Polikartos’s office was on the Fifteenth floor of an ancient, nondescript mid-twentieth-century structure over on Thirty-third. Eric told the robocab to wait for his return. The machine signaled its willingness, its meter ticking over. Eric hurried.
The single elevator took him up and he located the office without trouble. He was greatly surprised after announcing himself when the door declared, “Polikartos is in,” and swung wide to admit him.
In the outer room were a couple of chairs and a couch, some six-month-old magazines, and several dusty artificial plants. Fifteen minutes, twenty, half an hour slid past, taking his lunch hour with it. Eric stood and moved to the inner door. One-way glass, most likely. He tried the handle. Locked.
“Polikartos, you know I’m here, and I know you’re here. Your door admitted me.”
Could there be a back exit? He doubted it.
“I just want to talk with you for a minute, Polikartos. You owe me that much. I don’t know if your profession has a code of ethics, but I think you owe me an explanation in addition to the refund.” The door remained secured.
“Fine. I’ll just go to the police, then the Better Business Bureau. I’m sure you people are regulated.” He turned from the door and started out. He had no intention of making a fool of himself in front of the police, but his words had the intended effect.
Polikartos’s face appeared as the door slid aside. Eric was surprised to see that he was barely over five feet tall, but not surprised at his powerful build.
“Hokay, Abbott. Just keep it short and lower your voice. There are people on this floor I have a reputation with. If you’re going to make a pest of yourself …”
“I can be very persistent.”
“… then you better come in.”
Polikartos’s inner office was neat and cleaner than expected. There was a steel file cabinet in one corner, two separate computer terminals, the plastic desk he’d seen over the phone, and more of the ubiquitous artificial foliage. A back window looked out on a two-story hardware store and lumber yard. The steady complaint of band saws grinding their way through the corpses of trees rose above the traffic noise.
Polikartos flopped into his chair and spread his hands imploringly. “What is it you want from me, Abbott?” The honorific “Mister” had gone by the board.
“The information I paid you to find,” said Eric firmly. “Or are you going to sit there and tell me to my face that you couldn’t find anything? That with your twenty years’ experience you couldn’t run down a lousy car owner, given the make and license number?”
Polikartos’s eyes stayed at Eric’s belt level, then lifted. “Didn’t you hear what I told you last night, Abbott? I told you to drop this business.”
“You make it sound like a bad drama, Polikartos. I’m not a fan of bad drama.”
“This is no drama good or bad, Abbott. This is real life.” He sighed. “So many closet romantics!”
“Don’t patronize me, Polikartos.”
“Hokay, wise boy. Then I lecture you.” He stood and leaned over the table. He was trying to frighten, but his nervousness killed the effect.
“Forget this, I’m telling you. You want nothing to do with that woman.”
Eric felt a sudden surge inside. “Then you did find something out! Tell me. I’ll still pay you. I’ll pay you double!”
Polikaitos sat down slowly, shook his head. “Why are the young so stubbornly stupid. Or stupidly stubborn?”
“Stubborn I am, stupid I’m not,” Eric shot back.
“You don’t prove it by me.” He hesitated a moment longer before turning to the terminal on his left. “Hokay. Give me the credit card.” Eric handed it over. Polikartos shoved it into a receive slot and tapped on the screen. He made certain the numbers appeared oversize so that Eric could read them. Eric blanched at the amount but said nothing.
Polikartos waited long after the transaction had been filed, then shook his head again and handed the card back to his client.
“What you want to know this for anyway, a nice young man like you?”
“That’s my business, isn’t it? You do advertise yourself as a ‘private’ investigator.”
“Yes, yes, don’t be clever with me. You irritate me enough as is.” He swung around in the swivel chair and activated the second console. This screen he kept concealed from Eric’s line of sight. Though Eric was burning to see what appeared on the terminal, he held his seat. Any sudden moves at this point and he didn’t doubt that Polikartos would forget all over again. He held his curiosity and waited.
Polikartos spoke without looking at him, his attention focused on the screen. “You know what I think? I think maybe you’re too dumb or too naive to be harmed by this. So I’m going to tell you what I’ve found out. You wanted to know about the woman in the car?” He nodded, answering his own rhetorical question. “I know who she is. Sort of. Not from here.”
“Where?” Eric asked with quiet intensity.
“Stubborn,” Polikartos was muttering. “Stubborn and stupid. Nueva York, back East.”
“That’s not very specific.”
“Intentionally so. It’s better not to be too specific. Besides, you’re paying me for general information, not specificity.”
Eric let it slide. “Who is she, what does she do … is she married?”
“Her name is Lisa Tambor. She is, or was, a model. I’m not especially certain of that. But it’s not her occupation now.”
“What’s that, what does she do?”
Polikartos smirked at him. “All kinds of names for it, my smitten-silly friend. Some would say she’s a professional companion. Others that she is an associate, others private property of some important individual or individuals who value their privacy and don’t like strangers poking into their business.
“As to exactly who or what she belongs to or with, that I couldn’t find out. I got the distinct impression it wouldn’t be healthy to try to find out. Maybe government, maybe industry, maybe the underworld. Sometimes the lines blur.”
“I’d think the distinctions would be clear enough.” Polikartos shook his head sadly. “You are naive, aren’t you?”
“Then enlighten me.”
