Page 29 of Shadow Ticket
“Upper management believes we should begin cultivating the luxury market, taking clients only in the upper brackets. Let all those deadbeats you know so well just drop off the edge, once prosperity returns we’ll have position, see. The U-Ops is headed uptown but definitely, which incidentally means all of us presenting more of a quality appearance.”
“You’re trying to tell me something.”
“Nothing against the suit, Hicks, the cigarette burns, the multiple reweaving, buttons that don’t match up with buttonholes, personally I think all that adds character, a just-folks image that may’ve worked fine once among the less sophisticated, but the more we expect to be face-to-face with the well-to-do, you get it? Hiring gorillas who’ll take short money to get beatings they probably deserve, that’s so out-of-date now—these days they’re looking more for William Powell, some brainwork, some class, which for one thing will mean a higher price tag suit, trust my sense of style here, the Prince of Wales and I both subscribe to the same fashion magazines—and now as to the shoes…”
And so forth—Hicks figures a real bottle of beer is worth sitting through ten or fifteen minutes of this, though any longer might have to be negotiated.
“…as the P.I. field in general begins to shift from skips and small-time offenses into more of an espionage racket, along with that comes the need for a snappier getup, European Fascist uniforms at the moment, as you may have noticed from the newsreels, being widely admired and commented on.”
“Where do I find the money to afford anything ritzier than what I got on?”
“The national office. Next paycheck everybody’ll be seeing a nice WUGA.”
“That’s, uh…”
“Wardrobe Up-Grade Allowance? There was a memo.”
“How much?”
“Sliding scale. You, now—if we could only be sure you wouldn’t just go blow it in some juke joint—why your WUGA could be worth up to, oh, 20, 25 bucks.”
“What your wife’s always tellin me, Boynt, except she sez closer to 50?”
“Uh-huh, well, whatever you spend it on, don’t forget neckties and pocket handkerchiefs. Heart and soul of the business, if you really want to know…”
“Will I have to start drinking Martinis?”
“Stick with beer for now, and any plans to pose as some uptown society sleuth, let’s count on at least a year’s remedial work first.”
“Hey, I’ve got acting skills, that Duchess of Uckfield ticket, how about that?”
“That was back a while, maybe you got away with it then but we’re living in bleaker times now. Better just be yourself—with you, not the perfect option, I agree…”
Hicks looks in his shirt pocket, finds an empty cigarette pack, reaches a loosie from the shoebox-full that Boynt keeps on his desk, goes in another pocket, takes a penny and carefully places it in front of Boynt. “There’s got to be even sorrier cases than me who’ve been involved with ol’ Daphne, big-business melodramas of the Airmont family I was never told nothin about, plus which,” lighting up, inhaling, coughing dramatically, “any statutes must’ve run by now, am I leaving anything out, oh and why is it again you’re picking on me with this?”
“Some husband or wife gets bumped, who’s the first one anybody looks at? Homicide Bureau ABCs.”
“Not sure I see the connection.”
“Better that way.” A little wistful. “You’ll be happy to hear in any casethat we’ve set up a get-together for you and the family lawyers. Even thought maybe I’d tag along.”
“Just to add that uptown touch, thanks, Boynt.”
—
The magazine selectionin the outer waiting area at Godwin Zipf includesPopular Litigation,Modern Psychopathy, andSteamy Detective, deep in whose cover story it’s not till Boynt reaches and shakes him does Hicks realize he’s been immersed for a while. “Oh.”
“They say sometime this week.”
“On the way, Boss.”
“Not as high-caliber around here as it looks,” a front office type answering to Peckenway greets them smoothly, “more respect than revenue. If you need an attorney for the damned, that’s still Brother Darrow—we’re more like attorneys for the gol-durned, the gin mill across the street that picks up the overflow.”
“And,” Boynt’s idea of suave, “runaway heiress work…”
“Mrs. Airmont would like her daughter back with as little public attention as possible, and without the clarinet player.”
“—and how much thought has she given,” wonders Boynt, as if he’s forgotten he’s talking out loud, “to what she’s willing to pay him to dump Daphne?”
