mission and had no intention of having to chaperone a drunken banker to his club or anywhere else. He need not have worried. Years of practice had given Mr. Fairbanks an ultimate resistance to alcohol far in excess of what his language might have indicated.

  “Well,” Kek said, “I really must go. Bartender, the check?”

  “No, no!” Mr. Fairbanks insisted. “I have an account here; I’ll sign. And it’s on the bank, in any event. Expense account, you know. Client, and all of that.”

  Kek smiled at him. “Our company has an expense account setup, too, you know. Also deductible for business purposes.”

  “But they argue less with banks, my boy. Believe me. They examine us closer—and a lot more frequently—but they argue with us less. About expense accounts, that is.” Mr. Fairbanks smiled faintly. “It’s the least of their worries as far as we are concerned, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “In that case, sir, thank you very much. And I’ll drop by, probably tomorrow morning if it’s convenient, and meet your Mr. Brennan.”

  “Anytime, my boy; anytime. Always welcome.” Fairbanks looked about the small restaurant, got to his feet and began peeling off his coat. “Think I’ll eat right here. Nasty day out. Club’s dull anyway. Pity you can’t join me.” He handed his coat to the cloakroom attendant who had appeared at his elbow, and then handed her his hat. He smiled at Kek. “See you tomorrow, then, Jan.”

  “Good-bye, then, sir,” Kek said, but the old gentleman was no longer paying attention. He was already tapping his glass on top of the bar, a bit less politely this time.

  It may have been the healing effects of warm food, or possibly a constitution accustomed through the years to Mr. Fairbanks’ normal luncheon routine, but the fact remains that the old gentleman returned to his office an hour later with bright eye and firm step. He nodded politely to the other occupants of the elevator, got off at his proper floor, and walked steadily down the corridor to his office. He hung his outer garments in the usual closet and immediately rang for his secretary. She appeared even as he was seating himself.

  “Yes, Mr. Fairbanks?”

  “Two things, Gloria.” His voice was sharp, executive; normal for him. “First—and immediately—I want to see the records of one of our commercial accounts, the Washington Harvester Company. We carry their New York office; it’s a relatively new account. Have young Clark bring it up; it’s in his department.”

  “Yes, sir.” The flying pencil stopped as soon as he did; he glanced at her approvingly.

  “Then I shall need a report on a company called Waldeck Imports. They’re in Brussels. Check the Foreign Department, and if they don’t have anything, cable our corresponding bank there—no, on second thought, call them on the telephone.” He glanced at his watch. “There’s a five-hour difference but you can call them. Stupid bastards work half the night over there. It’s the Banque Laeken, and the Foreign Department can give you their number. The man you want to speak to is Dr. Grimm. That’s right, like the fairy tales. I want to know if this Waldeck Imports is solid, how their credit is, how long they’ve been in business, their financial position, etc., etc. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir. Is that all?”

  “That’s it. But I want an answer from Brussels this afternoon.”

  “Yes, sir.” The door closed behind her.

  He drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited for Clark to appear, and sat up quickly when, in a short while, there was a knock on the door. The door immediately opened and young Clark appeared, holding a folder. He walked over and placed it before his elderly superior.

  “Washington Harvester, sir.”

  “Ah! Stick around,” Mr. Fairbanks said, and opened the folder. He took out the summary sheet of the running account record and studied it intently for several minutes, his white bushy eyebrows going up and down. “Hmmm. Very active … remarkably active for so short a time …” He seemed to be speaking to himself in a low murmur. “Hmmm. Looks like young Jan is doing quite a job for himself … and for his family, of course … Which comes as no great surprise to me …”

  “Sir?”

  “Nothing.” Mr. Fairbanks looked up. “I merely said, it seems to be quite an active account.” The uncertain look on Clark’s face remained. “Many deposits and withdrawals, Clark, that is.” Mr. Fairbanks made no attempt to hide the sarcasm.

  Clark moved around the desk, peering at the sheet over the other’s shoulder.

  “But their account is very low now, sir,” he said, as if justifying his uncertainty. “Under thirty thousand.”

  Mr. Fairbanks cast his eyes ceilingward and sighed, a gesture neither lost on the young Clark nor intended to be.

  “Of course it’s low,” he said patiently. “But you’ll note it’s been as high as three hundred eighty thousand at one time. It fluctuates; it’s active. Which is what I said. Any sensible businessman uses his money; he doesn’t let it sit around in a checking account without interest for some bank to use and make money on.” He closed the folder and handed it over. “That’s all, Clark. Thank you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The door closed behind the dispirited young man and Mr. Fairbanks’ fingers resumed their drumming. Clark would learn nothing about banking if he remained in the field for years. A shame, too, Mr. Fairbanks thought. Mr. Clark’s father was one of Mr. Fairbanks’ closest friends. The door opened in the middle of his thoughts on the matter, revealing his secretary.

  “Yes, Gloria?”

  “It’s about this Waldeck Imports, sir. It won’t be necessary to telephone to Dr. Grimm at the Banque Laeken. Our Foreign Department has a very large file on the company, sir.”

  “Ah?” Mr. Fairbanks sat more erect in his swivel chair, his eyes watching his secretary’s face sharply.

  “Yes, sir.” She referred to her neat notes for accuracy. “It is one of the oldest active import companies in Belgium. It has an excellent reputation. Its financial position is unquestioned. It has done a lot of business with America in the past—before the war, that is—some of which (but not much) was handled through our bank. However, this has dropped off considerably of late. No false interpretation should be given this fact, though. It is considered to be the effects of the war, even three years afterward, and even more due to the recent death of the founder. The son, however, has taken over and is running the company now. There seems little doubt but that they will begin to increase their dealings with America soon.” She looked up. “That’s what Mr. Latham in Foreign said, sir. Verbatim.”

  “Ah! Good!” Mr. Fairbanks beamed.

  “Is that all, sir?”

  “For now, Gloria. And thank you very much.”

  He leaned back in his chair as the door closed behind his secretary. He tented his fingers, a smile of contentment on his face. He was happy that his young friend Jan was not dealing with some unknown, or fly-by-night import firm i
n Europe; he was sure many unscrupulous ones had sprung up following the holocaust of the war. Young Jan was certainly enthusiastic and a go-getter, but sometimes these young lads who were so full of piss and vinegar had a tendency to go off half-cocked, and he didn’t want to see it happen to his young friend Jan Vrebal. But it appeared that this time, at least, the lad had come down feet first; certainly Waldeck Imports had as good a recommendation as any he had heard in a long time. And Latham in Foreign didn’t strew roses as a general rule. He usually acted as if the money involved were his own.

  Mr. Fairbanks’ smile deepened. When young Jan appeared the next day, and he took him up to meet Tim Brennan in Export, he would also be able to give him the good news on Waldeck Imports. And, if the lad showed up around twelve thirty or one, possibly they might even have lunch together. At the same restaurant on the corner; to hell with the Club. The bartender at the restaurant knew how to pour a decent-sized whiskey-on-the-rocks …

  A pity old Johnny Leeds had died; it would have been interesting to get Johnny’s opinion of the Washington Harvester boys—he undoubtedly would have known them. Still, Johnny had had a son, hadn’t he? He might be able to remember the family. Might even have gone to school with Jan as a matter of fact. The boys would have been about the same age …

  9

  The catalogs, when at long last they finally began to arrive from the various printers handling them, were masterpieces of the advertising art, and while Lisa was honestly amazed at their perfection, Kek’s main feeling was one of relief that they were finally off the presses. They had represented an enormous expenditure in both time and money, and while he was justifiably proud of the results, in general his temperament was such as to put past accomplishment in the past. True, he had every reason to be proud. He had had to locate photographs in color of products from what he had come to think of as “competitive” firms; he had done most of the editing, all of the layout, and had even handled the translations to the four languages in which they were printed, although this was the easiest of the tasks involved.

  The first catalogs, concerning the virtues of the products produced by the Washington Harvester Company, were delivered on the twenty-ninth of December and the final one, extolling the advantages of the tractors of the Northern States Equipment Company, finally made it on the fifth of the following month. The others dropped in somewhere in between.

  Each was mailed out as soon as it arrived, accompanied by an appropriate letter of transmittal:

  UNITED STATES AGRICULTURAL EQUIPMENT CO.

  Pinedale, Arizona

  Ref: CJ-16

  Correspondence to:

  P.O. Box 881-M Radio City Sta.

  New York, N.Y.

  Tel: RI-2-4579

  Jan. 6, 1949

  Waldeck Imports Cie.

  Rue Viala 64, Heembeek

  Bruxelles, Belgique

  Att’n: M’sieu Vries Waldeck

  Dear M’sieu Waldeck:

  We are pleased to enclose our latest brochure giving you a general picture of the type of equipment we have been discussing to handle your problem in the drying and further processing of tobacco through the shredding and conveyorizing, ready for the cigarette machines themselves. On Page 3 of the catalog you will see a typical production line of the type we propose to furnish …

  Kek skipped through the rest of the cover letter, checking the most important parts, although he knew that Lisa was excellent in her secretarial capacity. The price was there: $5,650,000. The price was stated to be binding for a period of ninety days, but not more. A formal quotation was promised to be in the mail within days. Terms of payment, normal: irrevocable letter of credit in the amount of twenty percent of the order to accompany the purchase order, deposited in escrow in a bank of mutual acceptance, balance of payment by further letter of credit, on delivery of the merchandise to the dock in New York. Forfeiture clause standard. May we expect to hear from you in regard to your formal order at your earliest convenience, etc., etc.

  Kek nodded and then noted the JT/gvt at the bottom. The JT was John Tenza, as he knew. He glanced at Lisa.

  “What on earth does the ‘gvt’ stand for?”

  “I’m getting very tired,” Lisa said, and smiled at him.

  “There’s just one thing that worries me,” Lisa said thoughtfully. It was the fifteenth day of February, the final quotations had gone out from the last company on the list, and her secretarial days—at least temporarily—were over.

  The saturnine eyebrows over the gray eyes canted humorously. Kek lit a cigarette, shook out the match, dropped into a chair across from her, and smiled.

  “Only one?”

  “Well, no, darling. A lot.” She curled her feet under her on the couch and frowned at him. “First, darling, suppose your friend from the Argonaut Bank really does go to Arizona?”

  “Oh, he went. But not to Pinedale.” Kek grinned. “He apologized profusely, but I guess he wasn’t up to traveling horseback.”

  Lisa smiled with him. “Do you mean he honestly thinks the machinery we produce there is packed out by mules?”

  “God knows what he thinks, but that danger is over—” He crossed his fingers. “At least for the time being.”

  “And the son of Mr. Leeds?”

  “Mr. Leeds,” Kek said, his grin remaining, “did not have a son. He had a daughter who married and moved away in 1936. Mr. Fairbanks remembered that on his third drink the last time I saw him.”

  Lisa stared at him. “Then you think any danger from anyone here is over?”

  Kek’s smile faded. He shook his head.

  “I never believe danger is over. Ever. When I have the money in my hands without any hue and cry being raised, then—and only then—will I begin to think the danger might be over. Until that time, my motto is: Expect Anything. The chances are, you won’t be disappointed.” He saw the frown on her face. “Well, enough of my fears: what are yours?”

  “Well,” Lisa said, “I only have two questions: suppose the Belgian government refuses to give Waldeck Imports the export licenses? Suppose they decide they want to save their foreign exchange, or use it for something more important?”

  “More important than agricultural equipment? Today?” Kek shook his head decisively. “There is no such thing. Not with Europe in the condition it’s in right now. Food must come first, and will; and for a long time. And, whether you like it or approve of it or not, tobacco will come close behind.” He looked at her with a slight glint of humor in his eyes. “It’s precisely why we chose agricultural equipment, my sweet. It certainly wasn’t because of my great knowledge in the field. Nor”—he grinned—“yours.”

  “Well, all right,” Lisa admitted, although a bit grudgingly. “But suppose they decide they want to buy it from someone else? Some other country? Say France, or England, or Italy, or”—she raised her hands palms up, shrugging expressively in pure Gallic fashion, indicating the full extent of the many possibilities—“Finland, if you wish. Who knows? Say, for political reasons …”

  Kek shook his head.

  “Even if the Belgian government had such an idea, there are at least two very good reasons why they would still buy from the United States. One, the other countries simply are not in a position to export yet; they have their hands full meeting their own needs. They couldn’t possibly meet delivery if they wanted to. And second, of course, the United States will wind up paying for the material eventually one way or the other, so why shouldn’t they buy from the United States?”

  Lisa found another hook on which to hang her worries.

  “But what if your prices are so much higher than anyone else’s that they can’t buy from you?”

  “That’s question number three and you promised only two. I should disqualify you, but I won’t.” He leaned back in his chair, blowing smoke toward the ceiling, studying the striated design swirled into the plaster there by some artistic mason probably paid by the hour. His eyes came down. “If our prices are higher than any else’s,
then I shall be truly astonished. Because you see, my sweet, I didn’t quote all of that equipment out of the blue—”

  “You found prices in the encyclopedia?”

  Kek grinned. “No; that’s the one thing they don’t even attempt. Probably because the cross-indexer couldn’t figure out how to work in the page numbers. No, I found them at the various consulates in town. Very cooperative people,” he added. “Anyway, I can guarantee our prices are lower than anybody’s. At least ten percent under our nearest competitor. Which isn’t so remarkable, when you think of it,” he said, his grin widening. “Think of our low overhead.”

  “But—”

  “Besides,” he went on candidly, “he is Vries Waldeck, after all, you know. If he doesn’t have a friend or two in the Export License Bureau, I’ll be quite surprised.”

  Lisa still refused to give up. “But what if they check and find out your companies are simply box numbers? That the factories don’t exist?”

  “This, no.” Huuygens shook his head decisively, and brushed ash from his cigarette. “This they will definitely not check. As far as they are concerned, the problem of checking a supplier’s credentials is the worry of the importer. After all, it’s his money he’s working with.” He shook his head again. “That is one thing I’m not worried about. The only one,” he added softly, almost to himself.

  “But just suppose, despite all your arguments, Vries Waldeck still doesn’t get the licenses, darling. Just suppose? Then what?”

  “You are stubborn,” Kek murmured and crushed out his cigarette. His gray eyes studied her blond beauty a moment. “Then, my sweet,” he said gently, “I suggest you seriously consider getting yourself another husband. For several reasons. First, I know how much you dislike poverty—either in yourself or in others. And secondly, in that case I am going to owe a matter of one hundred thousand dollars—plus the cost of the catalogs and other assorted minor expenses—to some extremely nasty men, and I am not going to be able to pay it, of course. Or even a little tiny part of it …”