6
Instead of answering the phone in the front seat of the van with a simple “hello” when it buzzed, Fletch sang to it, “‘Hello, America, how’s by you …?’”
“Mister Fletcher? This is Andy Cyst.”
“How’re you doin’, Andy?”
“I’m fine, Mister Fletcher. How’re you doin’?”
“Just gettin’ by,” Fletch sang, “Dancin’ side by side …”
“You sound pretty relaxed, Mister Fletcher.”
“Is modern man ever more relaxed than when whizzing along a highway at the speed of a hurricane?”
“I’m afraid not, Mister Fletcher.”
“Terrifying, isn’t it?”
“I never heard you sing before, Mister Fletcher.”
“Now you know what you’ve missed.”
“I have the information you requested on Chester Radliegh. Aren’t you in the northwest somewhere?”
“Headed for Wyoming, Andy. Shall I sing ‘Git Along Little Dogies’?”
“If you want to.”
“Maybe later.”
“Chester Radliegh lives in Georgia.”
“Ah, the state that originally banned lawyers. And slavery. First came the lawyers. Then slavery. Things haven’t changed much since.”
“On an estate called Vindemia. Very large, I gather. It has its own golf course, employees’ village—it’s near a town called Ronckton. Are you on vacation or something, Mister Fletcher?”
“From what?”
“I mean, you’re nowhere near Georgia.”
“Just transporting a friend who once transported me.” Fletch heard Crystal laugh on her bed in the back of the handicap van. Through the dashboard speaker she could hear the whole conversation.
“Okay.” Andy took a big breath and began reading. “Chester Radliegh, aged fifty eight, second son of Randolph and Melissa Radliegh, born in Lincoln, Massachusetts, to a well-off, established American family.”
“What does ‘established’ mean? Aren’t we all ‘established,’ one way or another?”
“Establishment. His family showed the Mayflower where to anchor, or something.”
“Ah! Native Americans!”
“His family always had been in either the ministry or banking.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Although he was a professor at Massachusetts Institute of Technology, his undergraduate, Master’s and Ph.D. in physics were from Harvard. Incidentally, as an undergraduate at Harvard he was a two-letter man, fencing and baseball. He taught at Harvard, then at Jesus College at Oxford before teaching at MIT.”
“So he’s a literate, athletic scientist.”
“A Renaissance man. Harvard. You know, he knows something about everything and everything about something.”
“And nothin’ about nothin’ much.”
“He invented the perfect mirror. How did he do that?” Andy asked.
“Somehow, he must have turned two negatives into a positive.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“The old-fashioned mirrors look weird now, don’t they?”
“They were standard for centuries.”
“Now they make your eyes cross.”
“We never know what we’re missing until someone sells it to us. Isn’t that the truth?”
“Anyway, he had enough private funds to patent the perfect mirror himself, manufacture and market it himself. Which is why he’s so rich.”
“How rich?”
“Billions.”
“Pretty rich.”
“He has factories and other business interests all over the world. He built this huge estate in Georgia where he keeps his family, his home office, laboratory, and spends most of his time. He’s known as a sort of restless art collector. He buys the world’s best works of art, then is apt to tire of them and sell them. I guess he analyzes them, absorbs them, or something, then feels he doesn’t need them anymore. At Vindemia he also is trying to develop a new breed of cattle, and, mule.”
“Mule?”
“Mule. He married Amalie Houston when he was twenty six, she twenty three.”
“Was she also academic?”
“She was a clerk at his father’s bank in Boston. Academic? No. A few years ago, when she was on the board of directors of a juvenile detention center, she made a speech recommending that all boys up to age eighteen who had been found guilty of violent acts be neutered.”
“Sexually neutered?”
“Castrated.”
“Why only those up to age eighteen?”
“Juvenile detention centers only keep boys until they’re eighteen. I guess she didn’t want to appear overreaching.”
“She’d spent too long amongst those mules. How about girls?”
“She stated that girls’ violence was necessary to protect themselves.”
“From boys who hadn’t been castrated yet.”
“Mrs. Radliegh claimed to have been misquoted.”
“Was she?”
“No. Since then, she’s held no public positions. Apparently, Radliegh is extremely conscious of his public image.”
“Too bad. Given a free hand, she could have accelerated the emasculation of the American male considerably.”
“It is not generally known, has never been published, but I understand she has been treated several times for acute depression, including electric shock therapy.”
“Oh.”
“It may just be a rumor, but I don’t think so. She is considered eccentric, but she appears at public functions always hanging on to her husband’s arm and smiling. She is known for saying wrong things. On a visit to the White House she is reported to have said to the President’s wife, ‘Really, my dear, you ought be paid for all that you do, or take to your bed.’”
“Was she invited back?”
“Of course. She’s Chester Radliegh’s wife. They have four children. The eldest, the daughter Amy, twenty nine, has been married three times, and has seven children.”
“Doesn’t sound like she’s much in favor of castration for anybody, does it? Does she live on the estate?”
“Yes, with all her kids. She’s not presently married. Next in line is Chester Junior, football All-American and Phi Beta Kappa.”
“Number 41,” Fletch said. “Chet Radliegh. I never connected him with the perfect mirror.”
“He is engaged to marry a girl named Shana Staufel. Bryn Mawr graduate who used to work for Radliegh Mirror in Europe as an interpreter. It is believed the old man is grooming young Chester for a congressional seat from their district in Georgia. A book has been written discussing the conflicts between the First and Fourteenth Amendments to the United States Constitution, a book which is to be published under young Chester’s name.”
“Has he been to Law School?”
“Yes, but he flunked his first attempt to pass the bar exam.”
“So the book will be published as soon as he passes the bar?”
“It is whispered in the halls of Congress that the present incumbent of that particular congressional seat in Georgia has been offered an awful lot of money to retire. The source of this money is unknown.”
“Smoke and mirrors,” Fletch said.
“Young Chester is twenty five. Next in line is daughter Alixis, aged twenty three. After flunking out of Ol’ Miss, where she was a cheerleader, Allied films produced a musical called Feint at Heart as a starring vehicle for her. Ever heard of it?”
“No.”
“It didn’t do well. It cost thirty two million to produce and had a limited release one weekend last April. The kindest thing written about it was that it was ‘old fashioned.’ One reviewer wrote of her, I have it here, ‘This is the ultimate, we hope, movie about the girl-next-door who should have stayed there—next door.’”
“Nasty, nasty. Some of these reviewers will say anything to be quoted.”
“And then there’s Duncan, aged twenty one. He just graduated from Vanderbilt University at the bottom of his class. He likes racing cars, playing at being a mechanic. It is said he is to be a candidate for a Master’s degree in Business Administration next fall, but no one seems to know where.”
“The old man wants him to be able to take over and run the shop.”
“On the other hand, he’s paid his entrance fee to several car races throughout next year. He races something called ‘The Mirror Car,’ of which several versions have been made.”
“Has he ever won a race?”
“Yes. One. In Utah. A five thousand dollar purse.”
“That should pay expenses.”
“At least for the nitrogas.”
“It sounds as if they’re all having fun.”
“Does it?”
“Spending money anyway.”
“Mister Fletcher, is there a story here, on Radliegh, his family, something?”
“You’re wondering why I asked you to do this research, Andy.”
“I mean, you’re nowhere near Georgia.”
“Keep your research on tap. One never knows.”
“By the way, Mister Fletcher, that kid who worked with you on that story about The Tribe? Jack Faoni?”
“What about him?”
“He left here a couple of days ago.”
“Where do you suppose he went?”
“He said he was going to North Carolina for lunch.”
Smiling, Fletch asked, “What’s so perplexing about that? Everyone gets hungry.”
“He didn’t even have a car.”
“Well, Andy,” Fletch said. “Some lunches are worth going out of your way for. Thanks for your work, my good man. I’ll practice ’Git Along Little Dogies’ so I can sing it for you next time. In the key of Lee Marvin.”
He switched off the phone.
On her bed in the back of the van, Crystal asked, “Isn’t Vindemia where you said Jack was going?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s he doing there?”
“Visiting the girl young Chester Radliegh intends to marry, I guess.”
“Sounds risky.”
“He has his guitar,” Fletch said. “‘Music soothes the savage beast.’”
“Radliegh,” Crystal said after the van had gone another ten miles. “First he creates the perfect mirror, then he tries to create the perfect image. The first was scientifically possible—”
“And the second,” Fletch said, “is a goose’s chase.”