The twins were a rare team indeed. They wanted to build a printing plant on a garbage dump. When Muldoon asked them why, their answer was entirely logical:
"Because we live here."
It was the lack of sense in the ad that made him go back to it again. He was having his breakfast coffee in the cafeteria next to the midtown hotel where he lived. The classified section of the New York Times was spread before him.
WANTED: Live wire Real Estate broker--No selling--30-40. Room 657 Silvers Building--9-12 Monday morning.
The ad made no sense for several reasons. One: you just don't go around advertising for brokers with four pages of them in the classified phone book. Two: how can one be a live wire broker, without having to sell? Kevin Muldoon shook his head. Just no damn sense. The Silvers Building--H'm! Not too far off. He looked at his strap watch. Fifteen minutes of nine. He could walk it in that time.
"Don't be a fool," he said to himself. "It's obviously a come-on of some kind."
He got up, paid the check and went out. It wasn't till he was on Third Ave. that he was conscious he had started to go crosstown when his office was in the opposite direction. He smiled wryly. Might as well investigate, he thought. Can't do any harm, and it won't take long.
There were four others waiting in the small anteroom. The outer door bore no legend other than the room number, and the inner door was blank altogether. Muldoon made a quick appraisal of those waiting. Three were obviously past middle-age, the fourth about Muldoon's age. The inner door opened and Muldoon looked up. A tall man came out first, a man in his early sixties, perhaps. Immediately behind him came a slightly shorter man, but very heavy and with a head that was bald as a billiard ball. The older man marched straight to the door, opened it and went out without a second look back. The fat man looked around, his face beaming in a wide smile, eyes almost closed behind fleshy lids.
[Illustration: The weird machine clicked and clattered while the twins dreamed of tomorrow.]
Description:
The twins were a rare team
indeed. They wanted to build
a printing plant on a garbage
dump. When Muldoon asked them
why, their answer was entirely
logical:
"Because we live here."
It was the lack of sense in the ad that made him go back to it again. He
was having his breakfast coffee in the cafeteria next to the midtown
hotel where he lived. The classified section of the New York Times was
spread before him.
WANTED: Live wire Real Estate broker--No selling--30-40. Room 657
Silvers Building--9-12 Monday morning.
The ad made no sense for several reasons. One: you just don't go around
advertising for brokers with four pages of them in the classified phone
book. Two: how can one be a live wire broker, without having to sell?
Kevin Muldoon shook his head. Just no damn sense. The Silvers
Building--H'm! Not too far off. He looked at his strap watch. Fifteen
minutes of nine. He could walk it in that time.
"Don't be a fool," he said to himself. "It's obviously a come-on of some
kind."
He got up, paid the check and went out. It wasn't till he was on Third
Ave. that he was conscious he had started to go crosstown when his
office was in the opposite direction. He smiled wryly. Might as well
investigate, he thought. Can't do any harm, and it won't take long.
There were four others waiting in the small anteroom. The outer door
bore no legend other than the room number, and the inner door was blank
altogether. Muldoon made a quick appraisal of those waiting. Three
were obviously past middle-age, the fourth about Muldoon's age. The
inner door opened and Muldoon looked up. A tall man came out first, a
man in his early sixties, perhaps. Immediately behind him came a
slightly shorter man, but very heavy and with a head that was bald as a
billiard ball. The older man marched straight to the door, opened it and
went out without a second look back. The fat man looked around, his face
beaming in a wide smile, eyes almost closed behind fleshy lids.
[Illustration: The weird machine clicked and clattered while the twins
dreamed of tomorrow.]
"And now, who's next?" he asked.