Unknown Man #89

Then, from earth tones and green plants to Jay Walt’s purple crushed velvet and glass-topped chrome. Purple, with light-blue carpeting and the light-blue leisure suit and the clean light-blue Cadillac Seville outside the suburban office building. With Ryan’s dirty light-blue Catalina parked next to it.

Where Ryan was sitting he could see the two cars through the window. He was thinking, Dark blue next time, or dark brown.

Jay Walt, in his desk-chair recliner, had his shoes off, his light-blue-socked feet crossed on his eight-foot sheet of glass desk.

“So what’s the problem?” Jay Walt said. “It’s done all the time. All you want to do is goose him, right? So mail him the complaint. Cost you thirteen cents.”

“No, I want to see his reaction,” Ryan said, “but I’m afraid I’d blow it. He sees I’m nervous, he’s liable to think I’m pulling something.”

“Which you are. Shit, come on, you serve paper every day with your nice boyish bullshit. What’re you talking about?” Jay Walt thumbed his gold lighter several times to relight his cigar. “Hand it to him and play dumb.”

“But he knows me,” Ryan said. “That’s the thing. It’s my idea, he knows that, and I’m handing him the papers. You see what I mean? He’d try and finesse me, I’m standing right there.”

Jay Walt began to nod and then gri

“I don’t work for him anymore,” Ryan said. “You know how he is, he doesn’t see he needs you, that’s it.”

“No fucking heart,” Jay Walt said. “And you can’t take him to court for fraud, because at one time you were part of it, right? Pissed off and you want revenge.”

“She’s the complainant,” Ryan said, “I’m not. I can go to California for six months. Shit, I can walk away from the whole thing.”

Jay Walt said, “Hey, Jackie? Bullshit. You got a good thing, broad with money coming, and you’re not go

“Jesus,” Ryan said, “that’s what she wants to find out. Hand him a mandatory injunction and hope he’ll want to sit down and talk instead of going to court.”

“Keep the fucking lawyers out of it,” Jay Walt said. “I don’t blame you. But you got a problem. You want to jack the guy up without going near him. The only thing you can do in that case is mail it to him, as I said before.”

“I was thinking, if you knew somebody I could rely on,” Ryan said, “a bright young guy you think could do a quick study on Perez, give me his reactions, what he says-”

“Here? The assholes I got? You got to point them to the can they want to take a leak.”

“-Mrs. Leary’d be willing to pay a hundred and a half. Maybe go two bills if she likes the report. Just between you and me.”

Jay Walt turned his head against the backrest of his chair to look over at Ryan, waiting there patiently with his offer. Boy with a good reputation, honest, sincere, a little naпve maybe. Maybe not.

“In advance?”

“Say a hundred down.”

“Who drew up the complaint, some law student?”

“I guarantee it’s in order.”

“Only the procedure’s a little fu

“You said yourself, it’s done all the time.”

The diamond on Jay Walt’s little finger reflected a flash of purple as he extended his arm.

“Lemme have a look, Jackie. See if I like it.”

They didn’t ask Jay Walt to take his coat off, but as Mr. Perez walked over to the desk with the envelope he said, “Raymond, fix Mr. Walt a drink.”

“Scotch and a splash’d be fine,” Jay Walt said.

“Scotch and a splash,” Mr. Perez said. “It still cold outside?”

“Not too bad,” Jay Walt said. “Maybe forty-five, around there.”

“That’s cold,” Mr. Perez said. He had his reading glasses on now and had taken the papers out of the envelope. Without looking up he said, “Raymond, hold that scotch and a splash.”

Raymond Gidre, over by the bookcase bar, turned with the J&B in his hand.

Jay Walt, in his coat with the buckles and metal rings and epaulets, waited. He had only said to Mr. Perez, handing him the manila envelope, “This seems to be for you; some sort of legal matter.” Trying to play dumb and keep his ass out of it as much as possible.

“‘Complaint for Mandatory Injunction,’” Mr. Perez said, looking over at Jay Walt. “Some sort of legal matter, huh? ‘To compel the disclosure of information… a summons to appear in Circuit Court, County of Oakland.’ Yeah, I guess that’s some sort of legal matter all right. Raymond, what would you say to taking this fat boy and throwing him out the window?”

“You open it,” Raymond said, moving toward Jay Walt, “and I’ll throw him. How far you want him to go?”

“I guess all the way down,” Mr. Perez said. “Might as well.” He walked over to the room’s smaller, regular-size window, snapped the shade up spi

“That’s good,” Raymond said.

Jay Walt didn’t believe it, looking from Mr. Perez to Raymond Gidre, who was close to him now, with his wet-down hair and sportshirt and mother tattoo. He could smell Raymond’s hair tonic. He said, “Hey, guys, come on.”

“I can run him right through there,” Raymond said. “Got handles on his coat.” Raymond grabbed the belt and one of the epaulets, almost jerked Jay Walt off his feet, and ran him across the room toward the window.

Jay Walt screamed. “Jesus Christ-come on! For Christ’s sake, wait!”

Jay Walt’s head banged hard against the window frame. “Shit,” Raymond said. He backed him up, straining, clench-jawed, and pushed him half through the open window, Jay Walt squeezing against the sill with his knees to hold on, looking straight down seventeen floors to the Jefferson Avenue service drive, seeing the tops of cars moving, inching along, feeling the wind cutting his face.

“Son of a bitch is stuck.”

“Hold him there,” Mr. Perez said. “I believe he was saying his prayers.”

“I don’t know, he mentioned Jesus,” Raymond said. “Ain’t he a Jew boy?”

“I believe so. Ask him.”

Raymond leaned close to Jay Walt’s back. “Hey, are you a Jew boy?” Raymond looked up at Mr. Perez. “He nodded yes.”

“Ask him was this his idea.”

Raymond asked him. “He shook his head no,” Raymond said.

“Ask him again.”

“Nooo!” wailed Jay Walt, out in the wind.

“Ask him whose idea was it.”

“Ryan!” Jay Walt screamed. “I don’t know anything about it-honest to Christ!”

“Bring him in and shut the window,” Mr. Perez said. He walked over to the bar and made himself a drink. When he came back, Jay Walt had edged away from the window and seemed to be holding on to his stomach, protecting himself.

“Slap him a good one,” Mr. Perez said. “Get his attention.”

Jay Walt didn’t see it coming. Raymond gave him an open hand across the face that almost knocked him down. Jay Walt screamed as he got it.

“Some more.”

He looked round and fatter in the coat, trying to cover up. “Please, please don’t hurt me. I swear to God-”

He tried to turn, but Raymond caught him by the front of his coat and cracked him hard across the face. “Look at me, Jew boy,” Raymond said. “Hey, look at me.” Raymond grabbed him by the hair then, raising his face, Jay Walt moaning, trying to squeeze his eyes closed, and began slapping him with his yellow-callused palm, back-handing him on the return swing, raking the man’s nose and cheekbones with his knuckles.

Mr. Perez sipped his drink and lowered it. “That’s fine, Raymond.” As Raymond stepped away, blowing on his hand, Mr. Perez said to Jay Walt, “Did you learn anything of value today?”

Jay Walt, his mouth open and swollen-looking, nodded and mumbled something.

“I can’t hear you,” Mr. Perez said.

“Yes, sir, I did, I didn’t mean to-”