Rubenstein's Augur

by Henry Hollensbe

  Late Monday morning, Kostov collapsed onto Hazlett’s couch. “You looked bushed,

  Ivan.”

  “Another Americanism to describe fatigue? If so, you are correct.”

  “A pleasant weekend?”

  “Very, although I am still trying to resolve some of my impressions.” “What’d you do?”

  “I flew with Sam and some others in a private jet airplane to Cancun, Mexico. We

  fished on some rough waters—which seemed to bother no one but me. I drank too much

  excellent Mexican beer. We walked around a ruin at a place called Tulum.” He sighed

  and smiled. “And I failed to fend off the attentions of a blond female named Dorothy

  who found my accent cute.”

  Hazlett laughed. “Sounds pretty grim.”

  Kostov paused. “I am trying to resolve my thoughts about the America that I see

  when I am in Sam’s company—the play, the frantic desire to have fun. Not so much

  Sam, but many of the others.”

  “I see.”

  “And from a personal standpoint, I am wondering why I am being included in

  Larson’s activities. I have just enough Russian paranoia to wonder about his motives.” “I can see your point, but I’ve known Sam quite a while—though not at the personal

  level at which you’ve arrived, of course—and I’ve never found him to be anything but

  honest, smart, and levelheaded.”

  Kostov nodded. “I, too.”

  “My impression is that you’re at the right place and the right time to enjoy yourself.” Kostov nodded again.

  “And as to Sam—what could he want from you, other than an opportunity to show a

  good time to a man he likes?”

  Kostov exhaled strongly. “Very un-Russian behavior.”

  A woman not less than one hundred pounds overweight was being helped off the floor behind Daisy’s bull.

  “Poor goddamned way to treat a lady!” she said.

  “Lucky you got off before you broke it, Ethyl,” the bartender said. “Daisy would have had your puffy butt.”

  Dreshchensky stepped away from the bar and gestured for Cooper to take a corner table. He handed him another envelope.

  Cooper counted the cash, then nodded.

  “Now, earn your money.”

  Cooper completed describing what he knew of Larson’s operations.

  “And this witch’s brew is producing how much profit?”

  “Thirteen million dollars, last quarter.”

  “Employing how much capital?”

  “Not so much at the beginning of the quarter, but it’s been increased. Around a quarter of a billion now.”

  “Billion?”

  Cooper nodded.

  “Very well, we need both the software and the inputs.”

  “What about capital? If I’m working for you, I need to know your size.”

  “Not my area.”

  “What about the trading capability.”

  “If we know whether the market is going to rise or fall, we have people who know how to employ that information.”

  “Then that’s all you need.” Cooper started to stand.

  Dreshchensky restrained him. “Not quite, T.C. You are to aid us in securing the control of the capability and making it work. Otherwise, you have earned nothing and must return today’s cash.”

  Cooper collapsed into his seat and pointed his finger at Dreshchensky. “No, goddamn it!”

  Dreshchensky smiled. “I think it is time for you to learn a little more about us.”

  “What’s to learn? Everyone knows about the Cardessi family. And I don’t think I’m going to be asked to join up.”

  “Listen carefully. My name is not Jeff and we are not mafia. We are what the popular press calls the Russian mafya.”

  Cooper slammed his beer down. “You’re shitting me! How come you look like you do? You look more American than me.”

  “To continue, T.C, my name is Nikita Petrovich Dreshchensky. I work for Galavnaya Bohl, under the immediate direction of Eugen Yakovich Staranov. We are the biggest and strongest of all of the Moscow families. The day will come when we shall eat your pitiful Italian families, guns and all!”

  “Jesus Christ!”

  “Whoever that may be.”

  Cooper closed his eyes.

  June 28

  Dreshchensky reported his findings.

  “Excellent work” Staranov said. “I am pleased with my decision to rely upon you.

  Keep me abreast of your activities. Henceforth, Parenko will connect you to me without delay.” Dreshchensky pressed Cooper’s doorbell, then hammered on the door. “Up, up!” Cooper, wearing a pair of soiled briefs, appeared. “Not even nine o’clock.” Dreshchensky smiled and entered. “You are employed now, T.C.” He gestured

  around the apartment’s interior. “Our office is open for business.” Cooper leaned back in a kitchen chair and closed his eyes. Dreshchensky sat across from him.

  “Have you telephoned Professor Rubenstein?”

  Cooper shook his head.

  “Do so at this time.”

  “Too early for me.”

  Dreshchensky started to stand.

  Cooper stumbled to the wall-mounted telephone and pressed the numbers for Rubenstein’s office.

  Cynthia Dermott took a message.

  Fifteen minutes later, Rubenstein returned the call.

  “Aaron, I’ve met someone I think you should meet.”

  “Toward what goal?”

  “I think he might be a customer for our program.”

  “Thank you anyway, Tom, but I want the arrangement to remain as it is.”

  “I —” Cooper said, but the line was dead.

  He waited five minutes, then called again. He was again told that the Professor would call him back.

  A moment later, Rubenstein called. “Be brief, Tom, I have a class in a few moments.”

  “You hung up on me.”

  “I did? Forgive me. I thought our conversation had ended.”

  “Ended?”

  “You had a potential new customer and I said I wasn’t interested.”

  “One of the reasons I thought you might be interested in a new customer is Larson’s new pay-out schedule.”

  “I haven’t heard about a new schedule.”

  “Larson is planning to cut our share to twentyfive percent.”

  “Unilaterally? Sam wouldn’t do that without my agreement.”

  “Well, I think we ought to have a face-toface to discuss our options.”

  Rubenstein hesitated. “I wouldn’t like the foundation to suffer.”

  “The Varsity at six thirty?”

  “Yes.”

  Rubenstein found Cooper and a stranger at a corner table.

  Still standing, he refused Cooper’s offer of a Diet Coke. “And I must ask you to be brief. I have a meeting in half an hour.”

  “Take time to shake hands with Jeff Miller.”

  Rubenstein extended his hand. “Aaron Rubenstein, Mr. Miller.”

  “I’m Jeff, Professor. Please.”

  Rubenstein sat. “Now, Tom, what’s this about a reduction in our pay-out?’ “Just a rumor, Aaron. I thought—”

  “Rumor? How could there be a rumor when three people are involved?” “I just—”

  “I must tell you, Tom, your rumor sounds like a reason for me to meet your prospective new customer—my lack of desire to do so notwithstanding.” Rubenstein turned to Dreshchensky. “No offense intended, Mr. Miller.”

  “None taken, but since you are here, I wonder if you would like to listen to a proposal?”

  “Very well, but you should know that—”

  “Ten million dollars. Now.”

  “What does ten million dollars buy?”

  “Your program and knowledge of the inputs necessary to make it work. You give them to us and then you go away. Go away means you do not ever use the program again yours
elf.”

  Rubenstein frowned. “Operation of my program will be much more lucrative than that. Why would I sell to you and forfeit all futures. It’s a nonsense proposal.” He stood.

  Dreshchensky grasped Rubenstein’s arm. “Sit, Professor.”

  Rubenstein sat.

  “There are a couple of reasons why selling to us makes sense. One, your riches would be safe. If you do not sell and your prediction capability later fails—” “I would correct it.”

  “Also, you would have us as your friends.”

  “I don’t mean to be churlish, Mr. Miller, but why would I want you for a friend?” Dreshchensky smiled.

  Rubenstein stood, glared at Cooper, and hurried away.

  Dreshchensky shook his head. “He should have taken the money.”

  June 29

  At nine the following morning Dreshchensky found Cooper’s body on the floor

  beside his couch. He was nude, with one leg lying on top of a cocktail table. “Work time, T.C.”

  “Later.”

  “Now! Call the Professor.”

  “And tell him what?”

  “Tell him Johnny offers fifteen million.”

  “Why do you think—”

  “Tell him that is Johnny’s final offer and I must have his answer within one hour.” “He won’t—”

  Dreshchensky dragged Cooper to his feet and slapped both sides of his face. “Now, T.C!”

  Rubenstein, visiting the NOAA office, took the call.

  “Fifteen million.”

  “I’ve told you I don’t wish to entertain any more such proposals.”

  “Jeff says no more deals. This is their last offer.”

  “Does that mean they’ll drop the subject if I decline—or is there a more sinister

  meaning?”

  “Wait a minute.” Cooper covered the telephone. “Wants to know what last offer

  means.”

  “It means final offer. We are not abandoning our quest for the predictor. If we must,

  we shall take alternative steps.”

  Cooper uncovered the telephone. “Said if you don’t agree, they’ll take alternative

  steps.”

  “Tell them I’ll think about it.”

  Cooper covered the telephone again. “He’ll think about it.”

  “One hour.”

  “Says you’ve got an hour.”

  Rubenstein telephoned his niece. “It doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “There is no limit to the amount of money you can generate.”

  “I know.”

  “What’s the threat?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But—”

  “They can’t reach me financially, right?”

  “Your position becomes stronger every day.”

  “They can’t reach me professionally.” He hesitated. “Oh, I suppose someone could make something of the fact I’ve not published my findings.”

  “Unlikely.”

  “So what threat is there?”

  Sheila paused. “What’s your schedule today?”

  “Open. Being on leave of absence leaves me flexible. Why do you ask?”

  “I think a face-toface meeting is indicated. How about lunch today?”

  “There?”

  “Nothing to threaten you here.”

  He chuckled. “Except the drive, of course.”

  “You’ll survive.”

  “Any zucchinis up?”

  “More than we can eat.”

  “I can make it by noon.”

  “Thank you. I know you’re humoring me, but we have to treat this as serious business.”

  Dreshchensky took the handset from the wall and handed it to Cooper. “It is twenty- five minutes after ten, T.C. The Professor has not called us within the allotted time.”

  “Five minutes, Jeff. Give him—”

  “My name is Nikita Petrovich, T.C. In fact, since we are so close now, you may call me Nikki.”

  Cooper looked away.

  “Does that please you, T.C?”

  “Nothing about you pleases me, Boris.”

  Dreshchensky slapped both sides of his face.

  “Does that please you, T.C?”

  “No.”

  “Then call the Professor.”

  “Let’s give him some more time. It’s a big decision.”

  Dreshchensky hesitated. “Very well. Until eleven.”

  Dreshchensky paced the floor for the agreed upon time, then handed the handset to Cooper again.

  Cooper called the NOAA office, then shook his head. “Gone.”

  Dreshchensky snatched the handset and pressed the numbers for Staranov’s apartment.

  “It is Parenko. I must speak to Eugen Yakovich.”

  “Dining.”

  “Where?”

  “The usual.”

  “Connect me.”

  There was the usual echo on the line. Dreshchensky’s face softened. “He is dining at Beloye Solntse Pustyni. He always has a telephone connected at his table.” He smiled. “I can hear a dvoyanka.”

  Cooper shrugged.

  “A sort of flute.”

  “The restaurant will be my favorite as well—once we have control of the money machine. I can only—”

  Staranov spoke. “Make me happy you interrupted my dinner!”

  “The Professor has not met my demands for an answer. He—”

  “As I remember, I was recently telling you how pleased I am with your effort. Now you have called to ask permission to wipe your ass! Find the ubl’udok, hang him by his thumbs, and secure whatever it is you require to get control of this capability!”

  Dreshchensky waited in the new Cadillac Seville while Cooper entered the lobby of the NOAA offices.

  He returned in a few moments. “He’s not here! He’s taken a leave of absence.”

  “But you called him here earlier.”

  “The recep said he had just there for a minute. We just happened to catch him.”

  “Leave of absence? What does that mean?”

  “A kind of vacation, but no pay.”

  “So, where is he?”

  “Working at home. I almost didn’t find out, but the recep remembered me from the days when I was around here three years ago.”

  “Does he have his equipment with him?”

  “Got to—he’s still feeding predictions to Larson.”

  “Good. So—again—where is he?”

  “The address is 2334 Olde Devonshire Way, with a 30075 ZIP code.”

  “What does that tell us?”

  “North of here. City of Roswell.”

  “Proceed!”

  Chapter 21

  Near Peabody, Georgia

  It was still before noon when Rubenstein arrived at Parrot’s store. He parked his

  Buick at the side of the small, single-story building.

  The roof was corrugated iron, rusty and patched with tar. The siding was rough-sawn

  lumber. If it had ever been painted, there was no residue. Metal signs covered the wider

  cracks in the siding: Peach Sweet Snuff, Sloan’s Little Liver Pills, Hadacol, and half a

  dozen other products from the past. A mud-and-log fireplace still stood, but a silver

  natural gas tank indicated its retirement.

  He sat on the edge of a sagging porch.

  Ten minutes later an old yellow Jeep appeared through a cloud of red dust. Sheila dismounted and walked toward the porch. She was wearing a faded Princeton

  T-shirt, frayed cut-off jeans, and mature tennis shoes.

  He studied her face. “You’ve been getting a lot of sun.”

  She touched her face.”

  “Don’t forget your sunscreen. The NOAA people are becoming rabid about UV

  rays.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  He pointed at the Jeep. “Flossy’s still running, I see.”

  “Never better.” She hesitated. “Aaron, I—”

  He raised his ha
nd. “Wait, please. Let me concentrate on the trip ahead of me. The

  road to your house is a bigger threat than anything Tom Cooper’s new associates can

  provide.”

  He was relaxed by the time they approached the summit of Davis Mountain. He smiled when he could see the unusual house at its center. He had made only a few architectural recommendations, but his considerable engineering skills had been useful in solving the problems of land preparation, drainage, and construction. And, as executor of his sister-inlaw’s estate, he had been involved in its financing.

  The house’s footprint was a rectangle, seventy -two feet long and forty-four feet wide. The pitch of the roof was high, fifty degrees. It was corrugated steel, painted silver gray. Construction framed steel.

  The exterior walls were fitted blocks of gneiss of varying sizes and shades of gray and tinted windows, eight feet tall. The moldings and fittings were heart-of-pine.

  The south part of the house was a single space, twenty-eight feet by seventy-two feet. The windows afforded views of the next range of mountains and the hardwood forests in the valleys between. There were wide window seats at the bottom of each window.

  The ceiling—the building’s roof—was forty-two feet above the floor at its peak. It was covered with tongue-and-groove poplar. The floor, made of varying widths of heartof-pine, was covered with hand-made rugs. There were wide, floor-to-ceiling fireplaces built of gneiss in either end of the main room.

  The furniture was a mixture of American antiques and comfortable, contemporary American pieces. There was a concert grand piano at one end and a library and a large desk and computer work area at the other. Bookcases and artwork filled the spaces between the windows. There were floor lamps in the music and library areas. A dining area, furnished with antiques, was centered on the interior wall.

  The rear of the house was two-story. At ground level there was a modern kitchen, a pantry, two half bathrooms, laundry facilities, storage rooms, and a bedroom and bath for live-in help, all connected by a corridor along the outside wall. Above these service rooms were four bedroom-bathroom suites. A wide, curving staircase rose from the center of the living room to a balcony that serviced the upper rooms. A hallway between the second and third suites led to a rear stairway.

  “I see no changes since my last visit,” he said. “You’ve been concentrating your efforts elsewhere.”

  “The changes Millie wants in The Sophisticated Maiden are taking more time than I expected.”

  “I thought that had gone to the publisher.”

  “It went, but the publisher found the fair Marsha’s personality to be frayed. I’m required to rationalize her outlook and behavior.”