“-and you’ve ignored all our communications dealing with this house. The consensus is that you may be planning some public display on the twentieth. Calling the papers and TV stations, getting them all out here. The heroic home owner dragged kicking and screaming from his hearth and home by the city’s Gestapo agents.”

“That worries you, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it worries us! Public opinion is volatile, it swings around like a weathervane-”

“And your clients are elected officials.”

Fenner looked at him expressionlessly.

“So what now?” he asked. “Are you going to make me an offer I can’t refuse?”

Fenner sighed. “I can’t understand what we’re arguing about, Mr. Dawes. The city is offering you sixty thousand dollars to-”

“Sixty-three five.”

“Yes, very good. They are offering you that amount for the house and the lot. Some people are getting a lot less. And what do you get for that money? You get no hassles, no trouble, no heat. The money is practically tax free because you’ve already paid Uncle the taxes on the money you spent to buy it. All you owe is taxes on the markup. Or don’t you think the valuation is fair?”

“Fair enough,” he said, thinking about Charlie. “As far as dollars and cents go, it’s fair. Probably more than I could get if I wanted to sell it, with the price of loans what they are.”

“So what are we arguing about?”

“We’re not,” he said, and sipped his drink. Yes, he had gotten his salesman, all right. “Do you have a house, Mr. Fenner?”

“Yes I do,” Fenner said promptly. “A very fine one in Greenwood. And if you are going to ask me what I would do or how I would feel if our positions were reversed, I’ll be very frank. I would twist the city’s tit for all I could get and then laugh all the way to the bank.”

“Yes, of course you would.” He laughed and thought of Don and Ray Tarkington, who would have twisted both tits and rammed the courthouse flagpole up the city’s ass for good measure. “Do you folks really think I’ve lost my marbles, then?”

Judiciously, Fenner said: “We don’t know. Your resolution to the laundry relocation problem was hardly a normal one.”

“Well, I’ll tell you this. I have enough marbles left to know I could get myself a lawyer who doesn’t like the eminent domain statute-one who still believes in that quaint old adage that a man’s home is his castle. He could get a restraining order and we could tie you up for a month, maybe two. With luck and the right progression of judges, we could hold this thing off until next September.”

Fenner looked pleased rather than disconcerted, as he had suspected Fenner would. Finally, Fenner was thinking. Here’s the hook, Freddy, are you enjoying this? Yes, George, I have to admit I am.

“What do you want?” Fenner asked.

“How much are you prepared to offer?”

“We’ll hike the valuation five thousand dollars. Not a penny more. And nobody will hear about the girl.”

Everything stopped. Stopped dead.

“What?” he whispered.

“The girl, Mr. Dawes. The one you were banging. You had her here December sixth and seventh.”

A number of thoughts spiraled through his mind in a period of seconds, some of them extremely sensible, but most of them overlaid and made untrustworthy with a thin yellow patina of fear. But above both fear and sensible thoughts was a vast red rage that made him want to leap across the table and choke this tick-tuck man until clocksprings fell out of his ears. And he must not do that; above all, not that.

“Give me a number,” he said.

“Number-?”

“Phone number. I’ll call you this afternoon and tell you my decision.”

“It would be ever so much better if we could wrap it up right now.”

You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Referee, let’s extend this round thirty seconds. I’ve got this man on the ropes.

“No, I don’t think so. Please get out of my house.”

Fenner gave a smooth, expressionless shrug. “Here’s my card. The number is on it. I expect to be in between two-thirty and four o’clock.”

“I’ll call.”

Fenner left. He watched him through the window beside the front door as he walked down the path to his dark blue Buick, got in, and cruised away. Then he slammed his fist against the wall, hard.

He mixed himself another drink and sat down at the kitchen table to go over the situation. They knew about Olivia. They were willing to use that knowledge as a lever. As a lever to move him it wasn’t very good. They could no doubt end his marriage with it, but his marriage was in serious trouble already. But they had spied on him.

The question was, how?

If there had been men watching him, they undoubtedly would have known about the world-famous crackle-crackle-boom-boom. If so, they would have used it on him. Why bother with something paltry like a little extramarital boogie-woogie when you can have the recalcitrant home owner slapped in jail for arson? So they had bugged him. When he thought how close he had come to drunkenly spilling the crime to Magliore over the phone, cold little dots of perspiration broke out on his skin. Thank God Magliore had shut him up. Crackle-crackle-boom-boom was bad enough.

So he was living in a bugged house and the question remained: What to do about Fenner’s offer and Fenner’s clients’ methods?

He put a TV dinner in the oven for his lunch and sat down with another drink to wait for it. They had spied on him, tried to bribe him. The more he thought about it, the angrier it made him.

He took the TV dinner out and ate it. He wandered around the house, looking at things. He began to have an idea.

At three o’clock he called Fenner and told him to send out the form. He would sign it if Fenner took care of the two items they had discussed. Fenner sounded very pleased, even relieved. He said he would be glad to take care of things, and would see he had a form tomorrow. Fenner said he was glad he had decided to be sensible.

“There are a couple of conditions,” he said.

“Conditions,” Fenner repeated, and sounded instantly wary.

“Don’t get excited. It’s nothing you can’t handle.”

“Let’s hear them,” Fenner said. “But I’m warning you, Dawes, you’ve squeezed us for about all you can.”

“You get the form over to the house tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll bring it to your office on Wednesday. I want you to have a check for sixty-eight thousand five hundred dollars waiting for me. A cashier’s check. I’ll trade you the release form for the check.”

“Mr. Dawes, we can’t do business that way-”

“Maybe you’re not supposed to, but you can. The same way you’re not supposed to tap my phone and God knows what else. No check, no form. I’ll get the lawyer instead.”

Fenner paused. He could almost hear Fenner thinking.

“All right. What else?”

“I don’t want to be bothered anymore after Wednesday. On the twentieth, it’s yours. Until then it’s mine.”

“Fine,” Fenner said instantly, because of course that wasn’t a condition at all. The law said the house was his until midnight on the nineteenth, incontrovertibly the city’s property a minute later. If he signed the city’s release form and took the city’s money, he could holler his head off to every newspaper and TV station in town and not get a bit of sympathy.

“That’s all,” he said.

“Good,” Fenner said, sounding extremely happy. “I’m glad we could finally get together on this in a rational way, Mr.-”

“Fuck you,” he said, and hung up.