Wolf in the Shadows - Marcia Muller [130]
Renshaw’s gaze turned inward. “Maybe, maybe not. But, Jesus, man, how would you have felt in my position?”
Hy seemed to be thinking that over. Finally he said, “About the same.” And smiled wryly.
“Then you’ll consider the offer?”
“I’ll think on it.”
Renshaw turned to me. “As for you, Sharon—or is it still to be Ms. McCone?”
“I guess it’s Sharon—Gage.”
“As you must know, we’re damned impressed with your work. Kessell and I doubt any of our operatives would have handled this situation better—or more, shall we say, creatively. We’d like you to come to work for us. I’m sure we could top whatever you were making at All Souls, and there’s a very attractive benefits package.”
The offer took me somewhat by surprise. And it struck me as an easy solution to my employment problem. Too easy, perhaps. “I’m flattered, Gage, but like Hy, I’m going to have to think on it.”
“Take all the time you need, both of you. The offers will stand.” He hesitated, looking at us as if he hoped we’d ask him to stay awhile. When we didn’t, he nodded in farewell and walked back down the driveway.
“So,” I said after he’d driven away, “are you really going to consider it?”
Hy shrugged. “Might as well. Like I told you a few weeks ago, it’s time for a change. You?”
“I don’t know if I could work for that kind of outfit.”
“Well, give it some thought.” He grinned. “Kind of charms me to think of becoming your boss.”
“You’d find me unmanageable and incorrigible.”
“Them’s big words, but I find you that way now.”
A pizza delivery van came up the hill and turned into the driveway. I glanced at the house, saw no sign of my brother.
“Go on,” Hy said, “you’re rich. Pay the man.”
The nouveau riche McCone got up to foot the bill.
Thirty-Three
Thursday, June 17
When I arrived at Oakland Airport’s north field at a little after two in the afternoon, Hy had already given the Citabria its preflight check and was leaning against it, looking bored and somewhat impatient. “What took you so long?” he asked.
“Well, first I had to talk with Ted.”
“About what?”
“Cogito, ergo doleo.”
“What?”
“I think, therefore I’m depressed.”
“Still?”
“Uh-huh. The interest in Latin was only a temporary respite; he’s about to give up on it.” I tossed my weekend bag into the rear of the plane.
“Wish there was something to be done for him.”
“Maybe there is. He doesn’t know it, but we’re going to have a long talk when I get back, and I think I’m going to recommend a therapist whom I went to school with. Anyway, then I had to talk with Rae.”
“How’s she? Any progress with Willie?” Hy found the combination of my assistant and the fence-turned-jewelry-merchant both bizarre and fascinating.
“Uh-uh. As we spoke, she was doing needlepoint—you know Rae, she’s mastered every craft in existence—and guess what?”
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“It’s a sampler for her office wall, and it says ‘A rule with no exception: If it has tires or testicles, you’re going to have trouble with it.’ ”
He snorted. “That’s sexist as hell, but really pretty funny.” Then he frowned. “You don’t believe it, do you?”
“Well … sometimes I do, but the kind of trouble I have with the entity that doesn’t have tires isn’t something I’m willing to forgo.”
“That’s good. So then what? After Rae, I mean?”
“Then I was in conference with the partners.” I’d expected to be at All Souls only long enough to speak with Hank and make arrangements to clear out my office, but had ended up closeted in the parlor with Hank, Pam, Larry, Gloria, and Mike for over two hours.
“They all get together to rake you over the coals?”
“Actually, no. They’re restructuring my job to utilize what they call my ‘unique abilities.’ Translation: peculiarities. But the promotion—without the chore of supervising paralegals and with a minimum of desk duty—stands.”
“As it should. But how the hell did they come around?”
“Seems Hank sat them all down and read them the riot act while I was gone. I don’t know exactly what he said, but he convinced them that firing me would be tantamount to tossing a