Ways & Means-3
In Mrs. Woods’s apartment…
Nate and Mrs. Woods sat, gaping at the empty spot in the middle of the table. Quentin returned from the bathroom a moment later. “Did I miss something?” he asked cooly. They turned to him, speechless. Finally, Mrs. Woods managed to point to the table. Quentin raised an eyebrow.
Nate and Mrs. Woods explained what happened…
After they finished their story, Quentin mused, leafing through his book.
“Well?” Nate asked, finally.
“Nothing yet,” Quentin said, shrugging. “But it’s starting to take shape.”
Mrs. Woods looked at him in exasperation. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?”
Quentin smiled blandly. “Actually, I was wondering if there’s anywhere around her I can pick up the Wall Street Journal?”
Mrs. Woods and Nate looked at each other, dumbfounded.
A local newsstand.
Nate and Quentin rounded a corner, Quentin’s head buried in a copy of the Wall Street Journal. He was so engrossed, in fact, that as they came to a police barricade, Nate had to put his hand in front of Quentin to prevent his crossing the line. When he realized why they had stopped, Quentin frowned briefly, then went back to reading. A small group of people were being escorted out of a building by a group of police. Some of them looked frightened, some passive. A few vented angry slurs at the police, who responded with hits on the head and ribs with their billy clubs. Nearby, a well-groomed man with dark hair slicked back leaned against his sports car, filing his nails, chewing gum. His pretty wife gave him a peck on the cheek.
The police dumped the displaced tenants of the building in a paddy wagon, then sped away. “I think I’ll have it painted turquoise and pink,” the wife said, looking at the building. She and the man stepped inside.
Quentin smiled. “Mayor Krotch should be pleased,” he said as he and Nate continued walking. “More beauty for Appletown.”
“Would you mind telling me,” Nate said, more than a trifle irritated, “What you are doing reading that?” he said pointing to the newspaper.
“It’s the most honest paper in town,” Quentin said, stepping over a derelict lying in the street. “It’s written for businessmen, who like plain facts. They save the lies for the Times and TV.”
“Oh?” Nate asked skeptically. “And what did it tell you?”
“Well, among other things, that a German company has developed a device they call a ‘Transmuter’ that makes it possible to move matter from one location to another by laser beam.”
Nate stopped dead in his tracks. “Mrs. Woods’s china!”
Quentin smiled. “Indeed.”
They returned to Nate's tenement.
“I’ll see you later this evening,” Quentin said.
“Where you going?”
Quentin looked at the paper. “To the headquarters of Dunkel und Schmutzig, Gesellschaft, to find out who bought a Transmuter recently.”
“What makes you think they’ll tell you?”
Quentin smiled again. “The bourgeoisie never says no to anyone in a tuxedo.”
Back at the penthouse.
Milton Laffer, zillionaire banker, twiddled his thumbs as the young man danced around the penthouse with one of his female servants to the strains of Smokey Robinson. Hiroshi stood stiffly by, while Milton looked at his watch. As the couple passed Hiroshi, the young man slapped him on the back. “Don’t be such a gloomy cuckoo,” he said. “Loosen up!” Hiroshi smiled meekly, but stayed in place. “Milt,” the young man said, still dancing, “tell this guy to loosen up.”
“Loosen up,” Milton said flatly.
The song ended, and with a quick pat on her rear-end, the young man sent his partner away. “You’re no help,” he said finally. “You’re not really going to make me work are you?”
“We should go over your accounts,” said the banker.
The young man frowned, and dropped on a couch in a pout. “All right.” Then his eyes brightened. “Bring me any more companies to rape and pillage? I was thinking maybe of Dunkel und Schmutzig. That Transmuter thing is really intense.”
Milton cleared his throat, glanced quickly at Hiroshi, then back at the young man. “It’s already been sold.”
The young man got the idea. “Totally cool, Hirosh,” he said. “Beat me to it. Uh—would you mind getting me a beer?”
Hiroshi bowed quietly and left the two white men alone. “Time to whip up some anti-Nip feeling, don’t you think?” the young man said coldly. “Remind me to call the King.”
Milton shrugged. “About your money…”
“You know I can’t bear to hear it,” said the young man. “I don’t want to be bothered by anything so petty. We can always sell Costa Rica or something.”
Back in Quentin’s office
As Quentin dusted off his framed portraits of Karl and Friedrich, the door opened with a bang. An irate Mrs. Woods stepped into his office, Nate close behind. “Hello Mrs. Woods,” Quentin said calmly.
“Don’t you hello me,” she said adamantly. “I wanna’ know what you’ve been doin’ for your fee?”
Quentin looked to Nate, who shrugged. “I tried to explain…”
She interrupted him. “I don’t wanna’ hear nothin’ ’bout some X-ray, or whatever it is. I wanna’ know when you’re gonna’ get Leon outta’ jail.”
Quentin smiled, his usual relaxed smile. “Please sit down, Mrs. Woods. I was just about to call you.”
Quentin told them what he’d found out
Nate was confused, Mrs. Woods merely irritated. “What would Binge ’n Purge Realty do with a Transmuter?” Nate asked.
“Very little, I should imagine,” Quentin said with a twinkle in his eye.
“What are we waitin’ for?” Mrs. Woods asked, standing up.
For the first time, Quentin raised his voice. “Mrs. Woods; Mr. Porter. How far are you prepared to go in this matter?”
“I knew it,” Mrs. Woods said, disgusted. “You want more money. While Leon rots in jail, you got the nerve…”
Quentin raised his hand in silent contradiction. “No, it’s not that. What I mean is this—are you prepared to follow this matter to its logical conclusion?”
Nate and Mrs. Woods looked at each other, not certain they understood what Quentin was driving at. Mrs. Woods then turned back to Quentin. “Whatever’s necessary to free Leon,” she finally said.
Quentin shrugged. “I should tell you quite frankly that although I have every confidence of finding the Nightville thief, I have very little in the possibility of freeing Leon.”
Mrs. Woods leaned over the desk, to face Quentin nose to nose. “You find the thief and leave the rest to me.”
They stared eye-to-eye for a moment. Then, Quentin smiled again. “Mrs. Woods, I think it would be best if you handle this one.” He turned to Nate “Nate, do you have any business cards?”
“Sure, why?”
“Leave one with Binge ’n Purge,” he said.
In Mrs. Woods’s apartment…
Nate and Mrs. Woods sat, gaping at the empty spot in the middle of the table. Quentin returned from the bathroom a moment later. “Did I miss something?” he asked cooly. They turned to him, speechless. Finally, Mrs. Woods managed to point to the table. Quentin raised an eyebrow.
Nate and Mrs. Woods explained what happened…
After they finished their story, Quentin mused, leafing through his book.
“Well?” Nate asked, finally.
“Nothing yet,” Quentin said, shrugging. “But it’s starting to take shape.”
Mrs. Woods looked at him in exasperation. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?”
Quentin smiled blandly. “Actually, I was wondering if there’s anywhere around her I can pick up the Wall Street Journal?”
Mrs. Woods and Nate looked at each other, dumbfounded.
A local newsstand.
Nate and Quentin rounded a corner, Quentin’s head buried in a copy of the Wall Street Journal. He was so engrossed, in fact, that as they came to a police barricade, Nate had to put his hand in front of Quentin to prevent his crossing the line. When he realized why they had stopped, Quentin frowned briefly, then went back to reading. A small group of people were being escorted out of a building by a group of police. Some of them looked frightened, some passive. A few vented angry slurs at the police, who responded with hits on the head and ribs with their billy clubs. Nearby, a well-groomed man with dark hair slicked back leaned against his sports car, filing his nails, chewing gum. His pretty wife gave him a peck on the cheek.
The police dumped the displaced tenants of the building in a paddy wagon, then sped away. “I think I’ll have it painted turquoise and pink,” the wife said, looking at the building. She and the man stepped inside.
Quentin smiled. “Mayor Krotch should be pleased,” he said as he and Nate continued walking. “More beauty for Appletown.”
“Would you mind telling me,” Nate said, more than a trifle irritated, “What you are doing reading that?” he said pointing to the newspaper.
“It’s the most honest paper in town,” Quentin said, stepping over a derelict lying in the street. “It’s written for businessmen, who like plain facts. They save the lies for the Times and TV.”
“Oh?” Nate asked skeptically. “And what did it tell you?”
“Well, among other things, that a German company has developed a device they call a ‘Transmuter’ that makes it possible to move matter from one location to another by laser beam.”
Nate stopped dead in his tracks. “Mrs. Woods’s china!”
Quentin smiled. “Indeed.”
They returned to Nate's tenement.
“I’ll see you later this evening,” Quentin said.
“Where you going?”
Quentin looked at the paper. “To the headquarters of Dunkel und Schmutzig, Gesellschaft, to find out who bought a Transmuter recently.”
“What makes you think they’ll tell you?”
Quentin smiled again. “The bourgeoisie never says no to anyone in a tuxedo.”
Back at the penthouse.
Milton Laffer, zillionaire banker, twiddled his thumbs as the young man danced around the penthouse with one of his female servants to the strains of Smokey Robinson. Hiroshi stood stiffly by, while Milton looked at his watch. As the couple passed Hiroshi, the young man slapped him on the back. “Don’t be such a gloomy cuckoo,” he said. “Loosen up!” Hiroshi smiled meekly, but stayed in place. “Milt,” the young man said, still dancing, “tell this guy to loosen up.”
“Loosen up,” Milton said flatly.
The song ended, and with a quick pat on her rear-end, the young man sent his partner away. “You’re no help,” he said finally. “You’re not really going to make me work are you?”
“We should go over your accounts,” said the banker.
The young man frowned, and dropped on a couch in a pout. “All right.” Then his eyes brightened. “Bring me any more companies to rape and pillage? I was thinking maybe of Dunkel und Schmutzig. That Transmuter thing is really intense.”
Milton cleared his throat, glanced quickly at Hiroshi, then back at the young man. “It’s already been sold.”
The young man got the idea. “Totally cool, Hirosh,” he said. “Beat me to it. Uh—would you mind getting me a beer?”
Hiroshi bowed quietly and left the two white men alone. “Time to whip up some anti-Nip feeling, don’t you think?” the young man said coldly. “Remind me to call the King.”
Milton shrugged. “About your money…”
“You know I can’t bear to hear it,” said the young man. “I don’t want to be bothered by anything so petty. We can always sell Costa Rica or something.”
Back in Quentin’s office
As Quentin dusted off his framed portraits of Karl and Friedrich, the door opened with a bang. An irate Mrs. Woods stepped into his office, Nate close behind. “Hello Mrs. Woods,” Quentin said calmly.
“Don’t you hello me,” she said adamantly. “I wanna’ know what you’ve been doin’ for your fee?”
Quentin looked to Nate, who shrugged. “I tried to explain…”
She interrupted him. “I don’t wanna’ hear nothin’ ’bout some X-ray, or whatever it is. I wanna’ know when you’re gonna’ get Leon outta’ jail.”
Quentin smiled, his usual relaxed smile. “Please sit down, Mrs. Woods. I was just about to call you.”
Quentin told them what he’d found out
Nate was confused, Mrs. Woods merely irritated. “What would Binge ’n Purge Realty do with a Transmuter?” Nate asked.
“Very little, I should imagine,” Quentin said with a twinkle in his eye.
“What are we waitin’ for?” Mrs. Woods asked, standing up.
For the first time, Quentin raised his voice. “Mrs. Woods; Mr. Porter. How far are you prepared to go in this matter?”
“I knew it,” Mrs. Woods said, disgusted. “You want more money. While Leon rots in jail, you got the nerve…”
Quentin raised his hand in silent contradiction. “No, it’s not that. What I mean is this—are you prepared to follow this matter to its logical conclusion?”
Nate and Mrs. Woods looked at each other, not certain they understood what Quentin was driving at. Mrs. Woods then turned back to Quentin. “Whatever’s necessary to free Leon,” she finally said.
Quentin shrugged. “I should tell you quite frankly that although I have every confidence of finding the Nightville thief, I have very little in the possibility of freeing Leon.”
Mrs. Woods leaned over the desk, to face Quentin nose to nose. “You find the thief and leave the rest to me.”
They stared eye-to-eye for a moment. Then, Quentin smiled again. “Mrs. Woods, I think it would be best if you handle this one.” He turned to Nate “Nate, do you have any business cards?”
“Sure, why?”
“Leave one with Binge ’n Purge,” he said.