Whirligig

by Fish, Robert L. ;

  Lisa walked across the room and struck a stance, one hip out, her mouth chewing imaginary gum, her bag twirling slowly around a finger.

  “Did I ask for anything else, Mr. Huuygens?” she asked with a mischievous smile. I’m just lucky my mother told me all about men and their beastlike appetites.” She dropped her pose. “And speaking of appetites, if there’s anything in the house, I’ll even be cooperative enough to fix something for myself right here.”

  “Why not?” Kek demanded. “You’re an ex-cook, aren’t you?”

  “Can I get anything for you, darling?” She read the answer in his eyes and went on. “In that case you can read the letters M’sieu Waldeck sent while I’m eating.” She opened her purse, bringing them out.

  “Right.”

  He carried the bundle of letters, neatly held together by a rubber band, into the living room, stepped over a suitcase and dropped down on the couch, sliding the letters free and opening the first. It was addressed to the United States Agricultural Equipment Company. Before reading it he leafed through the other letters. Each was addressed to a different one of the five companies and, he suspected, each carried much the same message as the others. He leaned back, lit a cigarette, and started on the first one, skipping the heading, getting right to the body of the letter:

  Dear Mr. Tenza:

  I am most sorry to inform you that due to circumstances beyond the control of the Waldeck Imports Company, we shall not be able to furnish the balance of letters of credit as required in your detailed quotation of January 18th, 1949, and as accepted by our formal purchase order dated January 28th, 1949.

  The recent change in the board of directors of the Tobacco Growers Association, added to the recent rumors of a merger between this association and the largest manufacturer of cigarettes in this country, have led to second thoughts regarding the installation at the present time of the four drying lines and auxiliary equipment we contemplated when we placed the order with your company.

  We realize that the amount of the deposit placed in escrow to your account in the Argonaut Bank of New York will probably not cover the manufacturing costs to which you have been put at this late date, but we wish to point out that the deposit, according to our contract, clearly limits our obligation and completes the transaction. We can only hope you are able to dispose of the portion of the order that has been completed to some other customer and thus salvage a portion of your loss.

  We, unfortunately, are in a worse position, since our agreement with the Tobacco Growers Association was only a verbal one, based on years of friendship and dealings with the director who has been replaced, and I am afraid for this reason that our loss may even exceed yours. Unfortunately, our company is not insured against losses of this nature.

  In any event, please accept my personal assurances of deep regret at this turn of events. By separate letter we are informing the Banque Nationale to instruct the Argonaut Bank to release this escrow deposit on May 1, the agreed upon date.

  Sincerely,

  Vries Waldeck

  VW/km

  Kek studied the letter for several moments and then laid it aside with a frown, picking up the second and reading it very carefully. Each letter, he found as he went through them one by one, was almost a duplicate of the others, and he shook his head slowly. He could only hope that the “separate” letters sent to the individual banks in Belgium were different in both context and tone from the ones he held. Changes in directorships were matters of record, and the thought that an old-line company such as Waldeck Imports might accept one verbal order could be believed, but that they would accept five such verbal orders within a short period of time could scarcely be accepted, not even when the business was being run by the idiot son rather than the father. Kek could only hope that Waldeck had considered these facts, or that there was no Banker’s Club in Brussels where the affairs of Waldeck Imports might be discussed.

  Still, as far as the New York end of the business was concerned, there was no doubt the letters would prove useful when the time to liquidate the accounts came around. He just had to assume Waldeck was smart enough to know what he was doing, which was a frightening thought in itself. Worry, worry, worry he said to himself with a wry smile, and then looked up.

  Lisa stood in the doorway, wearing a lacy peignoir that was almost, but not quite, transparent. She tried to look apologetic.

  “I hate to take up the time of a busy man—”

  Kek put aside the letters instantly and came to his feet.

  “Don’t you know,” he said, smiling, “that a busy man is always the only one who has the time?”

  The first of May dawned clear and warm, and Kek Huuygens, walking from the apartment to his first stop of the day—the nearby Lexington branch of the Battery Bank—tried his best to relax. The day was perfect, with just the slightest touch of breeze coming up from the river and easing itself about the building corners; the sun glinted from thousands of windows along Lexington’s taller buildings; all in all it was a day to make a man feel glad to be alive, but the fact remained that Kek was nervous. Normally the last man in the world to allow his nerves the least latitude in evading discipline, he could feel himself becoming more tense with each step. He consoled himself with the thought that he had never played for stakes anywhere near as high in the past; and he added to this excuse the fact that he had never had to work with a rank amateur such as Waldeck before. What he could not admit to himself was that despite the minute scrutiny to which he had constantly put the plan for the past month, he could still see nothing wrong with it and therefore was all the more disturbed because his feeling of impending disaster refused to go away. And while not superstitious, he had long since come to highly respect his hunches.

  He came to the tall glass doors, took a deep breath, and pushed bravely through. He walked to the elevators with a firm step, no outward sign revealing his inner turmoil, and pressed the button. The door slid back instantly; apparently he was not to be allowed even a moment’s reprieve before seeing Mr. Fairbanks. And would he see only Mr. Fairbanks? Or would he walk into the office and find Mr. Fairbanks accompanied by two or more wooden-faced gentlemen with badges in their pockets and questions on their lips? Well, he thought with a touch of his old ebullience, there’s one sure way to find out, and that’s to go up and see. He squared his shoulders and stepped inside the small elevator cab.

  Gloria studied his face as he came through the door and then dropped her eyes to her typewriter, her usual pleasant smile strangely missing. Kek felt a slight touch of panic, very odd with him, and forced it away, smiling at the girl in his normal manner.

  “Is Mr. Fairbanks in? Could I see him, please?”

  “He was expecting you,” Gloria said, her eyes avoiding his face. “You can go in.”

  He hesitated a moment and then reached for the knob of the inner door. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought, and twisted it, pushing the door open, fully expecting a reception committee, but Mr. Fairbanks was alone, staring up at him sadly.

  “Jan, my boy! Sit down. You received notice, I’m sure. Tell me, how badly does it hurt your company?”

  Sudden relief flooded Huuygens. He dropped into a chair, happy for its support, managing to look doleful, staring somberly across the desk into the sympathetic blue eyes.

  “We’ll survive,” he said bravely. “We’ve been in business a long time, and we’re far from poor. But I’ll admit it came as somewhat of a shock, and more than somewhat of a disappointment. I’ve been on the phone with my brothers half the night, and they tell me the equipment is very nearly completed.” He shook his head. “They also feel I should have checked into this Waldeck Imports a bit more thoroughly.”

  “Nonsense, my boy! I did check, as I told you! Waldeck Imports is an excellent company! Excellent! It’s just—” Mr. Fairbanks shrugged unhappily, temporarily at a loss for words. “Well,” he said at last, preempting his post-luncheon language, “I guess it’s just one of those sons-of-bitching thi
ngs.”

  “Yes. Well,” Kek said, getting to his feet slowly, “there’s no sense in crying over spilt milk. I’ll just have to get to work and make it up, I suppose. I don’t want my brothers to decide to close the New York office for good, just about the time I’m getting to like the place.”

  “Oh, my!” Mr. Fairbanks put a blue-veined hand up to his mouth, envisioning either lonely lunches at the restaurant on the corner, or having to return to the Banker’s Club with its parsimonious bartender. “Oh, I certainly hope not!”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Kek said, and smiled for the first time since he entered the office. He wiped the smile away, getting down to business. “Are there any papers to be signed?”

  “There are always papers to be signed,” Mr. Fairbanks said, forcing himself to be as brave as his guest. “If there weren’t papers to be signed in great profusion, we could probably cut the staff of an average bank in half.” He reached over and switched a lever on the intercom. “Gloria, would you please ask Mr. Brennan in Export to come down? Tell him to bring the Washington Harvester file, too, will you? Thank you.”

  He hung up and leaned back in his swivel chair. The two men waited in silence, their fund of humor exhausted, until there was an apologetic tap on the door and Mr. Brennan appeared. The papers he brought were remarkably simple and required little time, and when Huuygens had finished scrawling his signature, Jan Vrebal, across the bottom of each, his company checking account had been enriched by the sum of $937,552. Mr. Brennan handed him a receipt until the amount could be added to his checking balance record, gathered up his papers, and disappeared. At no time had the manager of the Export Department seemed to consider the matter anything but routine.

  Mr. Fairbanks rose as the door closed on Brennan. He held out his hand. His voice was sad, almost pleading.

  “Jan, my boy, don’t let one little setback stop you. You were doing fine before this foreign thing—”

  “That foreign thing,” Kek said evenly, “lost our company roughly ten times all that I made when I was doing fine.” He shrugged. “However, the decision is up to my brothers.”

  “It would be a pity if you had to leave town and we couldn’t lunch together anymore. In fact, how about lunch today? You look as if a good liquid diet wouldn’t harm you a bit.”

  “I wish I could.” Kek was completely sincere; he knew he was going to sweat through every bank encounter he planned for that day. His fear of last-minute disaster remained. “But I can’t. I’ve really got to get busy. I’ve a lot to do.” He moved toward the door.

  “Just don’t forget us,” Mr. Fairbanks said, and came around the desk to escort him through the outer office. He put his arm around the husky shoulders of his young friend. “Just don’t forget us.”

  “I won’t,” Kek promised, and meant it.

  He closed the door behind him and walked slowly toward the elevator. He only wished he could continue to see Mr. Fairbanks for lunch now and then in the future, but he knew it wouldn’t be wise. And wisdom was what had kept him free of trouble for many years. It was a pity, he thought, but it was a part of the price one had to pay …

  “Can’t say I’m terribly surprised,” said the vice-president of the Argonaut Bank. “Bunch of damned foreigners, what can you expect? Most of them Commies, pulling stunts like that, just to wreck American industry. And after all we’ve done for them! Trying to ruin us, and mostly with our own money, too. No sense trying to help people like that, eh? Stab you in the back every chance they get. A bit different from the West, eh, Johnny? Not the same thing as Old Arizona in the good old U.S.A., eh? Where a man’s word is his bond, and a handshake’s as good as an affidavit? I mean, it means something. I know, I know! Flew down to Phoenix and back just a month or so ago. Only a day there, but still—” He paused and took off again. “I’ll admit that Waldeck outfit had a good reputation, at least on paper, but I’ll bet any amount you want to name that a few bucks in the right hands over there and you can buy any rating you want in any register they’ve got. Bunch of thieves! Goes to show we haven’t any business monkeying around with them. And we didn’t have during the war! Allies! Just those pinkos in Washington saving the Ruskies, that’s all! Well—there are a few papers to sign, and I guess that’s about it, Johnny. Sorry to see it happen to a good old American is all I can say, especially when it’s done by some damned Frog or Polack. Don’t get me wrong, Johnny. I know your dad was born in the old country—hell, so was my grandfather—and I know you talk funny because you spoke Polack at home; but your dad was naturalized and that makes you as good an American as anybody, in my book. I mean it. Never was one for prejudices …”

  The rhetoric at the other banks ranged between Mr. Fairbanks’ kindliness and the Argonaut VP’s paranoia, but the transfer of the escrow funds to each of Huuygens’ company accounts was just as easily accomplished at the others he visited in succession—

  Until, of course, he came to the last one: the North River Bank …

  The North River Bank was located on West Street in the financial district, or rather, on the less-reputable edge of the financial district. It had offered, to Kek, an out-of-the-way location, plus a wealth of experience in matters of shipping and imports, plus a vice-president he admired almost as much as he admired Mr. Fairbanks, although he had never attempted to test Mr. Zak’s capacity in matters of alcohol. In addition, Mr. Zak had neither lived outside of Manhattan nor traveled at all, nor did he wish to; he thought Pocatello, Idaho, an imaginary location invented for the sole purpose of vaudeville—if he thought of it at all. He liked Mr. John Debroski because he was young, friendly, and because his own grandfather had been Polish.

  Kek reached this last of the five banks with a little better than four million dollars already added to his other accounts in a matter of less than six hours, and he could see no great problem here, certainly not with Mr. Zak. He had, as a matter of fact, once attempted Mr. Zak’s memory of Polish and, sadly, found it wanting. Beyond tâk and dôbre poor Mr. Zak had squandered his heritage. But it had established an unbreakable bond between the two.

  Huuygens walked into the bank, glancing at his watch. There was ample time; the North River Bank believed in the old virtues and kept its doors open until four. He entered the elevator and rode to the second floor, idly wondering why all bank vice-presidents were automatically assigned to this level. Possibly not to damage themselves if called upon to jump, he thought with a faint smile, and entered Mr. Zak’s office. He was prepared for the woebegone look on the secretary’s face, because he had met it four times before that day; but this time her excuse was different.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Debroski. Mr. Zak is busy at the moment. Could you wait? He shouldn’t be long.”

  “Of course,” Kek said pleasantly, no sense of disaster even faintly clouding the horizon. He seated himself, picked up an ancient copy of Banking Methods—it was the best choice of the magazines available—and began to leaf through it. His boredom was brought to a quick end, however, for he had not even reached the editorials when the door to the inner office opened and Mr. Harold Zak appeared with his visitor. The two shook hands politely and parted, the visitor turning to face Kek. For a moment there was a tableau, both standing frozen, staring. Then Mr. Zak’s visitor said in an expressionless tone:

  “Huuygens. Kek Huuygens!”

  For a second the shock of hearing his name, especially in this place where he had almost come to think of himself as John Debroski, caused him to fail to recognize the other. Then it became clear; it was the chief inspector of the New York customs office, a man he had seen more times than he cared to remember. What a time to run into him! Although in a way it was a relief to have the masquerade over, yet his inner mind could not help but add, it does seem a shame at this late date. So close! So very close!

  And then that brain that had resolved so many problems in the past finally woke up, coming to life, taking this problem in its stride and refusing to accept defeat.

  He
bowed slightly in the direction of the other with a broad smile.

  “I wish I had time for us to talk, Mr. Jennings. Kek Huuygens,” he added politely, and taking Mr. Zak’s arm led him into the inner office and closed the door. Behind them Mr. Jennings stared after them a moment and then shrugged in non-understanding and left the office. As long as Huuygens didn’t pass through customs, they had no reason to bother him.

  Mr. Zak was frowning at his friend. “He called you Kek Huuygens, John?”

  “You obviously don’t speak Flemish,” Kek said easily, and smiled at the other. He waited while Mr. Zak seated himself back of his desk and then sat down across from him. “Kek Huuygens in Flemish means ‘my sergeant.’ We were in the war together. He was in the American Commandos—” It was the truth; Huuygens’ brain computerized whatever other information about Jennings he had, even as his calm voice continued in its relaxed manner. “—and I was in the French Army. I was a sergeant and so was he. I taught him the word for ‘sergeant’—actually, for ‘my sergeant’. So whenever we meet”—he shrugged, a light smile on his lips, a cold-heavy weight in his stomach—“he calls me Kek Huuygens.”

  Was it even faintly possible that anyone would believe it?

  “Kek Huuygens.” Mr. Zak smiled. “Flemish, eh? ‘My sergeant.’ I’ll have to remember that. I never made more than corporal.” He suddenly looked concerned. “Is it too warm in here? I’ll have the heat turned down.”

  “No, no,” Kek said, and wiped his brow again. “It’s nothing. The heat is fine.”

  Mr. Zak suddenly remembered the reason for the other’s visit and his concern changed direction. “I imagine you’ve been notified—” he began.

  “Yes,” Kek said, and sighed the sigh he had been wanting to release for several minutes. “I’ve had the notification.”

  “Ah!” Zak became all business. He fished among the folders on his desk, uncovering the proper one. “Your signature is all that’s required, John, and we can transfer the funds to your account. I know it won’t compensate for your loss. A pity …”