The Childish Churl (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 15)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Mike's jaw dropped in astonishment. He looked down at me for a moment, all the anger in his scary monster face draining away. I grinned a little. He gave me the tiniest of smiles and sat back down.

  Greg took a deep breath. "The main problem here is that Mike believes he really is the Daddy of us all. He's got his fingers in all the pies and couldn't delegate if his life depended on it." Looking at me, he said, "You don't see it. No one sees it but me. I'm the one who's making warm milk with crackers in it so his stomach will stop hurting at night. I see what's going on here and it has to stop."

  He took two deep breaths and then, in a quieter voice, said, "Look. There is no one on planet Earth that I'd rather have between me and the big bad world than Mike Robertson. But not if it kills him."

  He looked around the room. "It seems to me as if all the—" He stopped and held out his hand like a traffic cop. "Wait. Don't anyone fucking move." In a calmer tone, he said, "I'll be right back."

  He stalked out of the office and slammed the door closed behind him.

  . . .

  Our numbers grew by five. The room was getting a little crowded.

  Greg had brought in Frankie and Maria Vasco. Frankie was retired from the N.Y.P.D. and, with Sam, was one of the "old men" of our company. Maria was his wife. She was smart as a whip and did excellent research work. Before she'd moved to New York back in the 30s and before she'd met Frankie, her name had been Marvin.

  Next came Walter, our resident brainiac and Maria's partner in crime.

  To round out the group, in walked Dawson Runson and Andy Anderson. They lived together and shared a bed. We'd met them back in the summer of '53. We were the reason they'd moved to the City. They knew each other and had fallen in love. Dawson had worked for the Washington D.C. Metropolitan Police. He'd quit before he could be fired. Andy, who was from Carter's hometown, had been an agent with the Bureau in L.A. and had also quit before he could be fired.

  Those were all the most important people in the company. Since we'd moved into the building at the beginning of the year, I'd been noticing a slow increase of tension around the office. It was nothing specific, only a general sense that everyone was having trouble getting along. Considering our company had become a haven for those who had no hope of getting work elsewhere, I had wondered about that.

  On the surface, things were going well. Everyone was making more money than they could have made anywhere else. We were doing good work and making a difference for our clients. So, it seemed to me we should all be sailing on "The Good Ship Lollipop." But it wasn't always that way and was becoming less so, little by little. I had assumed I didn't have a clear grasp on things because of my own personal dramas, but now we were all in one place, it suddenly made sense that we needed to do something.

  Greg, the last person I would have imagined, seemed to be on top of things. His description of feeding Mike warm milk and crackers had hit me hard. Greg could see what Mike was hiding from the rest of us.

  And we needed to have an airing of all the grievances if we were going to get through what was coming. And, after hearing everything Whitcombe had brought to light, I had no doubt there was a lot coming.

  Greg stood in front of my desk and looked around. "I may get fired for this—"

  I raised my hand. "No. You absolutely will not. I don't care what you say about me or Carter or Mike or anyone else. You seem to be the only one of us who can see everything that's going on. So, lead on, Greg."

  He nodded but didn't smile. I put that down to his innate ability to work a room. I wondered how we could use that at some point. And then wondered at my own audacity at even wondering about such a thing.

  He folded his arms and leaned against my desk. "Here's the problem. Mike is trying to run everything and he's delegating nothing."

  I saw Andy look over at Dawson, who nodded slightly.

  "The problem with that isn't so obvious when there's only ten or twenty people. How many employees do you have right now?"

  Marnie answered, "One hundred and ten, more or less."

  Everyone in the room, including me but excluding Mike, gasped.

  Greg looked at Carter. "And how many arson investigators do you have?"

  He said, "Two."

  Greg shrugged. "I love you, Carter, but you should do what you really wanna do."

  I looked up at my husband. I knew exactly what Greg meant. Carter and I had talked about it a couple of times. I said, "Yeah. There's no reason we have to keep doing arson work."

  He sighed. "That work is drying up anyway."

  I shrugged. "Makes sense then. I know what you wanna do."

  In a joking voice, Andy said, "Carter wants to be a private dick."

  Several people chuckled at that.

  Carter put his arm around my shoulder. "Yeah. I do."

  I leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled. Things were going good. So far.

  Greg said, "That simplifies a couple of things. And your guys—"

  Mike said, "No, Greg. I make the work assignments."

  Shaking his head incredulously, Greg said, "This!" He pointed at Mike. "This is what I'm talking about."

  "Who else has the big picture?" asked Mike. It was a fair question.

  Dawson raised his hand. "But, what are we talking about? Do you really need to manage all the wayward husbands—"

  "And wives," added Maria.

  Dawson grinned. "Yeah, and wives. Do you really need to manage all those assignments?"

  "Who else is gonna do it?" asked Mike.

  Greg, Andy, Frankie, and me all laughed.

  "What?" he asked.

  I pointed at Dawson. "He's fucking volunteering for the job, Mike."

  Mike shrugged. "Fine. But I wanna know what you're up to."

  Dawson nodded. "Sure. We can meet once a week."

  Running his hand through his hair, Mike said, "How many goddam weekly meetings am I supposed to have?"

  Greg replied, "By my count, probably five. Maybe six."

  Mike turned on his lover. "By your count?"

  Counting on his fingers, Greg said, "First, your meeting with Nick and Carter about running the company. Second, your meeting with Nick and Carter about their security. That's a client meeting, by the way."

  Mike nodded thoughtfully. "What else?"

  "Third, you got wayward spouses with Dawson."

  "OK."

  "Fourth, you need to have a weekly meeting with Walter and Maria about intelligence gathering. You told me yourself you have a shitload of information coming in, most of which you don't have an immediate use for."

  Sam piped up. "There's information, but what about informants?"

  Greg nodded. "Right. You need to be working with Walter and Maria about how to create an index of what your informants are passing on."

  Mike asked, "Then how do we decide what to give over to the police departments and the F.B.I.?"

  "I think you should be the one who does that. That should still be your job and only one person should do it."

  Everyone nodded at that.

  Mike said, "So that's five."

  "Five?" asked Dawson.

  Greg said, "The one with Sam."

  Dawson nodded. "Got it."

  Mike asked, "What else?"

  Frankie piped up, "How about department liaisons?"

  I looked at Mike. "Yeah. That's as important as anything else."

  He nodded and asked Frankie, "Are you volunteering?"

  Frankie replied, "Sure. I think I should lead it since I'm not from here. But I'll need you to backstop me." He was looking at Greg, not Mike, when he said that.

  Greg nodded. "Yes. That's perfect."

  "What about special projects?" asked Carter.

  "Like what?" asked Maria.

  "Like the fact that we have to hire Junior Abati."

  "We do?" asked Andy with a look of disgust on his face.

  I nodded. "By order of the United States Attorney."

  He looked surprised.


  I looked around the room. "OK, Greg, here's one of our big problems. Do I tell everyone here about this situation? It's been on our plate since March."

  He looked at me for a long moment. Then he looked at Walter. "What do you think?"

  Walter, who hadn't said anything since he'd walked in, cleared his throat. "I, uh, well, Mr. Holland. Here's, um, what I think."

  I could barely hear him, so I said, "Walter, stand up." Carter jabbed me with his elbow. Walter was shy. And, standing at barely five feet, he was easily intimidated by almost every man in the office.

  But, to our collective surprise, he did stand. He walked up to where Greg was leaning against the desk. He turned and looked at all of us. He cleared his throat. "Uh, I, well, I think we need to form some structures in the company."

  "Such as?" I asked.

  "To start, this group could, uh, become the Senior Committee. We, well, we would be who you could come to for advice and we could meet once a week." He smiled at that, which made everyone laugh. He took out his handkerchief, removed his glasses, and began to wipe the lenses. He always looked like an owl but, when he took off his glasses, he just looked blank. He put his glasses back on and looked around the room. "Um, so, a Senior Committee would be a good start. And, everyone on the committee would be at least a Vice President of the company."

  I nodded. That made sense. But I thought of something, "What about Marnie?"

  Walter's eyes widened, making him look more owl-like than ever. "Oh, she should be one of the Executive Vice Presidents."

  Several heads nodded.

  "But, uh, if you don't mind, Mr. Williams, I'll get to that in a minute."

  I nodded. "Sorry, Walter."

  He gave me a grin, which always made my knees go a little weak. Carter pulled me in a little tighter.

  "So, as, um, I was saying. There's this Senior Committee. But, uh, at the top is Mr. Williams as the Chairman of the company."

  I smiled. "Fine."

  "And then, in a co-executive position, there's Mr. Jones as the Chief Executive Officer."

  I looked up at Carter. "How about it, Chief?"

  Everyone laughed at that.

  Carter pulled me closer. "Sounds fine. But why that title, Walter?"

  "Well, uh, I think Mr. Holland already pointed out that you tend to go around sniffing out what we're all up to." Walter was right but he hadn't been in the room when Greg had said that. I wondered how many people had heard that first conversation.

  Carter nodded but didn't say anything.

  "That's something I, uh, noticed when I first started. And, if, uh, you'll pardon me for saying so, Mr. Jones, I think you owe it to all of us to keep us, well, you know, informed of what you see us doing."

  Walter put his finger on something I had only been dimly aware of. Everything, as he said it, made sense. Carter did always seem to know what everyone was up to. He was always mailing letters to our friends, sending them telegrams on their birthdays, and keeping track of people I had long forgotten about. And that was just in our personal life. At work, there was a whole lot I didn't know about what he did. It was becoming more obvious.

  Carter nodded. "I'll keep that in mind, Walter."

  "Well, uh, yes. That would be good. So, then Mr. Robertson would maintain his title of President. Of course, then Mr. Holland should be the Executive Vice President for Operations since that's what he's doing right now." Walter didn't "um" or "uh" over that part. Instead he spit it all out very quickly.

  I nodded.

  "Then Mrs. LeBeau should be Executive Vice President, or E.V.P., for Personnel."

  I looked at Marnie who appeared to be shocked. "You want me to do the hirin' and the firin'?"

  Walter nodded. "Yes, ma'am. You, uh, well, you're the best at it."

  I raised my hand. "Can she still be my secretary?"

  Everyone laughed but I was serious.

  "Well, Mr. Williams, um, this is something you need to consider."

  Marnie said, "I wanna be Nick's secretary. I don't wanna be Executive whatever." There was a sound to her voice I didn't like.

  "Are you sure, doll?" I asked.

  She nodded, biting her lip. A couple of tears ran down her cheeks. Maria handed her a handkerchief. "Thanks," said Marnie.

  "It's whatever you want," I said.

  "I like my job as it is."

  I nodded and looked at Walter. "Seems like our Executive V.P. of Operations needs to hire one of those for Personnel."

  Walter nodded. He looked at Marnie and said, "I'm sorry, Mrs. LeBeau."

  She laughed and then sniffed. "That's fine, Walter. You're amazing, you know that?"

  Turning beet red as we all agreed with her, Walter coughed and ran his palms over the sides of his trousers.

  Greg looked down at Walter and said, "What else?"

  "Well, uh, I was thinking that Mrs. Vasco should be the E.V.P. for Intelligence."

  I glanced over at Maria who looked taken aback. "What?" she asked.

  Walter nodded. "Yes. You are so much better at managing than I am. I don't want to have that kind of job."

  It was Maria's turn to blush, which she did. Frankie said, "He's right, you know."

  She nodded as Marnie handed back her handkerchief. She dabbed an eye and said, "I accept."

  Walter smiled and said, "I think I should be the Vice President for Analysis."

  Greg said, "Me, too. What else?"

  Dawson leaned forward in his chair. "Hey, kid, can I be the Executive Vice President of something?"

  Andy murmured something I couldn't hear. Dawson grinned and nodded at whatever it was.

  "Well, Mr. Runson, I, uh, thought your title should be Vice President of Surveillance. And that Mr. Anderson should have the same title along with Mr. Halversen and that all three of you should report to Mr. Holland. You, uh, all seem to go together."

  "Hey!" said Frankie. "What about me?"

  Walter shifted. "You, uh, might think this is weird, Mr. Vasco, but I think you should be E.V.P. for Public Relations."

  "Advertising?" asked Mike.

  Walter shook his head. "If there's one thing this company will never need, it's that." He reddened. I wondered if it was because he'd talked back to Mike and did so in one continuous string of words. But I wasn't sure.

  Mike, for his part, nodded. "I see. So, you think Frankie should be the public face of Consolidated Security. Any reason?"

  Walter looked down at the floor. "I, uh, well..." He scratched the back of his neck. He was doing a perfect imitation of the kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  "Just tell him what you told me." That was Carter. As if we were in a movie, everyone turned and stared at my husband. I was surprised but, then again, not. In that instant, I could suddenly see Carter Jones's finger behind everything that was happening.

  Walter said, "Well, Mr. Vasco, and I, uh, don't mean to be rude or impolite—"

  Maria beat him to the punch. "You think Frankie is a straight arrow."

  Walter blushed again and nodded.

  Mike laughed. "That's not what I've heard."

  Out of nowhere, Andy piped up and said, "Walter, you're a genius. You're exactly right. Frankie is the perfect person for the job."

  Scratching his face, Frankie grinned and looked around the room. "So, you guys think I'm a heterosexual?"

  The chorus of replies was hilarious and deafening.

  . . .

  After we got all that straightened out, Mike and I had brought the Senior Committee up to speed on our conversation with Whitcombe. I then told them about hiring Junior Abati and the threats that Higginbotham had made. Carter and I talked about our meeting that morning with Lieutenant Thomas. Walter brought us up to speed on what he'd found out about Grossman, which wasn't much. Andy brought up the idea of hiring a Comptroller. Marnie, who'd been writing all the company checks and sending out the invoices since we'd started, agreed and said she would be happy to look for the right candidate. Maria suggested tha
t maybe the Comptroller and E.V.P. of Personnel could be the same person at first. That had led to a small squabble, which had satisfied me a great deal since I could feel the way things were coming together, even if not everyone agreed with everything.

  The final part of our first Senior Committee meeting was kicked off by Mike when I asked, "What were you whispering about with Whitcombe?"

  Mike looked down at the floor. "I asked him to see if he could do something about those extradition orders to England. He said he would try but couldn't make any promises."

  Carter asked, "What was that thing at the end?"

  Mike looked up with half a grin. "What thing at the end?"

  "When he asked you something and you got on the phone."

  "That's one thing I can't tell you."

  I looked at Walter and then at Greg. "How does that fit into your plan?"

  Greg nodded and folded his arms. "That's going to happen sometimes. We do have to keep some secrets from each other."

  "But not many," said Dawson.

  "And not often," added Frankie.

  Everyone seemed to be in agreement with that and we were done.

  . . .

  Once most everyone was gone, I walked over to the credenza and pulled out the bottle of my father's whiskey. It was down to a few gulps. I pulled out the cork and turned to the room. "Let's finish this."

  Mike stood and walked over to me. Greg and Carter followed him.

  I took a gulp and handed the bottle to Mike. He took a swig and handed it to Greg, who did the same and passed it to Carter, who finished it off.

  I looked up at the three of them and could feel the warmth of the whiskey and the warmth of my affection for my friends and lovers. I was one hell of a lucky guy to have known any one of them. To know and to love them all was like hitting the jackpot.

  I pulled Mike's tie toward me and kissed him soundly on the lips. He whispered, "I love you, Nick."

  I nodded and released his tie. "I love you, too, Mike."

  I walked over to Greg and put my hands on his head. "Damn you, Greg Holland, you're one sneaky bastard, and I love you."

  He grinned, kissed me on the lips, and said, "Love you, too, Nick."

  I walked up to Carter and pulled on his tie. "But you're the sneakiest of them all."