“I’m at your security gate,” Mahoney said.
“Good, then I can tell the police where to find you,” Mills said. “Now go away.”
“No, I need to talk to you.”
“I’m not authorizing them to let you in,” Mills said. “And if you don’t leave, I’ll have them arrest you.”
Mahoney was on his phone and behind the wheel of the family’s Honda Pilot, parked at the security booth of National Innovative Technologies, high on a hill in Westchester County, just north of the city.
“They can’t arrest me,” he said. “They’re rental cops. This guy in the booth here? My eight-year-old boy could take care of him.”
“Good lord, you’ve reproduced,” Mills said.
Mahoney looked past the booth to the roadway that ran uphill. On either side were immaculate hillsides with plants and bright beds of autumn flowers. “Do you work in a forest, Jerry?” he asked. “All I see are hills and trees. Are there actually offices up there somewhere?”
“No. Now go.”
“I’m not going. I said I’m sorry about the water thing. Now why won’t you at least talk to me?”
“Because you’re an ass.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that.”
“And I have a conference call in two minutes,” Mills said. “Goodbye.”
“No, you don’t, and don’t end this call. You do and I’ll ram my car into the gate and come find you.”
“And then you’ll really be arrested.”
“I’ll make a big stink, Jerry. I’ll say you’re a drug dealer and I’ve been working on a column to expose you and was trying to confront you with evidence. Cops will have to check it out. It’ll be all over the local news.”
“You don’t have a column,” Mills said.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll say it’s a freelance piece. They’ll still have to check it out. Couple of uniforms will come up to your office. I’ll say you’re packing, maybe they come in with guns drawn. You got a secretary, Jerry? She’ll be traumatized. Guarantee it.”
Mills didn’t say anything for a moment and Mahoney knew he had him. “Put me on with the guard,” Mills said.
“Hang on, Methuselah is sitting down, this may take awhile. Maybe there’s a home aide or someone who can help him.”
Mahoney pulled the Pilot forward to the guardhouse, put the window down and waved. “Hey, Mills wants to talk to you. I think he cleared me for the VIP tour.”
The guard rose and came out of the booth. He was dressed in khakis, a white shirt, and a fluorescent green vest, like he might have to direct traffic at any moment. Mahoney handed him the phone and the guy nodded while Mills spoke to him.
“You’re cleared,” he said, handing the phone back to Mahoney. “But this will take a moment while I make a badge for you. I’ll need a driver’s license.”
“Okay if I give you mine? It’s the only one I have.”
The guy looked at him, said nothing and took his license and disappeared back into the booth. Mahoney checked out the flowers and shrubs all around a nice brick sign with NIT spelled out in big silver letters while he waited.
The guard came back out and Mahoney said, “Hey, I bet I know what they call the really smart guys who work here.”
No response. He hates me, Mahoney thought. “Nitwits. Get it?”
Mahoney chuckled, but the guy showed no reaction. Nothing. He just jabbed a badge and a laminated card at him through the window.
“Wear this at all times while on the campus,” he said. “And keep the parking pass on the dashboard. We tow cars around here if we don’t see a pass.”
“Yes, sir. Do you operate your own penal system too?”
Again, a stare and silence. “Tough audience,” Mahoney said, giving him a wave as he put the window up.
He cleared the guardhouse and drove up the hill with woods on either side. The road leveled off and a long, three-story building appeared. He followed the signs for visitor parking, went inside to the reception desk, and was sent up to the third floor where Mills was waiting for him when the elevator door opened.
“What, you didn’t send your secretary?”
“She’s done nothing wrong, no need to punish her,” Mills said.
Mahoney stuck a hand out. “Hey, I wanted to come see you after that incident the other day.”
Mills didn’t shake hands and didn’t say a word. He just stood there, his face, and even the top of his bald head, flushed red.
“I didn’t expect a warm welcome,” Mahoney said. “Got somewhere we could talk for a minute?”
Mills stared at him for a moment before answering. “Follow me.”
Mills turned and led him down a long corridor on the outside of a cubicle farm. The place was bright and quiet. They reached an office next to the corner one and Mills led him inside and closed the door behind him.
“Is this like a quiet time or something out there?” Mahoney asked, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk.
“Did you drive over here to make fun of the place?” Mills asked.
“No, I was just wondering why no one was talking.”
“Maybe they have nothing to talk about,” Mills said. “What do you want?”
“To apologize, at least to begin with. That wasn’t my finest hour.”
“I don’t want your apology,” Mills said. His face became even more rigid and flushed. “That was humiliating. I had to have that tie dry cleaned.”
“You can throw water on me if you like.”
“It won’t be the same. That was in public.”
“We can do it in front of the zombie people out there in the cube farm.”
“It’s no wonder you can’t find a job,” Mills said.
“Hey, hey,” Mahoney said. “Don’t start with that.”
“Reuben told me your situation. You’re not going to land anywhere else. You know that, right?” Mills asked.
“Not like there’s a lot of places to land,” Mahoney said.
The phone rang and Mills grabbed it. There was an exchange about some project or another and Mahoney glanced around the office while he waited. It was a white-walled box. His eyes traveled the perimeter of the room, taking everything in.
“I have to go,” he heard Mills say as he hung up. Mills jumped up from his chair in a rush. “Let’s go, that’s all the time I have.”
“Wait a minute, now I get it,” Mahoney said.
“Come on, let’s go. I’ll show you out.”
“Not so fast,” Mahoney said. “Now I see exactly why Reuben picked you, and me, for his bar.”