Work Text:
There’s not much I enjoy more than a show of the sort regularly put on by Nero Wolfe, the private detective and oversized genius who employs me as legman and thorn in his side. That the star of today’s show was a particularly irritating piece of work responsible for the destruction of a favorite suit of mine in an alley off Hudson should have had me even more keen, but that day I was distracted.
Wolfe directed from his desk, as usual. It was a modest production, the entire cast consisting of Wolfe, myself, Saul Panzer, a Dr. and Mrs. Llewes (he a shouter and she perpetually looking like a mouse crawled over her foot), and a particularly badly-behaved junior Llewes. I’d put in just enough legwork gathering crumbs for Wolfe and coaxing the participants to attend to earn me second or third billing, but given my history on this case I might as well have been playing the part of Offended Innocence.
All told, it took Wolfe less than five minutes to get Dr. Llewes to mention his lawyer, just over twenty to prove Junior’s guilt, and three more minutes to persuade an apoplectic Llewes Sr. to write us a check in the amount of seven thousand dollars. For a big man, Wolfe can at times walk a very fine line; for example, that which kept his proposal a legal transaction instead of blackmail.
For a couple of seconds there in the middle it looked as if Junior was going to lunge across the desk at Wolfe’s throat, but in the end he kept his seat. I can’t say I entirely appreciated his self-control. Wolfe may not like a ruckus in the office, but I had been very fond of that suit.
The case had begun for us in that alley off Hudson; I’d been running errands on behalf of Wolfe’s belly when I stepped in to play hero for a college type who’d been cornered by a couple of goons. It later turned out Junior held the kid responsible for his unceremonious expulsion from one of those ivy-decorated institutions, and Junior decided the best revenge was to prove the kid right.
The problem was, I’d been a half-second too late ducking a shot to the head that had sent me reeling into a brick wall. It didn’t matter that I’d ended the fight on my feet; I’d been listing enough for it to show, not to mention the stains.
It’s a good thing I consider Saul a friend -- and I know he doesn’t actually want to sit in my chair permanently -- or I might have gotten sore in his direction instead of the one that deserved it. Even after I was steady on my feet, he’d been the one doing the real investigating, while I got sent on milk runs and typed orchid notes.
Saul apparently felt the need remind me he knew the score, so he paused in the front entrance after I’d finally swept the Llewes party out. “I have a situation that could use an extra pair of eyes,” he told me, his smallish eyes steady on mine. “Up to three days work, starting day after tomorrow. If you’re free, I mean.” That last bit was a kind of a joke; you could tell by the way his expression didn’t change.
“Why, I’ve always dreamed of working with a real live detective,” I replied. He gave me a small, knowing smile before heading down the steps.
One aspect of my work I enjoy is the buzz I get a buzz after one of Wolfe’s big scenes. This time there was a buzz, but it was mixed up with frustration and nerves. I was peevish, and it made me do something I normally wouldn’t.
While I’d been at the door, Wolfe had turned tail, and the elevator was already grinding up to the second floor where he sleeps. He had a head start, but I keep fit and can move if I have to. I took the stairs two at a time and was there to help him open the elevator gate.
“Here you go, sir,” I said with grim politeness. “Wouldn’t want you to injure yourself.”
His lower lip stuck out, but he was equally civil. “Thank you, Archie. However, your assistance is unnecessary at this time.”
“But, sir! What if you were to stumble? And me not here to catch you.” His eyes narrowed at that; I’d risk another concussion if I tried getting between him and the ground.
When I put my right hand on his sleeve, high up on the meat of his arm, I was only intending to help him along. I don't often have reason to touch him, so maybe it was lack of practice that made a gesture I’d meant to be mocking be something else instead.
He hesitated, a fatal mistake, and his eyelashes flickered. Maybe if his lips had pursed or gone sulky he could have played it off, but they softened in a way that was less familiar and more exciting. It stopped me cold.
I saw, and he knew I saw. He said my name, and from how he said it he thought he knew where this was going already, but I like to come to my own conclusions, even when I’m dealing with a genius. I’m not any more modest than I have to be, but he wasn’t on the same level as my usual playmates, and the difference was turning my buzz into something like an electric shock.
It turned out that Wolfe’s lips were as suited for the job as any I’d ever tried, and the way his arms fit around me wasn’t bad either. After too short a time exploring the possibilities he pulled back, putting enough distance between us that maybe we couldn’t fit in a phone booth together. His breath was coming fast, and he hadn’t run up any flights of stairs.
“Archie.”
“Sir?”
He glowered at me, and now his lips were sulky after all. “It bears mentioning that your pride has lately received a blow from an unworthy adversary, that you've sustained an injury, and that the forced inactivity of the past weeks has tried your patience. I admit I may have exacerbated the situation, and will endeavor to restrain myself should a similar situation recur. Further, I assure you your virility is unquestioned, thus eliminating the need for theatrics.”
“Dial again, wrong number,” I told him. “I’ll admit a bruising, but you’re the one mixed up. It’s been so long since you last roughhoused, you’ve simply forgotten a key element.”
“Indeed? Please do enlighten me.”
“I was distracted. As a result of my distraction he got a lucky shot and I went down. The only thing for it is to not be distracted.” I gave him my best grin. “A project which I am now working on.”
“Indeed,” he said again, and I appreciated him not pressing me. I didn’t have any inclination to elaborate how distracting he’d been and for how long.
“It’ll mean a sacrifice on your part, but I’m not you; I can’t live on thinking alone. At some point I’ve got to get doing.”
“Don’t be more of an ass than you can help,” he murmured, and it’s a mystery to me how the man can make bellyaching sound so sweet. “Confound it, why broach this subject in a hallway of all conceivable locations. I am weary of standing.”
He left his bedroom door standing open, the enigmatic bastard. I shut it behind me.
Anybody who’s ever seen Wolfe handle a good book or interview a witness or fillet a trout might have an inkling of just how good he is in the bedroom. If not, let’s just say that I’m no lightweight myself and I get a workout. Like I’ve said, he’s a fat man, and a lazy one, and a talented one, and more often than not he’d as soon sit back and take me apart rather than risk breaking a sweat himself. I appreciate the attention, but like I said, I’m no lightweight, and I’ve had plenty of practice taunting him into commotion.
After, once the immediate muzziness passed and he was comfortably propped up on the bank of down pillows, Wolfe sighed. It was an impressive effort, a bushel plus of mingled satisfaction and regret. I gave him an eyebrow from where I’d fallen.
He harrumphed, not bothering to remove his hand from my person. “You know me too well to take offense. And I know you too well to put credence in any concern for my personal comfort."
It was a fair point. He’d been downright vigorous, and as a result I was feeling charitable. “No kidding. You’re like the farmer who misses his friend the pig while he’s chomping bacon for breakfast.” I leaned over the side of the bed to fish a handkerchief out of the pile of clothes I’d left folded there. As good as I felt, I wasn’t any too fond of the dampness on my skin, nor the slow trickle down the crease where my leg meets the rest of me.
“Your way with words is pungent as always.” Wolfe helped himself to my handkerchief and took over the job. He was thorough, but I’m not easily distracted.
“This means all kinds of exertion,” I continued. “Then there’s the irritation factor, and that’s not even mentioning the laundry, and this nice quiet room isn’t so quiet when--”
“Prattle,” he murmured, following the same path with his fat, strong fingers. “You are relentless; you have breached nearly all of my sanctuaries. Can you not grant me respite even here?”
It was a dumb question, but I didn’t hold it against him. He’d had a trying day.
“Pfui,” I said, and reached for him again.
In the morning I found an envelope on my desk, addressed in Wolfe’s hand to Lon Cohen of the Gazette. I put it in the day’s post, and by a funny coincidence a piece ran a couple of weeks later detailing the lurid story of the scion of a prominent family’s involvement in gambling, blackmail, and strong-arm tactics at one of our institutions of higher learning, and linking that involvement to some less savory aspects of the father's business dealings.