His desk was spotless, surrounded by work. Piles of paper and magazine articles were neatly arrayed on the carpet. Frank had a perverse fondness for using his desk as a place to rest his feet and the floor as a desk.
Slumping gratefully into the high-backed leather executive chair, he hit the first button on the telephone, waited impatiently for the autodialer to connect him to his company vice president’s private receiver. There was a click. The familiar, lightly accented voice that spoke sounded bored.
“Yes.”
“’Morning, Carlos.”
The voice turned instantly attentive. “Frank? Where the hell are you, man?”
“Home.” He sighed deeply, aware that the speakerphone would pick it up as clearly as any word.
“What do you mean, ‘home’? I thought you’d be spread out by the pool by now, with a cool drink in one hand and some dark shades so you could watch the muchachas parading by without Alicia noticing.”
“It just didn’t work out. Comprende? Anyway, I’m home.”
“Not much of a vacation, boss.”
No, it wasn’t, Frank thought to himself. You’ll never know the half of it, my friend. Aloud he said, “How’s business?”
“You haven’t been gone long enough for any crises to develop. Everything’s under control.”
“I know that. You run the outfit better than I do, anyway.”
Carlos voiced a polite protest while Frank continued to praise him. It was an old game the two men played, and a comforting one. They’d been friends for nearly two decades. Carlos was one of the first men Frank had ever hired. Together they’d filled the back of a rented truck and gone door-to-door peddling aluminum baseball bats and used mitts and uniforms to city parks, Lions Clubs, and Little Leagues.
“Gimme a quick rundown anyway.”
Carlos proceeded to do so, efficiently and without hesitation. As Frank suspected, there was nothing requiring his attention. He thought a moment, then straightened in the chair.
“I’m comin’ in for an hour or two anyway.”
“Bien. Should I warn people?”
“Naw. Surprise inspections ain’t my style. I’m not looking to catch anybody out.”
“I know. Hey, I may not be around when you arrive. I’ve got an appointment with a Voit rep downtown. Some problems with restocking. You remember? They want to double a few prices.”
“Yeah, I remember. Go ahead.”
“We’re doing lunch.” Carlos sounded uncertain. “I can cancel out if you need me.”
“No sweat. See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, sure. Hey, Frank, you sure everything’s okay?”
“You bet. We just decided to skip Vegas this year.”
“Your choice, not mine.”
The phone clicked and the speakerphone whined over the loss of signal. Frank silenced it, then leaned back in the chair. The surroundings didn’t prevent him from thinking of his son. Maybe Mouse would come across him in her journeying and send him home, or maybe he’d return on his own. From wherever it was he’d got to.
Feeling almost human again he returned to the kitchen. Burnfingers and Mouse still drifted in the pool. The insistent chirp of an electronic keyboard emanated from behind the door to his daughter’s room.
Alicia and Flucca were filling the kitchen counter with dishes, utensils, and spice bottles. Flucca stood on a step, mincing vegetables. Oil simmered in a pan on the stove. His wife was hacking at a huge block of frozen hamburger.
“Just called the office.”
“That’s good, dear. Everything okay?” There was just the slightest edge in her voice.
“A-okay. I’m gonna drive in for a bit.”
That made her turn, putting the meat aside. “Oh, Frank, we just got back.”
“It’s something I want to do. Maybe I’m not sure we’re back yet. I just want to check in, look around.” He smiled. “Won’t be gone long. You’ll be all right.” His arms went around her waist. “Burnfingers Begay is still here, and Mouse.”
She finally managed a nod. “Niccolo, too. I guess I’ll be okay. Why shouldn’t I be? We’re home.”
He made a show of inhaling deeply. “Mmmmm. Guarantee you I’ll be back in time for supper.”
“You better be, Mr. Sonderberg, or I’ll be damnably disappointed.” Flucca waved a butcher knife at him.
As he left the kitchen for the garage, Frank was humming to himself. The Jaguar started cleanly and he didn’t give it much time to warm up, pulling straight out onto the driveway past the motor home. Habit made sure he shut the electric gate behind him.
There was little traffic on the Peninsula drive. At the base of the palisades he could see surfers and tanners intersecting at the waterline. Not much surf today but plenty of sun. Like everyone else in Southern California he’d dreamed of riding the waves. Never tried it, though. As a kid he’d considered roller skates an invention of the devil. He was not now nor had he ever been built for any kind of athletics. Maybe that was what had driven him to enter the sporting goods business. Ironic, like so much of his life.
He cut away from the beach, taking a main surface street and avoiding the freeway. Today the parade of fast food restaurants, discount stores, gas stations, and shopping centers was anything but boring. His company leased the top third of a twelve-story glass-sided office building in downtown Long Beach. More impressive offices were to be had in West Los Angeles or along Wilshire, but the tax situation was better in Long Beach, it was closer to where he wanted to live, and this way he could personally inspect every shipment that arrived from overseas. Besides, he liked the smell of the sea. From his top-floor office he could just see the big container ships entering and leaving the harbor.
A card raised the gate that barred entrance to the underground parking garage. He found his space and backed in. The elevator lifted him to twelve and he exited onto thick carpet. The receptionist greeted him in surprise. Everyone knew the big boss was off on vacation. All she could manage was a startled, “Welcome back, Mr. Sonderberg.”
