Flood - Andrew H. Vachss [39]
“Could I speak with Mr. Patrick Wayne, please?” asked Leary.
“I’ll connect you.” Michelle flipped a switch, silently counted to twenty on her fingers, flipped the switch open again, and said, “Mr. Wayne’s office” in the earlier voice.
“Could I speak with Mr. Wayne?” asked Leary again.
“Who is calling, please?”
“Mr. Leary, from the Veteran’s Administration.”
“He’ll be right with you, sir, he’s been expecting your call.” She flipped the switch and handed the phone to me.
“Patrick Wayne here.”
“Oh, Mr. Wayne. This is Leary. From the VA?” he said, like I might have forgotten him already.
“Yes, sir. Thank you for getting back to me so promptly.”
“Mr. Wayne, we have a problem here.”
“A problem?” I asked, my voice taking on an edge.
“Well, not a problem exactly. But you said that this Wilson picks up his check here every month. But our records show that it’s being mailed to his home address.”
“His home address . . . ?” I tried to keep the eagerness out of my voice. “Perhaps it’s a different Wilson.”
“No, sir.” assured the bureaucrat, now on familiar ground. “It’s the exact same name you gave me, and the address is the same too.”
“You mean . . .”
“Absolutely. Martin Howard Wilson’s checks are mailed to him at Six-oh-nine West Thirty-seventh Street, Apartment Number Four, New York City, New York One-oh-oh-one-eight. He’s on three-quarters disability, as you know. That address has been used for . . . let me see . . . the past nine checks. He would have received the last one only last week or so.”
“I see.” And I was beginning to—and cursing myself for a fool as I did. “Well, sir, our information leads us to believe he has abandoned that address. Let me ask you this, Mr. Leary—will you agree to hold his check one extra day if he should appear in person? You don’t forward those checks to new addresses, do you?”
“Certainly not, Mr. Wayne. In fact, it says Do Not Forward right on the envelope. If he has moved the check will be returned to us. We don’t change the address unless we get a formal notice from the veteran himself.”
“All right, sir. Now, assuming the check is returned, couldn’t he just come to your office and pick it up—assuming he had proper identification, of course?”
“Yes, he could do that. Some of them do.”
“Well, sir—will you agree to hold his check one extra day if it is returned to you? All we want you to do is tell him to come back the next day and give us a call here at the office. Will you do that for us?”
“Well, it’s a bit irregular—couldn’t I just stall him for a while and give you a call?”
“Well, sir, we would prefer the course of action suggested to you. But we do appreciate your efforts and I believe the solution you devised would be more than satisfactory.”
“Yes, that would be better—I mean, those guys are used to waiting for their checks, you know? Another few hours won’t make any difference. But a whole day . . . well, I’d have to get approval all up the line for that.”
“Would a letter on official stationary from my superiors be of assistance to you, sir?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Wayne. That would be perfect.”
“Very well, it will be sent out to you later this week. You know how it is getting the boss to sign anything.” I chuckled, one-on-one.
“Don’t I,” he agreed, now at ease with a fellow schlub.
“All right, sir, shall we leave it like this? If Wilson shows up before our letter arrives, you stall him for a couple of hours and notify my office immediately. And if your letter arrives first, I’m sure you’ll have no difficulty securing approval to hold the check for a day or so.”
“That would be fine, Mr. Wayne.”
“Sir, on behalf of our entire office, I appreciate your assistance. You’ll be hearing from us.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”
“Thank you, Mr. Leary,” I said, and rang off.
14
I SAT THERE for a minute, absorbing the impact of my own stupidity. Some blonde bimbo comes into my office and tells me she spooked a heavyweight freak by kicking a building superintendent in the chops and I take her word for it. It was like when I was