Ways & Means-4
The Headquarters of Binge ’n Purge Realty
Nate and Mrs. Woods arrived in front of a a modest storefront, with a few yellowed pictures of property in the windows.
“Is this the right place?” Mrs. Woods asked, surprised.
Nate looked at a worn piece of paper. “1717 Avarice Ave. This is it.”
They looked at the dilapidated building with confusion. “How much one of those Transmitter things cost?” Mrs. Woods asked.
“Quentin said around two hundred million and change,” Nate said.
“For this?” Mrs. Woods asked incredulously.
A dingy office
Behind a desk, a blonde with acne, chewed gum while watching a portable TV. Mrs. Woods rapped on the desk to get her attention.
“Yeah?” asked the blonde, between chews.
“I’m interested in buying a house,” Mrs. Woods said.
The blonde looked into Mrs. Woods’s aging black face and snickered. “Ain’t got none.”
Nate stepped forward. “Young lady, I think you should take Mrs. Woods seriously.”
The blonde simpered. “Well, all of our properties are in very exclusive neighborhoods, if you catch my meaning,” she said, smiling complacently.
“That’s all right, dear, I’m not prejudiced,” Mrs. Woods said, without a hint of a smile.
The blonde huffed and pouted. “Oh, all right,” she said, reaching under her desk for a dusty album of photographs.
“Is this all you have?” Mrs. Woods asked.
“Are these too expensive for you dearie?” asked the blonde, smiling hypocritically.
“Too cheap,” Mrs. Woods responded.
The blonde was startled. “There’s more in the back,” she said, at a loss.
“Be a dear and fetch them, would you?” Nate asked, surprising himself at how easily it rolled off his tongue.
For a moment, the blonde hesitated, then shook her head and turned away. “Oh, all right,” she said.
Nate and Mrs. Woods searched for clues.
“There’s gotta’ be somethin’ here,” Mrs. Woods said as she leafed through the files.
“I got it!” Nate said, turning over the trash can. He pulled several sheets of memo paper out of the basket. “‘655-9087,’” he said, reading one piece of paper. He looked from one piece of paper to another. “‘655-9087.’ Looks like our blonde friend can’t remember her one phone number.”
“What are you doing?” asked the blonde, standing nearby, holding a pile of photo-albums.
Nate surreptitiously slipped the paper in his pocket. “Just going through the trash,” he said simply.
The blonde smirked. “You weird or somethin’?”
“Yes,” Nate said. “Must be why we chose this place.”
The blonde pointed to the door, dropping the photo albums. “Get out!” she said, in an odd, tweaky little voice.
Nate smiled and put his card on the desk. “You’ll call me if anything turns up?”
“Get out!” the blonde screamed again, her voice squeaking like fingernails on a blackboard.
Nate and Mrs. Woods left. The blonde pouted, then picked up Nate's card. After hesitating a moment, she reached for the telephone. She started to dial, then, unable to remember, she stopped and dug through the trash herself.
At Nate's office
Quentin looked at the number and smiled.
“Well, aren’t you going to call it?” Nate asked, impatiently.
“He doesn’t have to,” Mrs. Woods said matter-of-factly.
“I don’t get it,” Nate said.
“Would you care to explain it, Mrs. Woods?” Quentin asked, smiling his usual cool smile.
“You know, hon, that smile of yours is beginning to get on my nerves.” Then she turned to Nate. “They’ll call us.”
“My business card?” Nate asked, beginning to understand. “Then what did we need that for?” Nate asked, pointing to the piece of paper with the phone number.
“To confirm what I suspected,” Quentin explained. “You see, that number is for the office of Milton Laffer, head of Worldwide Bank, which owns Binge ’n Purge Realty. And Milton Laffer…”
He was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. They all turned to look at it. “Answer it, Nate,” Mrs. Woods said simply, after it had rung four times.
In the wharf district, a dank and smelly warehouse
Nate jumped as a flock of pigeons, upset by his arrival with Mrs. Woods and Quentin, took flight into the rafters, disappearing into the lofty darkness. In the distance, muted ship horns mooed like cows, while the gentle lapping of water echoed in the empty room. A pearly pool of moonlight glowed in the center of the floor, from a crack in a skylight above. Nate kicked an old wine bottle that rolled into the dark corners, and a moment later, a rat squealed away.
“This place is spooky,,” Nate said. “Why’d they want to meet us here?”
“I can’t say I like it much,” Mrs. Woods said.
Quentin, who was darting in and out of the shadows distractedly, said, “Maybe you’ll both feel better if you stand in the light.”
Nate and Mrs. Woods did as he suggested. Quentin retreated further into the shadows. “I don’t get it,” Nate said. “This is a waste of time.”
As they stepped into the light, on a TV monitor, their images came into focus!
Mrs. Woods looked up at the skylight, around the warehouse. “No, it ain’t that,” she said, suspiciously, still looking around.
Nate sniffed disapprovingly. “Could do with a fumigation.”
Levers lifted, dials turned, gauges jumped
“Did you hear something?” Mrs. Woods asked.
Lights twinkled, a dull hum started, and suddenly, with the flick of a switch!
Mrs. Woods and Nate started to glow.“Mrs. Woods, you’re turning green,” Nate said, astonished. And then, just as they started to atomize,
Quentin jumped out of the shadows, taking hold of them. Then he too began to disintegrate!
* * *
The Headquarters of Binge ’n Purge Realty
Nate and Mrs. Woods arrived in front of a a modest storefront, with a few yellowed pictures of property in the windows.
“Is this the right place?” Mrs. Woods asked, surprised.
Nate looked at a worn piece of paper. “1717 Avarice Ave. This is it.”
They looked at the dilapidated building with confusion. “How much one of those Transmitter things cost?” Mrs. Woods asked.
“Quentin said around two hundred million and change,” Nate said.
“For this?” Mrs. Woods asked incredulously.
A dingy office
Behind a desk, a blonde with acne, chewed gum while watching a portable TV. Mrs. Woods rapped on the desk to get her attention.
“Yeah?” asked the blonde, between chews.
“I’m interested in buying a house,” Mrs. Woods said.
The blonde looked into Mrs. Woods’s aging black face and snickered. “Ain’t got none.”
Nate stepped forward. “Young lady, I think you should take Mrs. Woods seriously.”
The blonde simpered. “Well, all of our properties are in very exclusive neighborhoods, if you catch my meaning,” she said, smiling complacently.
“That’s all right, dear, I’m not prejudiced,” Mrs. Woods said, without a hint of a smile.
The blonde huffed and pouted. “Oh, all right,” she said, reaching under her desk for a dusty album of photographs.
“Is this all you have?” Mrs. Woods asked.
“Are these too expensive for you dearie?” asked the blonde, smiling hypocritically.
“Too cheap,” Mrs. Woods responded.
The blonde was startled. “There’s more in the back,” she said, at a loss.
“Be a dear and fetch them, would you?” Nate asked, surprising himself at how easily it rolled off his tongue.
For a moment, the blonde hesitated, then shook her head and turned away. “Oh, all right,” she said.
Nate and Mrs. Woods searched for clues.
“There’s gotta’ be somethin’ here,” Mrs. Woods said as she leafed through the files.
“I got it!” Nate said, turning over the trash can. He pulled several sheets of memo paper out of the basket. “‘655-9087,’” he said, reading one piece of paper. He looked from one piece of paper to another. “‘655-9087.’ Looks like our blonde friend can’t remember her one phone number.”
“What are you doing?” asked the blonde, standing nearby, holding a pile of photo-albums.
Nate surreptitiously slipped the paper in his pocket. “Just going through the trash,” he said simply.
The blonde smirked. “You weird or somethin’?”
“Yes,” Nate said. “Must be why we chose this place.”
The blonde pointed to the door, dropping the photo albums. “Get out!” she said, in an odd, tweaky little voice.
Nate smiled and put his card on the desk. “You’ll call me if anything turns up?”
“Get out!” the blonde screamed again, her voice squeaking like fingernails on a blackboard.
Nate and Mrs. Woods left. The blonde pouted, then picked up Nate's card. After hesitating a moment, she reached for the telephone. She started to dial, then, unable to remember, she stopped and dug through the trash herself.
At Nate's office
Quentin looked at the number and smiled.
“Well, aren’t you going to call it?” Nate asked, impatiently.
“He doesn’t have to,” Mrs. Woods said matter-of-factly.
“I don’t get it,” Nate said.
“Would you care to explain it, Mrs. Woods?” Quentin asked, smiling his usual cool smile.
“You know, hon, that smile of yours is beginning to get on my nerves.” Then she turned to Nate. “They’ll call us.”
“My business card?” Nate asked, beginning to understand. “Then what did we need that for?” Nate asked, pointing to the piece of paper with the phone number.
“To confirm what I suspected,” Quentin explained. “You see, that number is for the office of Milton Laffer, head of Worldwide Bank, which owns Binge ’n Purge Realty. And Milton Laffer…”
He was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. They all turned to look at it. “Answer it, Nate,” Mrs. Woods said simply, after it had rung four times.
In the wharf district, a dank and smelly warehouse
Nate jumped as a flock of pigeons, upset by his arrival with Mrs. Woods and Quentin, took flight into the rafters, disappearing into the lofty darkness. In the distance, muted ship horns mooed like cows, while the gentle lapping of water echoed in the empty room. A pearly pool of moonlight glowed in the center of the floor, from a crack in a skylight above. Nate kicked an old wine bottle that rolled into the dark corners, and a moment later, a rat squealed away.
“This place is spooky,,” Nate said. “Why’d they want to meet us here?”
“I can’t say I like it much,” Mrs. Woods said.
Quentin, who was darting in and out of the shadows distractedly, said, “Maybe you’ll both feel better if you stand in the light.”
Nate and Mrs. Woods did as he suggested. Quentin retreated further into the shadows. “I don’t get it,” Nate said. “This is a waste of time.”
As they stepped into the light, on a TV monitor, their images came into focus!
Mrs. Woods looked up at the skylight, around the warehouse. “No, it ain’t that,” she said, suspiciously, still looking around.
Nate sniffed disapprovingly. “Could do with a fumigation.”
Levers lifted, dials turned, gauges jumped
“Did you hear something?” Mrs. Woods asked.
Lights twinkled, a dull hum started, and suddenly, with the flick of a switch!
Mrs. Woods and Nate started to glow.“Mrs. Woods, you’re turning green,” Nate said, astonished. And then, just as they started to atomize,
Quentin jumped out of the shadows, taking hold of them. Then he too began to disintegrate!
* * *