nineteen

“How could they have found us?” Ms. Washburn said quietly as the two men walked toward our table. “We didn’t even know we were coming here until a half hour ago.”

“I texted Kaplan,” I informed her. “Better to have them come when we expected them than at some random moment.”

“Janet and I didn’t expect them,” Mike pointed out. He was correct; that had been an oversight on my part.

Kaplan reached the table first and stood over my left shoulder. “You have an offer to make?” he said. His social skills required a good deal of revision, I thought. Perhaps a good therapist or a weekly group meeting would be of help to him.

“I see no reason to change the offer I have already made,” I said. “We will be glad to give you the forty thousand dollars in cash when you allow me to speak at length to Reuben Hoenig. But he must not be on his current regimen of medication because that makes conversation with him more difficult.” I looked toward the door. “Did you bring him with you?”

Involuntarily Kaplan glanced at the door too. Then his face took on a sheepish quality and he looked back at me. “No, of course I didn’t bring him with me.” His voice had a hoarse, urgent quality. “And stop saying how much money we’re talking about when people can hear you.”

That made no sense. There was little point to speaking when no one could hear me. Why would I even consider altering the volume of my voice to the point that it would be inaudible?

“When can you bring him to us?” I asked. “It must be sometime today because we are flying back to the East Coast tomorrow morning.”

Mike winced just a bit. I thought he was reacting to what I’d said but could not be certain. I would ask him later.

“I’m not bringing him to you,” Kaplan said. “You’re not giving me anything you didn’t already offer.”

I already knew that; perhaps Kaplan was behaving this way because I had done something rude. I don’t always notice.

“Would you care to join us?” I asked him. “We can get an extra chair from Linda for your associate.”

Kaplan sneered. “No, I don’t want to join you. You don’t seem to understand how this works. This is a business negotiation. If you want something from me, you have to offer something I want. You want your dad. I want my money. But you’ve already welched on one offer. You got to talk to him and I got nothing.”

I had anticipated this tactic. I reached into my pocket and retrieved a bound packet of cash I had extracted from the money Kaplan’s associate in the Reseda house had given Ms. Washburn and me the day before. “You may have this for the conversation I had with Reuben Hoenig yesterday,” I said. “I believe that is fair compensation. For the rest I must see Mr. Hoenig unmedicated and without a time limit. Is that agreeable?”

Perhaps forgetting his declaration of a minute before, Kaplan sat on the empty chair at our table. His bushy-browed associate remained standing.

“No, it’s not agreeable,” he said. “Our deal was you talked to your dad and I got my money. This isn’t all my money.”

“No, but Samuel didn’t have a whole conversation with his father,” Ms. Washburn pointed out. “You get what you get until that happens, Mr. Kaplan.”

“Watch your mouth, lady,” Kaplan said. I felt a flash of anger at the way he was treating Ms. Washburn.

She merely sat back, ignored her bagel, and folded her arms. “What is your real name, anyway?” she asked. “George Kaplan is the name Reuben Hoenig got when he left Seattle. How’d you end up with it?”

Kaplan made a guttural noise. His associate took his hands out of the pockets of his trousers.

Mike unfolded his arms.

“If you wish to negotiate terms, I will make a counteroffer,” I told Kaplan in an effort to defuse the situation. I was angry at Kaplan but did not want to see a violent scene erupt in the small restaurant.

He turned his attention to me quickly. “What’s your offer?”

“My goal remains unchanged. I want an unlimited conversation with a completely unimpaired Reuben Hoenig. But since you seem to believe the down payment I have given you is insufficient, I will add what I believe businessmen like yourself call a sweetener.”

“A sweetener.” Kaplan looked amused. I had expected that. “What do you have in mind? Splenda?”

I did not recognize the word so I did not respond to it. Perhaps it was a derogatory name Kaplan was calling me to belittle the competition in some way. “No,” I said. “Suppose I don’t go through with my plans to tell the Labor Department about the other George Kaplans.”

The current George Kaplan did not move a facial muscle for six seconds. When he spoke again, it was in a very low whisper with an edge of coarseness to it. “What did you say?” That was a delaying tactic to give Kaplan time to think. I understood the impulse. He had been surprised with information he was not expecting. It could prove to be damaging to his business and possibly his life, so he was processing and formulating an answer. But even if I did comprehend his hesitancy, I had no reason to indulge it. This was indeed a competition and Kaplan was the opposition.

“I believe you heard me,” I said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he countered. This, too, was merely a method of stalling; Kaplan could not possibly believe I would accept a claim of ignorance.

“Yes, you do,” Ms. Washburn said. She is adept at keeping the conversation moving and she clearly understood it was time to increase pressure on Kaplan. “Now, what is it worth to you for us to keep quiet about your operation sending men named George Kaplan around the country and placing them in companies run by your competition?” She was not giving away all the information we had but was making it clear to Kaplan that we were not simply guessing. We had uncovered his scheme and we could, if we wanted to, expose it to the proper authorities.

I was not certain he had done anything illegal, but the way the color drained from his face indicated to me that it was not an unlikely scenario.

Kaplan tried to look calm but there was already perspiration soaking his collar. “It’s not worth anything,” he said. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Very well, then,” I said, having finished the last of my Special K. “I will return to my original offer of returning the remainder of the cash your associate gave us in exchange for unfettered access to Reuben Hoenig. And we will consider ourselves free to contact any authorities we please to discuss the way you and Mendoza Communications have done business these past few years.” I wiped my mouth with the paper napkin supplied and placed it on the table.

I do not signal to servers for the check. I do not wish to interact with strangers when it isn’t necessary and I believe the servers consider such gestures somehow demeaning, only because Ms. Washburn has said she felt that way when waiting tables to work her way through college. But Linda came over and asked if we needed anything else and Ms. Washburn indicated the bill would be appreciated. Linda, an efficient server, produced it immediately and left the table.

Since this was a business trip I paid for the entire check. Ms. Washburn and Mike the taxicab driver were in Burbank on my behalf and that of Questions Answered. I calculated a 20 percent tip and included it in the cash—not that given to us by Kaplan’s associate—I left on the table. I stood up.

“What time today may I talk to Reuben Hoenig?” I asked Kaplan, who looked agitated.

His mouth opened and closed three times while his eyelids fluttered. I wondered if Kaplan was having a seizure of some sort, but Ms. Washburn, who would normally be concerned at such a possibility, looked absolutely calm.

“You’re playing in awfully dangerous waters,” Kaplan said finally. Since I do not often play anywhere, but particularly not in water, the expression confused me until I realized he was mixing metaphors. I would decipher his syntax later but I understood he was trying to sound an ominous warning.

“What time?” I repeated. Mike and Ms. Washburn, having stood, began to head toward the door, but I noticed that Mike stayed behind Kaplan’s associate.

“I’ll call you,” Kaplan said. He walked briskly to the door and left without looking back at the three of us, his bushy-browed associate, startled, struggling to keep up his pace.

Ms. Washburn, Mike, and I watched them leave. I saw Mike’s shoulders relax as soon as they were outside the restaurant. “Don’t go out until I check,” he said. “I don’t want to walk into something.” Assuming correctly we would respect his authority in such matters, Mike walked cautiously out of the restaurant, leaving Ms. Washburn and me behind waiting for his signal.

Unexpectedly I felt Ms. Washburn’s hand reaching for mine. I am not fond of being touched when I have not prepared but I did not react. I let her fingers intertwine with my own. The Beatles song “I Want to Hold Your Hand” began to play in my mind.

“You can’t do that to me again,” she said quietly.

I struggled to understand her statement. She was the one who had reached for my hand; it had not been my idea. Was she upset at my holding her hand? I needed clarification. “Do what?” I asked.

“You texted George Kaplan and told him where we were so he would come in while we were eating,” Ms. Washburn said.

“It was an efficient way to expedite the next step in the process of answering the question,” I said, although I had explained my motivation earlier.

“I know,” she answered. “But you can’t do something like that without telling me first. Kaplan is a dangerous man. Something bad could have happened.” Her fingers tightened in my hand.

It had not occurred to me that Ms. Washburn would be upset about my method. It made perfect sense to me to contact Kaplan so I had done it. Taking someone else’s reaction into account was still a skill I needed to develop.

“I will try not to do that again,” I said.

“Okay.”

Mike appeared in the front window of Eye Openers and extended his right hand, thumb up. Ms. Washburn and I disentangled our hands and walked outside.