The Snows of Montora (The Chronicles of Montora Book 3)

by Ward Wagher

  “Oh, I had them done yesterday. I thought it might help.”

  “It sure does. Thanks Stephanie.”

  She smiled and quietly slipped out of the office.

  Frank sipped his coffee, more quietly. He looked up at Love. “Are you from New Stockholm originally, Mr. Love?

  “To please, it is Randolph,” he said with emphasis. “I am from Cardiff.”

  “Oh, from Caledon?”

  “To be born there, but I actually on Woogaea grew up to,” he explained.

  “How very interesting,” Frank said. “I wasn't aware there was a significant human presence there.”

  “To be very sure, not much. I am of Flootzoot Nest.”

  “That is amazing. I have never heard of such a thing. You were raised by the Woogies?”

  “Parents killed by troop of Boopooga. Randolph was five years Terran.”

  “So the Woogies adopted you, then?” Frank asked.

  “Closest human analogous. I am Flootzoot.”

  Love tipped the cup back and finished the coffee. He set the cup back on the edge of the desk and cocked his hip. There was a long flatulent buzz. “To be good coffee. The resource manager thanks you.”

  “You are welcome, Randolph,” Frank said.

  “Must go. To send quote the day ends. End Quote.”

  “Uh, okay,” Frank said. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  “Oh, not buying anything,” Love said. “Just drink coffee. Nice coffee. To see you later alligator.”

  He gave a short bow and saluted, then turned and walked out of the office in a mincing sort of glide.”

  “Golly, Skipper,” Smith said. “He talked just like a Woogie.”

  Frank looked down at his desk and grinned. “I'm glad you were able to contain yourself, Cedric. It was all I could do to keep from coming apart. What do you know about the man? He's quite a dandy.”

  “Well regarded in the community. Everybody smirks when they talk about him, though. They say he doesn't take it personally.”

  “I'm glad it's not just us. We'll see what his proposal looks like, but if he can run his business on the kind of margins he was talking about, I'm inclined to sign up with him.”

  “What could possibly go wrong?” Smith asked.

  “Cedric,” Frank breathed. “You have this way of slipping into a nice day like a migraine.”

  “When you're good, Skipper, you're good.”

  Franklin rolled his eyes. “Let's not even go there. What's next?”

  Smith had moved over to the window and was watching. “Skipper, take a look at this.”

  Frank got out of his chair and walked to the window. “What are we looking at?”

  Smith pointed down to the boardwalk. Charlie the Dimaton had surfaced alongside. Randolph Love was on one knee and scratching the top of the sea creature.

  “There is something just so wrong with that picture, Cedric,” Frank said.

  “Hopefully you will not have to go looking for another agent.”

  “Not at this point, no.” Frank stood watching the scene for a few moments more and then returned to his desk.

  “I spoke with the agent representing the house,” Smith said. “We can close anytime.”

  “What about the title search and all that?”

  “Already done.”

  “You did it? You have surprising depths, Cedric.”

  “No, Ems Brundage took care of it. She was JAG at one time.”

  “Ems?” Frank asked, his eyebrows arching. “Getting a bit familiar with the Commander are we?”

  “That's what she asked me to call her.”

  “With her husband around?”

  “Give me a break, Skipper. If Francine caught me fooling around, it wouldn't just be fuzzy dice hanging from the sat-nav in the ground car.”

  Frank laughed. “I didn't know you were afraid of anybody, Sarge.”

  “Three people, Skipper. Francine, of course. The Colonel, when he got a head of steam up, gave me pause. And Daphne Locke made me a bit nervous a time or two.”

  “The lieutenant?” Frank asked. “That's hard to believe. She didn't bother me any.”

  “Well, it was just that I could never anticipate what she was going to do. Sort of like a bottle of nitroglycerin.”

  “I take your point. My wife wasn't afraid of anybody,” Frank said.

  “She was formidable,” Smith agreed.

  The silence grew for a bit. Why did I have to bring that up? Frank asked himself.

  “Let me go arrange for the closing,” Smith said suddenly. “We'll have to stop by the bank first.”

  “Yes,” Frank said. “You do that.”

  Smith shrugged and slipped out of the room.

  Frank walked behind his desk and dropped into the chair. He rested his head in his hands. Why can't I let her go? I guess I really don't want to. But why did she have to die?

  Frank was still in a sullen mood when they left the office to walk to Rapunzel's for lunch. As they walked along the boardwalk, Charlie erupted from the water next to them. Frank danced to the side, swearing in surprise.

  “I think he likes you, Skipper,” Smith laughed.

  “For dinner, probably. Either that or I'll die from a stroke!”

  § § §

  The house closing went smoothly – no small surprise to Frank. Upon receiving the bank draft from Frank, the agent handed over a set of machined metal tabs.

  “What's this?” Frank asked.

  “These are the keys to your new house.”

  Frank stared at the items for a moment before his brain suddenly gave them recognizable shape. “Oh, mechanical locks, right?”

  “Yes. A bit odd if you ask me.”

  After Frank thumb-printed and signed the agent's comp-tablet, they returned to the office. When they walked in Stephanie was uneasily watching Fillbee, who sat across from the desk gazing steadily at her.

  “What are you doing here, Fillbee?” Frank asked.

  The gangly creature stood up and faced Frank. “Here to collect your insurance money for the boss.”

  “Insurance? Boss? I thought you worked at the restaurant across the way.”

  “M' other job, Frankie. Bill collector too.”

  Frank glanced over at Smith before walking over to stand face to face with Fillbee. Jones slipped into the office and stood behind Fillbee.

  “What does the insurance cover, Fillbee?” Frank asked.

  He shrugged and a lock of greasy hair swung in front of his face. He swept it back with a hand and grinned. “Just to make sure nothin' happens to your office here... or to yer people. Know what I mean?”

  “Uh huh. And what's the toll?”

  “What?”

  “What kind of money are we talking about?”

  “A thousand should do.”

  “Per?”

  “What?” he asked again.

  “Your boss doesn't let you in the orchestra pit, does he?” Frank asked.

  Fillbee looked back and forth in confusion. “The boss ain't got no orchestra. He plays the vids.”

  Jones snorted quietly. Fillbee jumped and looked behind him. “Ya ain't plannin' something is ya?”

  “You tell me,” Frank said. “You're claiming to collect for the boss. Who's your boss? And where's your paperwork?”

  “Paperwork?”

  “You know. An invoice and an insurance contract. Is this a one-time payment, or are you planning on coming back?”

  “I thinks you're being funny with me,” he accused.

  Frank chuckled. “I can't fool you. You don't realize how smart you really are.”

  Fillbee straightened up slightly, not catching the insinuation. “I do okay.”

  “Then here is what we are going to do,” Frank said. “Have your boss come see me. I want him to explain precisely how we are to do business. Understand?”

  Fillbee shook his head. “The boss won't like that.”

  “That is not my problem. Now get out of here,” Frank s
aid. “And by the way, if you come back in here again, one of these two fine gentlemen here will make sure you will never forget why you don't want to come back.”

  Fillbee took the time to eye Stephanie up and down another time, then stalked out of the door.

  “Mr. Nyman,” Stephanie said, “he gave me the creeps.”

  “He is kind of a sorry low-life, isn't he? Well if he is stupid enough to come in again, one of our illustrious sergeants will persuade him of the error of his ways.”

  “Perhaps I should follow him and give him some friendly persuasion,” Jones said.

  Frank looked thoughtful. “Tempting as that is, let's not escalate just yet. We may be working our way into the spot between the rock and the hard place.”

  “Right, Sir,” Jones said. “But just say the word and we'll put yon Fillbee in that spot.”

  “I imagine you would,” Frank said. “But let's get the measure of his boss first before we plunge into that pool.”

  Everyone remained in the office for a few moments before Frank spoke again.

  “Any more business to take care of this afternoon?”

  “That Woogie commed this afternoon,” Stephanie said. “He said he would try again tomorrow morning – at least, if I understood him correctly.”

  “Fine,” Frank said. “I need to get moved into my new house, so let's lock up for the day.”

  “The Brundages said they would prepare dinner,” Smith said.

  “More and more better. I will be overjoyed to get out of that hotel,” Frank said. “The service was good, but you never quite feel unpacked.”

  “I cannot believe you were able to close on property so soon. It usually takes far longer than that,” Stephanie said.

  “Never underestimate a sergeant, Stephanie,” Frank said. “Cedric here has been responsible for some remarkable feats in the past.”

  Smith colored slightly and moved towards his office.

  “He's modest too,” Stephanie said. “He just does things and moves on. I'm learning a lot from him.”

  “That he does. By the way, would you like to see the house? I'm sure the Brundages will set another place for dinner. Smith & Jones can take you home after.”

  “I would love to see it, Sir,” she said. “I've seen the property from the road and always wondered what it was like.”

  “Good,” Frank said. “Smith, let Mrs. Brundage know she has another mouth to feed tonight.”

  “Right, Sir.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Mrs. Brundage, this is wonderful,” Stephanie said as she worked her way through the chicken cordon bleu. “I do not believe I have ever had anything quite like this.”

  “It really is good,” Frank said. “Your culinary skills are impressive.”

  Emily Brundage smiled. “You don't know how nice it is to receive compliments. The former owners would sit down to eat and then get up without a word. We were just the servants, dontcha know.” She put just the right emphasis on the last sentence, sounding like the haute culture, noveau riche.

  “If you ever get the impression I am treating you like servants, I trust you will set me straight,” Frank said. “I can't believe how people act, sometimes.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” Emily said. “But as employees, we need to remember our place.”

  “Oh, nonsense, Emily,” Frank replied. “As employees, you are really partners in the business. Yes, I'm the owner, and yes, I make the final decisions. But, I count on my people to participate. Even Smith has kicked the sticks out from under me a time or two.”

  Sergeant Smith was not at the table for this meal. He was patrolling the house and the grounds of Frank's new estate. Jones was at the table this evening and was typically silent.

  Emily looked over at Gough and then back at Frank. “You don't know how good that makes us feel, Sir. We think this will be an interesting change for us.”

  “Hopefully not too interesting,” Frank said. “And by the way, you can drop the Sir. I'm Frank. Sir was my Father.” He looked over at Jones. “And don't tell Cedric I told them that.”

  “Of course, Skipper,” Jones said.

  As she ate, Stephanie looked around the ornate dining room. “Gosh, this house is amazing. I've never been to a place this fancy before.”

  “This is really much more house than I prefer, Stephanie,” Frank said. “I would have purchased something more modest, except that the deal here was too good to refuse. We can put it down to the previous owners' haste in getting away from Gough.”

  Emily snorted. “There is probably more truth to that than you think, Sir... Frank. The Torstensens were perhaps more afraid of my Gough than they admitted.”

  Gough looked up as everyone looked at him. “What? Me? I'm a nice guy.”

  Stephanie looked around. “I'm not sure I understand.”

  Emily laughed. “Gough does the intimidation thing very well, Stephanie. If you spend any time here, you will see it eventually.”

  “I don't know what everyone is talking about,” Gough said.

  “Speaking of which,” Frank said. “I would like you two to start looking to replace yourselves here at the house. I really do want to bring you into the business. If Willard Krause is determined to keep selling me bottoms, I suppose I am going to have to build an infrastructure to support my little fleet.”

  “If I may,” Gough said, “I suggest we might not get in a hurry to hire for the household. The people around here are just a bit unreliable.”

  “How unreliable?” Frank asked.

  “I'm not really sure. There seem to be a lot of cross-currents – not just in Gustav, but over the whole planet. The Provost is a better academic than a governor. The government infrastructure is pretty weak too.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  Gough grimaced slightly. “I'm not sure what you think about hiring family, Sir, but I have a nephew back on Savonarola who is a professional major domo. If you don't mind paying the passage, he would probably bring an entire staff.”

  “This would be better than letting Randolph Love find staffing?” he asked.

  “I wouldn't worry too much about Randolph... or the Woogies for that matter,” Gough said. “It's the local humans that keep stirring the cesspool. And they have yet to learn that you don't screw around with the Woogies. And I would put Love in the Woogie category.”

  “Definitely a strange bird. He was by to see us today.”

  Gough smiled. “He is not to be trifled with, though.”

  “Really?” Frank asked. “I didn't catch that side of him, other than we watched him scratching a Dimaton after he left the office.”

  Gough snorted. “You see some strange things in the universe. Anyway, about my nephew?”

  “And Savans are dead reliable, too,” Frank murmured to himself. He looked up at the Brundages. “If you two think this is a good idea, go ahead and make it happen. I don't have time to worry about it.”

  “We'll keep you posted, Sir,” Gough said. “And thank you.”

  Frank leaned back in his chair and scratched his chest. “Don't thank me yet. You two have to figure out some way to keep the household running in the meantime.”

  “I think we can manage that, Frank,” Emily said. “If you have finished your dinner, would you like some coffee?”

  “That would be very good, Emily. Thank you.”

  “Why don't I start clearing the table for you?” Stephanie asked.

  “You're a guest tonight,” Emily said. “Stay put.”

  Frank's com unit chittered. He popped it open.

  “Company coming, Skipper,” Smith said.

  “Where?”

  “Front entrance. Ground car with four people. Looks like they had the code for the gate.”

  Frank closed the com. “Looks like we have some visitors on their way.”

  “Who might that be?” Emily asked.

  “I don't know,” Frank said. “But we had somebody in the office today asking to collect insurance and
I told him to have his boss come see me.”

  “I don't think I like the sound of that,” Gough said.

  “I guess we'd better go see to our guests,” Frank said. “Jones, you know what to do.”

  “Yes, Skipper,” Jones said as he was already in movement out of the room.

  Gough stood up. “If you would wait in the reception room – it's on this side of the foyer. I'll get the door.”

  Emily set the coffee pot back on the buffet. “Stephanie, can you handle a gun?”

  “No, Ma'am!” she exclaimed.

  “Then why don't you come with me? We'll wait in the security cave.”

  § § §

  Frank sat in an easy chair in the reception room, idly paging through a book he found on the table. Gough Brundage escorted four men into the room.

  “A Mister Chavis to see you, Sir,” Gough said.

  Frank looked up and then snapped the book closed. He laid it carefully on the table and stood up.

  “Frank Nyman,” he said, sticking out his hand.

  “Fillbee had some difficulty collecting the insurance premiums, it seems,” Chavis said. “It was really an inconvenience for me to drive out here to explain things.”

  Chavis ignored Frank's hand. He was short, and rotund. He was dressed as a businessman, but ostentatiously.

  “I suppose you know,” Frank said, “since he works for you, Fillbee has trouble communicating. He came into my office and held out his hand. Rather than just pitching him into one of the canals, I suggested some more information might be useful.”

  Chavis looked at the three men who accompanied him, and were dressed similarly. “I believe I have the necessary communication with me this evening. In fact, if you had taken care of business with Fillbee this afternoon you could have avoided the extra consulting fee my visit has triggered.”

  “Since I am apparently retaining you for consultation,” Frank replied, “suppose you explain to me the details of your insurance racket.”

  “Please, Mr. Nyman. It is not a racket. We are simply funding the peace in the city.”

  “In other words, if I don't pay, my life gets much less peaceful, right?”

  “I believe we understand each other,” Chavis said.