Hannibal Page 0,90
A foie gras at two hundred dollars a kilo, and through the Grand Central Oyster Bar he got green oysters from the Gironde. The meal for the Philharmonic board began with these oysters, followed by sweet-breads, a sorbet, and then, you can read here in Town amp; Country what they had" - she read aloud quickly - "a notable dark and glossy ragout, the constituents never determined, on saffron rice. Its taste was darkly thrilling with great bass tones that only the vast and careful reduction of the fond can give. No victim's ever been identified as being in the ragout. Da da, it goes on - here it describes his distinctive tableware and stuff in detail. We're cross-checking credit card purchases at the china and crystal suppliers."
Krendler snorted through his nose.
"See, here in this civil suit, he still owes for a Steuben chandelier, and Galeazzo Motor Company of Baltimore sued to get back his Bentley. We're tracking sales of Bentleys, new and used. There aren't that many. And the sales of supercharged Jaguars. We've faxed the restaurant game suppliers asking about purchases of wild boar and we'll do a bulletin the week before the redlegged partridges come in from Scotland."
She pecked at her keyboard and consulted a list, then stepped away from the machine when she felt Krendler's breath too close behind her.
"I've put in for funds to buy cooperation from some of the premier scalpers of cultural tickets, the culture vultures, in New York and San Francisco - there are a - couple of orchestras and string quartets he particularly likes, he favors the six or seventh row and always sits on the aisle. I've distributed the best likenesses we have to Lincoln Center and Kennedy Center, and most of the philharmonic halls. Maybe you could help us with that out of the DOJ budget, Mr. Krendler.".When he didn't reply, she went on. "We're cross-checking new subscriptions to some cultural journals he's subscribed to in the past-anthropology, linguistics, Physical Review, mathematics, music."
"Does he hire S and M whores, that kind of thing? Male prostitutes?"
Starling could feel Krendler's relish in the question. "Not to our knowledge, Mr. Krendler. He was seen at concerts in Baltimore years ago with several attractive women, a couple of them were prominent in Baltimore charity work and stuff. We have their birthdays flagged for gift purchases. None of them was ever harmed to our knowledge, and none has ever agreed to speak about him. We don't know anything about his sexual preferences."
"I've always figured he was a homosexual."
"Why would you say that, Mr. Krendler?"
"All this artsy-fartsy stuff. Chamber music and tea-party food. I don't mean anything personal, if you've got a lot of sympathy for those people, or friends like that. The main thing, what I'm impressing on you, Starling: I better see cooperation here. There are no little fiefdoms. I want to be copied on every 302, I want every time card, I want every lead. Do you understand me, Starling?"
"Yes, sir."
At the door he said, "Be sure you do. You might have a chance to improve your situation here. Your so-called career could use all the help it can get."
The future darkroom was already equipped with vent fans. Looking him in the face, Starling flipped them on, sucking out the smell of his aftershave and his shoe polish. Krendler pushed through the blackout curtains without saying good-bye.
The air danced in front of Starling like heat shimmer on the gunnery range.
In the hall Krendler heard Starling's voice behind him.
"I'll walk outside with you, Mr. Krendler."
Krendler had a car and driver waiting. He was still at the level of executive transport where he made do with a Mercury Grand Marquis sedan.
Before he could get to his car, out in the clear air, she said, "Hold it, Mr. Krendler."
Krendler turned to her, wondering. Might be a glimmer of something here. Angry surrender? His antenna went up.
"We're here in the great out-of-doors," Starling said. "No listening devices around, unless you're wearing one."
An urge hit her that she could not resist. To work with the dusty books she was wearing a loose denim shirt over a snug tank top.
Shouldn't do this. Fuck it.
She popped the snaps on her shirt and pulled it open. "See, I'm not wearing a wire.".She wasn't wearing a bra either. "This is maybe the only time we'll ever talk in private, and I want to ask you. For years I've been doing the