Killed in the Ratings

by William L. DeAndrea

  “What happened?” I asked Monica.

  “I don’t know. I ... I got a phone call this morning—”

  “Wednesday morning,” Goldfarb corrected good-naturedly.

  “—somebody saying you’d been hurt and brought to the hospital. You didn’t answer your phone, you weren’t at your parents’ house. I got to the hospital, and as I was crossing the lobby, I started to feel dizzy, and when I woke up, I was here.”

  “Somebody bumped into you and gave you an injection,” I told her. “How do you feel?”

  “I’m still pretty drowsy,” she said. “Matt, I want to go home.”

  So did I. “All right, Goldfarb,” I said. “Let’s get down to business. What do you want from me?”

  “Sit down, please, both of you. That’s better. I’m sure we can settle this easily.” He made the same smile Ozzie Nelson used to accompany an offer of cookies and milk. “Before I tell you what I expect of our ... ah ... association, I’m going to tell you about myself. I want you to know the sort of person you will be dealing with.”

  I couldn’t resist. “With whom you will be dealing, you mean. You should never use a preposition to end a sentence with.”

  “Very amusing,” he deadpanned. “Perhaps you made a mistake when you gave up your ambition to teach.”

  “I’ve often felt that way,” I admitted.

  “I was a teacher myself, as you probably know. Until ten years ago, I was a professor of economics. I am still one of the world’s foremost experts in corporate accounting. My books are still used as texts at many colleges.

  “But as my theories gained wider and wider acceptance, I became less and less happy. I saw the huge multinational corporations make unprecedented profits. I had made it possible for strangers, foreigners to make billions. Even the Arabs enriched themselves with my ideas.

  “And I had nothing. Oh, I made a salary, a good one by most standards, but I had no wealth. Do you understand the difference between money and wealth, Mr. Cobb?”

  “Money is the result of wealth,” I told him. “A producing oil well is wealth. A factory. A diner where the food is good.”

  He beamed at me. “You would have been an excellent teacher. With all my degrees, I couldn’t have defined it better. I would have thought, though, that you might have included a high-rated television show in your definition.

  “So one day, I came to my senses. My mother was ill, desperately ill. She had to sell this house to raise money for treatment, even though I had helped her all I could.

  “What kind of a son would allow that to happen? Not the kind my mother deserves. I vowed to make it up to her.”

  Goldfarb stood up, and began pacing back and forth, hands clenched behind his back, just the way he probably had when he lectured the grad students in Accounting 605.

  “I would be the last to deny that one may legally acquire wealth,” he went on, “even with the limited capital I had at the time, but it takes too long, and I had already wasted enough time. I chose to work outside the law, and avoid such distractions as income tax, maximum interest rates, and antitrust laws. I took my capital, and using my theories to my own advantage, along with the ... ah ... uninhibited business practices customary outside the law, I have accumulated much money. And much wealth. I have bought this house back for my mother ... and five others around the world.”

  “A veritable Napoleon of crime,” I said.

  He laughed. “Hardly a Moriarty, Mr. Cobb. I don’t direct or control many criminal enterprises, I merely arrange things so I profit from them.

  “And that brings me to the point, Mr. Cobb. I am angry with you. I’ve been polite and even friendly, but you have made me very angry.”

  “How the hell did I accomplish that?” I demanded. “I didn’t even know you existed until yesterday.”

  “It wasn’t necessary to know of my existence. You have done the one thing I will not tolerate. You have deprived me of a source of wealth.”

  Monica looked at him, then at me, then back to him, then back to me. “What is he talking about?” she asked.

  “Damned if I know.”

  “Please spare me the coyness. You deprived me of a source of wealth with a potential return of millions of dollars when you murdered Vincent Carlson.”

  I shook my head, resigned. “Boy,” I said, “once a rumor gets started ... I suppose you know you’re insane?”

  “I beg to differ with you. A man is found with the body of a man he’s never met, but who just happens to be the ex-husband of his former lover. Questioned by the police, then released, he makes straight for the apartment of the woman, where he spends over an hour. What is one supposed to think?”

  “One thinks Goldfarb owns a cop,” I said. “One thinks one was tailed.”

  He laughed. “Ray was waiting for you outside Police Headquarters, with instructions to follow you and bring you to me when you returned home. He failed, as you know. Tolly waited for you at your apartment. He also failed.

  “In any event, you handled Tolly so easily—”

  That was too much for Tolly. “It wasn’t him, it was that son-of-a-bitch dog!”

  “You know better than to interrupt me, Tolly.” He said it calmly, but Tolly turned off the anger immediately. He looked sheepish, and seemed to get smaller as we watched.

  “As I was saying. You were so resourceful, I decided to study you before we talked business.”

  “Yeah?” I said. “What kind of business did you have in mind with that car on 86th Street last night? What kind of study? Were you going to take a smear of me and do a microscopy?”

  “Nonsense. It was someone else who tried to run you down. You seem to have a knack for offending people.”

  I didn’t say anything, but for the first time, I was faintly encouraged. If it had been someone else and not Goldfarb, it meant Goldfarb didn’t want me dead; at least not immediately. If it had been Tolly or Ray at the wheel, the fact that they were lying about it had to mean they cared what I thought, which meant I’d be around to think for a little while, anyway.

  Monica looked concerned. “Somebody tried to kill you?” I had forgotten this was the first she was hearing about it, and the horrified look on her face surprised me.

  “They tried, all right,” I said. “Tony and Spot saved my life. Tony got a couple of broken legs out of it.”

  “Oh, my God,” she said.

  “Who is Tony?” Goldfarb demanded.

  “Friend of ours,” I replied.

  “My deepest sympathy,” he said sincerely. “I hope you both will be able to extend it to him. Now, to get back to our discussion. Under ordinary circumstances, having done what you did—”

  I broke in. “Just for the record, I didn’t do it. Most of the police don’t think so either.”

  That amused him. “I know. This is the first time Detective Rivetz and I have agreed on anything. By the way, to correct your earlier misassumption, I don’t own any policemen, and don’t want to. The more people on your payroll, the more witnesses there may be to testify against you, remember that, Cobb. I get information secondhand, maybe thirdhand, but I always know what I need to know. I know what the police think.

  “But the police are required to prove what they think, and I am not. I think you are intelligent enough to arrange the evidence to make it look unlikely you murdered Carlson. There was enough at stake.”

  Monica caught Goldfarb’s crinkly eyes. “Matt was right, you know. You are crazy.”

  “All the worse for the two of you if I am,” he said. He was furious. He no longer looked like Ozzie Nelson. Ozzie Nelson was never furious. “The only reason you haven’t vanished without a trace, Mr. Cobb, is my suspicion that you may replace Mr. Carlson as a source of wealth.”

  I said nothing. It seemed to throw Goldfarb for a loss, as though the conversation had been scripted, and I’d missed my cue.

  He struggled on. “Because you didn’t kill Carlson solely from lust. You wouldn’t, I know, having studied you. An
d Rivetz’s blackmail theory is ludicrous. But Carlson, in order to pay his debt to me, had done something with as much earning potential as any development in this century. You killed him to get control of that development.”

  “How about letting me in on what I killed him to get?”

  “As if you didn’t know.” Goldfarb was disappointed in me. “Carlson was a brilliant man, but he had a very loose mouth. It took very little pressure to get him to tell me what it was. Surely his wife was told. Surely, she told her lover.”

  He was truly insane. The wronger he got, the more positive he was.

  “Humor me,” I said.

  “Very well. Carlson had developed a way to prearrange the ratings of any television program.”

  So. I was sorry Devlin had come by that morning, because I was better at telling the truth than I was at lying. Now I was stuck with lying.

  “And you believed him?” I laughed derisively. “He was pulling your leg.”

  “I doubt it. Carlson feared me. He said he had done it once, and would never do it again. He didn’t say exactly who paid him, and I didn’t press him about that. As long as there were horses, I knew Vincent Carlson was mine. He would have done it again and again, as often as I told him to.”

  “Why?” I demanded. “What’s in it for you?”

  “Mr. Cobb, don’t you see the possibilities? Of course you do. Why you maintain your pose is beyond me. But I will tell you anyway.

  “Extortion, Mr. Cobb. Tell a struggling producer we can guarantee that his show will be a hit. Bribes. Many businessmen, legitimate or otherwise, have ‘protégées’ who like to think they are actresses or singers. We could assure these men their protégées would produce exceptionally high ratings whenever they appeared on television. Clairvoyance. We could place advertisements for products in which we own an interest on certain programs, and destroy the programs on which our competitors advertise.

  “Of course, this is only off the top of my head. The possibilities are unlimited!” He swept his arms to indicate the scope of the possibilities. His face was aglow with enthusiasm.

  “Uh huh,” I said, “and what happens when people start to notice the discrepancies between CRI and everyone else?”

  Goldfarb looked pleased. “You see? Your expertise is paying off already. I hadn’t thought of that. We must take steps to avoid that for as long as possible.”

  “This is the royal ‘we’ you’re using, I take it.”

  “Not at all, Mr. Cobb, not at all. I am referring to you and me. I intend to reward you handsomely. It’s good business practice to pay a man what he is worth.”

  Monica made a little choking noise. She looked as though she were going into shock.

  “You make it sound good,” I told Goldfarb. “I wish I could help you.”

  “Of course you can help me.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. Sorry. I’m honest, I can’t help it, it’s a congenital defect.” I rose. “Let’s go, Monica.”

  One one-hundredth of my mind thought it might work, that Goldfarb would actually let us walk out that door; the rest was just interested in seeing how far we got.

  I had my hand on the doorknob when Goldfarb spoke up.

  “I believe you’re forgetting something, Mr. Cobb.”

  I hadn’t forgotten. I turned around to see Goldfarb’s smiling face, and Tolly and Ray holding guns on us.

  16

  “A marvelous dish ... just for you.”

  —Graham Kerr, “The Galloping Gourmet” (syndicated)

  WHEN WE HAD RETURNED to our chairs, Goldfarb said, “I expected better of you, Cobb,” I noticed the “mister” was gone.

  I shrugged.

  “Surely you must realize that we’ve discussed the subject too deeply for either of you to leave here as anything but my partner.”

  “Or dead,” Monica said quietly. It was kind of a question.

  Goldfarb waved it off. “I’m sure we can come to an agreement. You’ve gone too far to stop now. I can understand your disappointment at having to share the fruits of your work, but murderers before you have been forced to take on ... ah ... partners. I sympathize with you. But there is too much money to be made using Carlson’s process for me to stay away. You are going to tell me how to control the CRI ratings.”

  “Watch my lips,” I said. “I didn’t kill Carlson. I don’t know how to fix the ratings. Got that?”

  He shook his head. “Nonsense. You are in precisely the same position I was in ten years ago. Your work has made a mockery of you. Because of your excellence at a job you enjoyed, you have been forced to work at one you despise. It was inevitable that you would break out, grab something for yourself.”

  “You know, I can’t figure out what it is about me,” I said. “People have this almost irresistible urge to analyze me, and they’re almost always wrong. Now, take you for instance. I—”

  I never got to finish that sentence, which was just as well, since I was only talking to keep Goldfarb shut up for a while. What interrupted me was the door opening, and the sweet face of Mrs. Goldfarb poking in to announce that supper was ready.

  It wasn’t long before I found out another reason besides filial loyalty that Goldfarb had thrown over the college gig and come home. His mother was the best cook on the Eastern seaboard. There was probably never a time I felt less like eating, but by God, I put it away, roast beef with the smoothest gravy, stuffed derma, carrots and peas, home canned (I found out) and picked personally by Mrs. Goldfarb. For dessert, there was noodle pudding that was so good I had to wonder how anyone brought up by a mother who made it could turn out to be such a louse.

  Monica ate sparingly, with her eyes down, and was clucked at accordingly by Mrs. Goldfarb.

  I figured with his mother there, Goldfarb would have to at least let me talk. I stowed away a forkful of noodles and said, “So, Mr. Goldfarb, even assuming I have the basic knowledge to perform the job you’ve offered me, and I assure you again, I don’t, certain recent developments have put me under some suspicion, and I wouldn’t have the opportunity to do it. So I have to decline your offer, as much as I hate to.” I was talking about being suspected of murder.

  He understood me fine. Wiping his mouth, he said, “Mother, I’m so proud. You always seem to outdo yourself when I have guests.

  “You underrate yourself, Mr. Cobb, and me. I have many friends. A word from me, and they would see to it that those ugly rumors stop. People can always be persuaded, if one goes about it the right way.”

  I was going to protest, but his mother cut me off. “You shouldn’t bother to argue with him, Matt—I may call you Matt?”

  “Sure,” I said. Why not? I liked her.

  “Thank you,” she said primly. “No one can argue with my Herschel. Once he decides what he’s going to do, you might as well argue with the walls. He’s a very strong-minded boy.”

  Her Herschel was beaming. It occurred to me that that overgrown mama’s boy wasn’t as crazy as he acted, that he was just playing the percentages. The way he saw it, the possible return from rigging the ratings far outweighed the nuisance of possibly having to waste a couple of schnooks if they wouldn’t or couldn’t come across.

  That made it worse. And even if I did tell him, I had the feeling Devlin would work his way into the picture and I would be superfluous. There was no guarantee Goldfarb wouldn’t wipe us out just on general principles, even before he found Devlin.

  It stank no matter what direction I sniffed it from. I knew I had to do something, but trying to take on two (or possibly three) armed men seemed a little drastic at the moment. I tabled that one for the Last Resort meeting.

  Goldfarb wanted to talk some more. I decided I was going to string along with him, trying to buy some time. But just as we were getting settled back in the study, Mrs. Goldfarb poked her head in again. It must be tough being a criminal with your mother always hanging around.

  “Herschel, darling,” she said. “I have an appointment at the doctor this evenin
g, I forgot all about it.”

  Her son was very solicitous. “I’m sorry to say I did, too. I’ll call a taxi right away. Can you still be on time?”

  “Yes, if I start right away, but ... are you going to let your mother go alone? You know I don’t like to go out alone at night. I don’t want to take you away from your friends ...”

  “We don’t mind,” I said, being helpful.

  Goldfarb was thinking it over. He looked appraisingly at Monica and me, then helplessly at his mother. Finally he said, “Of course I’ll come with you, Mother. I’ve been meaning to have a chat with that doctor, anyway.”

  He turned to Ray. “Ray, I think we’ve talked enough business for one day. I think Mr. Cobb and Miss Teobaldi would enjoy seeing my mother’s cottage at the beach.”

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Goldfarb said. “My Herschel bought it for me. It’s really beautiful.”

  “Perhaps they’d even like to stay the night there.”

  “Herschel!” his mother scolded, but her eyes were twinkling. I wondered again how a nice lady like that could produce such a creep.

  “And Ray,” Goldfarb said, “be sure to bring the things from the safe with you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Be very careful with them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After an uncomfortable five minutes, with everyone standing around trying to be polite, a cab honked outside, and Goldfarb and his mother were off to the doctor’s. After they had gone, Tolly began to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Monica asked him.

  “The old lady thought—the boss—ha ha—she thought he was fixing you up so you two could—ha ha ha.” He sighed. “Ain’t that cute?” He laughed again. Monica shuddered.

  Ray, meanwhile, had unlocked a desk drawer and come out with two pairs of handcuffs. They were shinier than the ones I had seen the police carrying Tuesday night, but that was the only difference. Probably because cops use theirs more often.