“You are making a mistake, Doctor, a most serious error,” Humboldt said heavily. “No, no, I will not be insulted further on my own phone, madam.”

He hung up and glared at me. “You will be very sorry. Both of you. I don’t think you appreciate how very much power I have in this town, young lady.”

The pulse in my neck was still throbbing. “There are so many things you don’t appreciate, Gustav, that I hardly know where to start. You’re dead. You’re through in this town. The Herald-Star is working on your connection to Steve Dresberg and believe me, they’ll find it. You may think you have it buried fifty layers deep, but Murray Ryerson is a good archaeologist and he’s burning right now.

“But more than that, your company is through. Your little chemical emporium just ain’t big enough to absorb the shock when those Xerxine suits start pouring in. It may be six months, it may take two years, but you’re looking at half a billion in claims, easy. And it’s going to be like shooting rats in a barrel to prove malicious intent on your part—Humboldt’s part. That company you built up—it’s going to be like Jonah’s gourd—grew in a night and withered in a night. You’re dead meat, Humboldt, and you’re so crazy you can’t even smell the rot.”

“You’re wrong, you little Polish bitch! I’ll show you how wrong you are!” He hurled his whiskey glass across the room where it smashed into one of the bookcases. “I’ll break you just as easily as that glass. Gordon Firth will never hire you again. You’ll lose your license. You’ll never get another client again. I’ll see you on West Madison with the other drunks and has-beens and I’ll laugh at you. I’ll roar with laughter.”

“You do that,” I said fiercely. “I’m sure your grandchildren will be much entertained by the spectacle. In fact, I bet they’d like to hear the whole story of how you poisoned people to maximize your goddamned bottom line.”

“My grandchildren!” he roared. “If you dare come near them, neither you nor your friends will ever know another night’s sleep in this city!”

He kept shouting, his threats escalating to include not just Lotty but other friends whose names his researchers had dredged up. Peppy’s hackles rose and she growled menacingly. I kept one hand on her collar and pressed the buzzer in the mantel with the other. When Anton came I pointed at the shattered glass.

“You may want to clean that up. And I think Mrs. Portis would be more comfortable if you’d send her down to Marcus to get a cab. Come, Peppy.” We left as quickly as we could, but it seemed I could hear that maniacal bellow all the way to the lobby.

43

Bringing It All Back Home

Lotty and I spent the next few days with my lawyer. I don’t know if it was Carter Freeman’s efforts, or Anton’s, or just that the scene at the Roanoke had terrified her, but Mrs. Portis lost interest in bringing charges against Lotty. We had a tougher time over my mortgage—for a few weeks it looked as though I might have to find a place to rent. But Freeman managed to settle that somehow, too. I’ve always suspected that he put up a guarantee himself, but he only raises his brows and feigns ignorance and changes the conversation when I try asking him.