Fever Dream - Douglas Preston [77]
“Manager around?” he said in a demanding voice, his southern accent sinking about five notches in refinement.
One of the girls wordlessly turned and went into the back. A minute later, she returned with a middle-aged man. His thick forearms were coated in blond hair, and he was sweating despite the cool of the day.
“Yeah?” he said, wiping flour onto an apron already heavy with grease and doughnut batter.
“You’re the manager?”
“Yeah.”
Pendergast reached into the back pocket of his denims, brought out an ID billfold. “We’re from the Buildings Department, Code Enforcement Division. My name’s Addison and my partner here is Steele.”
The man scrutinized the ID Pendergast had doctored up the night before, then grunted. “So what do you want?”
Pendergast put away the billfold and pulled out a few stapled sheets of official-looking paper. “Our office has been conducting an audit of the construction and permits records of buildings in the general vicinity, and we’ve found several of them—including yours—that have problems. Big problems.”
The man looked at the outstretched sheets, frowning. “What kind of problems?”
“Irregularities in the permitting process. Structural issues.”
“That can’t be,” he said. “We get our inspections regular, just like the food and sanitation—”
“We’re not food inspectors,” Pendergast interrupted sarcastically. “The records show this structure was built without the proper permits.”
“Hold on, now. We been here a dozen years—”
“Just why do you think the audit was ordered?” Pendergast said, still waving the sheets of paper in the man’s sweaty face. “There’ve been irregularities. Allegations of corruption.”
“Hey, I’m not the guy you need to talk to about that. The franchise office handles—”
“You’re the guy who’s here now.” Pendergast leaned forward. “We need to get down into that basement and see just how bad the situation is.” Pendergast stuffed the papers back into the pocket of his shirt. “And I mean now.”
“You want to see the basement? Be my guest,” the manager said, sweating profusely. “It ain’t my fault if there’s a problem. I just work here.”
“Very well. Let’s get going.”
“Joanie here will take you down while Mary Kate attends to the customers—”
“Oh, no,” Pendergast interrupted again. “Oh, no, no, no. No customers. Not until we’re done.”
“No customers?” the man repeated. “I’m trying to run a doughnut shop here.”
Pendergast bent closer now. “This is a dangerous, maybe life-threatening situation. Our analysis shows the building is unsound. You are required to close your doors to the public until we have completed our check of the foundation and the load-bearing members.”
“I don’t know,” the manager said, his frown deepening. “I’m gonna have to call the main office. We’ve never closed during business hours before, and my franchise contract states—”
“You don’t know? We aren’t going to waste time while you call up every Tom, Dick, and Harry you’ve a mind to.” Pendergast leaned in even closer. “Why, exactly, are you stalling? Do you know what would happen if the floor collapsed under a customer while he was eating a box of—” here Pendergast paused to glance at the menu posted above the counter, “—chocolate-banana double-cream glazed FatOnes?”
Silently, the man shook his head.
“You’d be charged. Personally. Criminal negligence. Manslaughter in the second degree. Maybe even… in the first degree.”
The manager took a step backward. He gulped for air, fresh sweat popping on his brow.
Pendergast let a strained silence build. “Tell you what I’ll do,” he said with sudden magnanimity. “While you put up the CLOSED sign, Mr. Steele and I will make a quick visual inspection downstairs. If the situation is less grave than we’ve been led to believe, business can resume while we complete our site report.”
The man’s face broke out in unexpected relief. He turned to his employees. “Mary Kate, we’re closing up for a few minutes. Joanie, show these men to the basement.”
Pendergast and D’Agosta followed Joanie through