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off Davie Road, over in an industrial park in pine and palmetto country. All
of it except the office itself was circled by high hurricane fencing with
slanted braces and three strands of barbed wire on top. There was a gate for
the rail spur and a truck and equipment gate. I could see a central mix
concrete plant, a block plant, big piles of sand, gravel, and crushed stone.
I could see warehouses, stacks of lumber, piles of prestressed concrete beams,
and a vehicle park and repair area. This was a Thursday at one thirty in the
afternoon, and I could count only ten cars. Four of those were in front of the
office. The office was a long, low concrete-block building painted white with
a flat roof. The landscaped grass was burned brown, and they had lost about
half the small palm trees planted near the office.
There were too many trucks and pieces of equipment in the park. It looked neat
enough but sleepy. BROLL ENTERPRISES, Inc. But some of the big plastic letters
had blown off or fallen off. It said: ROLL E TERP ISES, Inc.
I cruised slowly by I was tempted to turn around and go back and go in and see
if Harry was there and try once more to tell him I'd had no contact whatsoever
with Mary for over three years. But he was going to believe what emotions told
him ,to believe.
I wondered how Meyer was doing, using his friends in the banks, brokerage
houses, and investment houses to find out just how sweaty Harry Broll might
be. The tight-money times and the over-building of condominiums and the
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pyramiding costs had busted quite a few able fellows lately. Harry probably
hadn't come through that bad period without some ugly bruises. I could tell
Meyer how idle Broll's place of business looked, if he hadn't found out
already.
When I got back to Bahia Mar, Meyer was still missing. I felt restless. I set
up the Fisher, hooked up the tape decks, turntables, and the two sets of
speakers. It checked out all right. I turned it off and paced. The itch you
can't quite reach. Familiar feeling. Like the name you can't quite remember.
I looked up the number for Broll Enterprises and phoned. The girl answered by
reciting the number I'd just dialed.
"Maybe you can help me, miss. I'm trying to get a home address for Mrs. Harry
Broll."
"In what regard, please."
"Well, this is the Shoe Mart, and it was way back in November we
special-ordered a pair of shoes for Mrs. Broll. It took so long she's under no
obligation to take them, but they're more a classic than a high-style item, so
I figure she probably wants them, but I been drawing a blank on the home phone
number, so I thought maybe they moved or something."
"Will you hold on a moment, please?"
I held. It took her about a minute and a half. "Mr. Broll says that you can
deliver them here to the office. Do you know where we are?"
"Sure. Okay. Thanks. It'll probably be tomorrow." I hung up, and once again,
to make sure, I dialed the home phone number for Harry Broll, 21 Blue Heron
Lane.
"The number you have dialed is not in service at this time."
I scowled at my phone. Come on, McGee. The man is living somewhere.
Information has no home number for him. The old home number is on temporary
disconnect. The new number of wherever he's living must be unlisted. It
probably doesn't matter a damn where he's living. It's the challenge.
Okay. Think a little. Possibly all his mail is directed to the business
address. But some things have to be delivered. Booze, medicine, automobiles.
Water, electricity ... cablevision?
The lady had a lovely voice, gentle and musical and intriguingly breathy. "l
could track it down more quickly, Mr. Broll, if you could give me your account
number."
"I wish I could. I'm sorry, miss. I don't have the bill in front of me. But
couldn't you check it by address? The last billing was sent to 21 Blue Heron
Lane. If it's too much trouble, I can phone you tomorrow. You see, the bill is
at my home, and I'm at the office."
"Just a moment, please. Let me check the cross index."
It took a good five minutes. "Sorry it took me so long," she said.
"It was my fault, not having my account number, miss."
"Broll. Bee-are-oh-el-el. Harry C.?"
"Correct."
"And you said the bill went where?"
"To 21 Blue Heron Lane. That's where I used to live."
"Gee, Mr. Broll, I don't understand it at all. All billing is supposed to be
mailed to Post Office box 5150."
"I wonder if I've gotten a bill that belongs to someone else. The amount
doesn't seem right either."
"You should be paying $6.24 a month, sir. For the one outlet. You were paying
more, of course, for the four outlets at Blue Heron Lane before you ordered
the disconnect."
"Excuse me, but does your file show where I am getting the one-outlet service?
Do you have the right address?"
"Oh, yes sir. It's 8553 Ocean Boulevard, apartment 42 I've got the
installation order number. That is right, isn't it?"
"Yes. That's right. But I think the billing is for eleven dollars and
something."
"Mr. Broll, please mail the bill back in the regular envelope we send out, but
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in the left bottom corner would you write Customer Service, Miss Locklin?"
"I will do that. I certainly appreciate your kindness and courtesy, Miss
Locklin."
"No trouble, really. That's what we're here for."
Four o'clock and still no Meyer, so I went out and coaxed Miss Agnes back to
life and went rolling on up Ocean Boulevard. I kept to the far right lane and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
