How soon, I wondered, was "presently"?
"But haven't you forgotten somebody? Bill Henderson. The man's no fool.
The minute he figures out your play, which he surely will, he's going
to start blowing word all over the newspapers. You'll never get away
with this."
Noda smiled lightly. "It would be helpful if he were here now. Perhaps
you could be good enough to arrange for it."
So with Matsuo Noda standing over me, Uzi next to my head, I called
Henderson on my speakerphone. He picked up after eight rings.
"Bill. Getting rich?"
"Walton, what time is it? Goddam, you woke me up." He yawned into the
receiver. "Jesus, I feel like hell. What's going on? Everything still
looking okay?"
"Couldn't be better. Quite a party around here. Want to come back down
and help us celebrate?"
"Well . . . what the . . . ! It's after eleven already. Hey, let me
check out the market first. Be down there in a little."
I looked up as Noda fingered his Uzi. "Just come on over now. Don't
putz around with the market. We could use the company. And Bill . . ."
"Yeah?"
"This shindig's BYOB. So how about picking up a fifth of Scotch? That
way we can all get into the spirit of things here on the eleventh
floor."
"Walton, that's a hell of a--"
"I know bringing your own booze is not your style. But why don't you
check in with Eddie, the security chief downstairs? He always keeps me
a bottle of Suntory there in the utility room. See him about it."
"That Japanese crap. Matt, what are you talking about? You know I hate--
"
"Just ask for Eddie, Bill." I cut him off. "Tell him Matthew Walton
wants his black label Japanese juice sent up here immediately.
Understand?"