the mall for the job."
"Will we have a chance to look this Oceanview over firsthand?" Bates asked.
"Of course. We can explore it all afternoon before we hit it at closing time."
"Three men," Bates mused, "doesn't seem like enough."
"It is."
They ironed out the minor details of time and rendezvous in Los Angeles, then left the display room by different exits. The leering, hawk-nosed, painted faces of the monstrous totems stared after them with fierce intent.
----
"This is only a compromise, not a complete surrender," Albert Littlefield said as he settled into the high-backed leather chair behind his desk. "I want to be certain that you understand this straightaway, Michael. Your father is willing to be generous, but he is not willing to meet all of your demands." They made no small talk. The ice between them was much too thick to break. He sensed Tucker's attitude and knew the briefer the meeting the better for both of them.
"Go on, then," Tucker said, knowing already that it was really useless for Littlefield to continue. A compromise was not going to be good enough.
Littlefield's office seemed to be designed to match the chilly mood that separated the two men. The walls were white, unmarked, like partitions of snow. The ice-blue vinyl furniture looked cold and uncomfortable, all square and sharply angled, harsh and plain. The bindings of the hundreds of legal texts-green, brown, dull red-were matched and sterile, nearly hypnotizing the eye.
The man suited his office, Tucker thought. Littlefield was tall, slender, composed of sharp angles. His face was long and thin, with a fresh but slightly milky complexion. Arrow-straight, his nose was slightly flared around the nostrils, as if he were constantly sniffing some odor that offended him. His colorless lips were taut bow lines. He was clearly well bred, from a background of wealth and position, although he had none of the charm and personal easiness that most often accompanied the strong self-confidence of the aristocrat. Indeed, he was quite reserved and prim enough to fit comfortably the part of an eighteenth-century schoolmaster.
Littlefield folded his hands on the desk, his sticklike fingers pressed together at the tips. "As you know, Michael, your father has established for you a ten-thousand-dollar monthly allowance drawn from the earnings of your trust fund. Thus far, forty-two of these checks have been issued. Since you have consistently refused to accept them, they have been deposited in a special account in your name."
Tucker did not bother to explain why he had summarily rejected this apparent windfall. They both knew that by signing the waiver to be eligible for the dole, he would be endorsing his father's control of his mother's estate even before he spent the first penny. He would be signing away his right to file any further suits in federal court and would be limiting himself to the role of a minor for the remainder of his father's life if not his own.
Besides, ten thousand dollars a month was not enough, not when a single Edo spear went for sixty-five thousand dollars
"In the past," Littlefield continued, "you have said that the wording of the waiver was unacceptable, the conditions much too stringent."
"I'm sure I reacted much more strongly than that," Tucker said. "I probably indicated that it was not only unacceptable but immoral and almost criminal as well."
The lawyer's smile was brittle. "Well Your father has now drafted a new waiver which should be more to your liking and which should not stand between you and your allowance." He opened a manila folder that lay atop his desk, took out a single sheet of yellow paper, leaned across the desk and tried to hand it to Tucker. "If you'll take a moment to read this, you'll see how generous the offer really is."
"Why don't you read it to me?"
"Will we have a chance to look this Oceanview over firsthand?" Bates asked.
"Of course. We can explore it all afternoon before we hit it at closing time."
"Three men," Bates mused, "doesn't seem like enough."
"It is."
They ironed out the minor details of time and rendezvous in Los Angeles, then left the display room by different exits. The leering, hawk-nosed, painted faces of the monstrous totems stared after them with fierce intent.
----
"This is only a compromise, not a complete surrender," Albert Littlefield said as he settled into the high-backed leather chair behind his desk. "I want to be certain that you understand this straightaway, Michael. Your father is willing to be generous, but he is not willing to meet all of your demands." They made no small talk. The ice between them was much too thick to break. He sensed Tucker's attitude and knew the briefer the meeting the better for both of them.
"Go on, then," Tucker said, knowing already that it was really useless for Littlefield to continue. A compromise was not going to be good enough.
Littlefield's office seemed to be designed to match the chilly mood that separated the two men. The walls were white, unmarked, like partitions of snow. The ice-blue vinyl furniture looked cold and uncomfortable, all square and sharply angled, harsh and plain. The bindings of the hundreds of legal texts-green, brown, dull red-were matched and sterile, nearly hypnotizing the eye.
The man suited his office, Tucker thought. Littlefield was tall, slender, composed of sharp angles. His face was long and thin, with a fresh but slightly milky complexion. Arrow-straight, his nose was slightly flared around the nostrils, as if he were constantly sniffing some odor that offended him. His colorless lips were taut bow lines. He was clearly well bred, from a background of wealth and position, although he had none of the charm and personal easiness that most often accompanied the strong self-confidence of the aristocrat. Indeed, he was quite reserved and prim enough to fit comfortably the part of an eighteenth-century schoolmaster.
Littlefield folded his hands on the desk, his sticklike fingers pressed together at the tips. "As you know, Michael, your father has established for you a ten-thousand-dollar monthly allowance drawn from the earnings of your trust fund. Thus far, forty-two of these checks have been issued. Since you have consistently refused to accept them, they have been deposited in a special account in your name."
Tucker did not bother to explain why he had summarily rejected this apparent windfall. They both knew that by signing the waiver to be eligible for the dole, he would be endorsing his father's control of his mother's estate even before he spent the first penny. He would be signing away his right to file any further suits in federal court and would be limiting himself to the role of a minor for the remainder of his father's life if not his own.
Besides, ten thousand dollars a month was not enough, not when a single Edo spear went for sixty-five thousand dollars
"In the past," Littlefield continued, "you have said that the wording of the waiver was unacceptable, the conditions much too stringent."
"I'm sure I reacted much more strongly than that," Tucker said. "I probably indicated that it was not only unacceptable but immoral and almost criminal as well."
The lawyer's smile was brittle. "Well Your father has now drafted a new waiver which should be more to your liking and which should not stand between you and your allowance." He opened a manila folder that lay atop his desk, took out a single sheet of yellow paper, leaned across the desk and tried to hand it to Tucker. "If you'll take a moment to read this, you'll see how generous the offer really is."
"Why don't you read it to me?"
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