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CHAPTER 2
PLEVIN CIRCLED BACK behind the glass desk and sat. At that point the last of his casual facade slid away. The session took on all the appearances of a formal interview, and Dennis Cooke all the anxiety of a derelict who had offered to work for food.
The first question did nothing to put him back at ease.
“Are you married?”
It was like unexpectedly being asked his name and forgetting what it was. That was the only reason he could think of for the answer he gave.
“Not lately.”
The young face registered no surprise at the response; grimness instead.
“If you remarry, make sure you’re sure. It’s a hell of a thing when a man can’t trust his wife.”
“To be honest, Mr. Plevin—”
“Please. Todd.”
No way was that going to happen. “In my case, I was the one who couldn’t be trusted.”
Absolute candor: first thing to avoid in job hunting. But then nothing about this session had followed the course of an ordinary interview.
Plevin’s expression didn’t change. “It’s possible I’m off the beam. I haven’t a reason to suspect her of anything, but I’ve gotten this far listening to my gut. I can’t shake the feeling she’s cheating on me.”
Cooke had no response for that. Raw exposure on both sides, five minutes into the conversation.
“Don’t think I care so much about being played for a sap,” Plevin said. “Anne’s my unofficial partner. She hasn’t any legal claim to Aspectus apart from the laws protecting marital property, but she is privy to certain details of the operation that if they became general knowledge would destroy it. A wife is just a wife, but a man’s livelihood is everything. I’d rather lose the first, pay anything in a settlement, than jeopardize the second.” He smacked the desk with a palm. Cooke jumped in his seat.
Plevin turned the hand over, placed a thumb on the underside of his wrist.Monitoring his pulse,Cooke thought. Despite the tycoon’s youth, he wondered if he had health issues. One of the side effects of rapid success, he supposed. He himself had never had to deal with those.
After a few seconds the man behind the desk sat back. The flush had faded from his cheeks and when he spoke his voice was as calm as when he’d greeted his visitor.
“What’s your driving record?”
“I’m sorry?”
Plevin’s color rose again. “Traffic tickets? DUIs? License suspensions? Accidents? Damn it, it’s a simple question.”
“Two years ago I dinged someone’s car with my door in a supermarket parking lot. I left a note and when the owner called I sent him a check for the repair. When I was sixteen, I was cited for doing forty in a school zone. I paid the fine and haven’t been pulled over since. My record’s clean apart from those two things.”
“I know. I have contacts in the DMV.”
“Then why—?”
“Testing you. As much as I need someone who won’t let me down by smashing up or getting arrested, I need someone who won’t bullshit me. I don’t care if you dipped your pen in the wrong well when you were married. That’s a different kind of dishonesty.”
“Mr. Plevin, are you asking me to tail your wife?”
He smiled again. “When you put it that way, it sounds sleazy. Anne’s leaving for San Francisco day after tomorrow. She’s an assistant administrator at St. Jacob’s Medical Center and says she’s attending a conference on online invoicing; maybe she is. I know there’s a conference, because I checked. What I haven’t been able to check on is what else she has in mind. I didn’t get where I am by ignoring my instincts. There’s someone, I’m sure of it. What I need is proof.”
“I’m an artist, not a detective.”
“That’s the point. I can see from your work you’re a close observer. It’s just what the job calls for. And you need money. That means you won’t gouge me by dragging it out, the way a professional might; if I fired him for that, he’d just move on to his next mark and leave me hanging. If you dump airtight leads in his lap, he can finish the job without an excuse to get fancy.”
Cooke rose. “Thanks for seeing me. I’m not qualified to peek through keyholes.”
“The pay’s ten thousand up front. Another ten thousand when the job’s done, plus a bonus of ten grand if the evidence is rock-solid either way—who knows, even I can be wrong sometimes. All expenses paid, of course. I can’t have someone who represents me slumming it in a Motel Six.”
