The Procane Chronicle by Ross Thomas Read Free Book Online Page B

nodded, and handed it to the girl. I decided that he was twenty-four and she was twenty-three.
    While she read it, Wiedstein said, “Mr. Procane told me to ask whether you were quite sure that you won’t be needing any assistance tonight?”
    “I take it you’re the ones who’re in that on-the-job training program of his.”
    Wiedstein smiled at that, a brief, even fleeting smile, but one that lasted long enough to show that there had been a concerned orthodontist somewhere in his childhood. Although his looks wouldn’t turn any heads, he was tall and seemed fit enough and the length of his light-brown hair wasn’t anything to fret about, regardless of your taste.
    “He insisted that we ask you,” Janet Whistler said and handed the receipt back to Wiedstein. He stuck it away in the left-hand pocket of his double-breasted brown topcoat that had a sheepskin collar. The coat looked warm.
    “Tell him that it was nice of him to ask, but that I won’t be needing any assistance.”
    Wiedstein let his eyes wander over to the money that lay stacked on the poker table. “Your share’s ten percent of that, right?”
    “Right.”
    “Let me know when there’s an opening on your staff.”
    “Dissatisfied with your present setup?”
    He shook his head. “Not at all. Yours just seems to be a pleasant business. Low risk and high pay.”
    I looked at him for a moment or two and decided that his gray eyes weren’t set too far apart after all. His nose just had a wide bridge. “If you study hard with Procane,” I said, “we might do a little business someday.”
    “We might at that,” he said and turned to Janet Whistler. “Let’s go.”
    She smiled at me and I smiled back and together they moved toward the door. When he had it open, Wiedstein turned and said, “I’d be a little more careful about opening my door, if I were you, Mr. St. Ives. You never can tell who’ll be on the other side of it.”
    “You mean thieves,” I said.
    Both of them smiled again. “That’s exactly who I had in mind,” he said. “Thieves.”
    When they had gone I went over to the poker table and counted out ten thousand dollars. It made an impressive looking stack. I counted it again to make sure that I wasn’t cheating anyone, especially myself, then looked at it some more and decided that it was far too much money for one night’s honest work.
    By the time I took it downstairs and locked it away in the hotel’s safe, I had convinced myself that what I had to do that night wasn’t all that honest.

7
    T HERE WERE FOUR OF us waiting for the phone to ring in Procane’s office-study that Sunday afternoon. Procane sat behind his desk. Janet Whistler, wearing a dark-green pantsuit, was in a chair in front of the desk, and Miles Wiedstein and I were in the chairs that flanked the fireplace. We were waiting for someone else to call and for the second time tell me where I should deliver ninety thousand dollars so that Procane could get his journals back and stay out of jail.
    The phone rang at four-thirty and both Procane and I jumped. The ring didn’t bother either Janet Whistler or Wiedstein and I decided that they must have had a good night’s sleep. Procane picked up the phone, said hello, then listened, said just a moment, and handed the phone to me.
    I said hello and a man’s voice said, “St. Ives?”
    “That’s right.”
    “It’s just like I told Procane this morning. I’m offering the same deal, just a different time and a different place.” He was using a distorter, but not a mechanical one. It sounded as if he had a couple of marbles in his mouth. In addition to that, he seemed to be trying to strain his voice through something—a handkerchief perhaps or even a washcloth. It made him difficult to understand and I was glad he hadn’t decided to pile on a Chinese accent. Some of them do.
    “When and where?” I said.
    “Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock—”
    “Tomorrow at ten’s out.”
    “Why?”
    “A couple