Timothy's Game by Lawrence Sanders Page A

had a diapason of its own, coming up from underground vaults and vibrating the tallest towers.
    Sally Steiner pulls a pad of scratch paper toward her and scribbles on the top sheet.
    “The stock is Trimbley and Diggs,” she says. “Nasdaq Market. Right now it’s selling for about four bucks a share. And don’t, for God’s sake, buy more than nine thousand shares at a clip or the SEC might get interested.”
    Mario Corsini takes the slip of paper. “Nice doing business with you,” he says politely.
    He starts out the door. “Hey,” she calls, and he turns back. “Thanks for not calling me girlie.”
    He inclines his head gravely as if her gratitude is merited.
    She sits for about five minutes after he’s gone, thinking about their conversation and wondering if she’s doing the smart thing. But then she realizes the bastard was right: She really has no choice. As for his threat of what might happen to her, Becky, and Eddie if she goes to the cops, she has no doubt whatsoever that he and his thugs are capable of doing exactly what he said.
    She pulls the phone toward her and calls Eddie.
    “Hey, bro,” she says. “How’ya doing?”
    “Hanging in there,” he says. “How are you, Sal?”
    “Couldn’t be better,” she says brightly. “Paul around?”
    “Won’t be back till noon. He’s auditioning for a commercial for a strawberry-flavored laxative.”
    “Beautiful,” Sally says. “Could I pop over for a while? I’ve got some cash to leave for him. Our first step on the way to fame and fortune.”
    “Sure,” he says. “Come ahead. Got time to pose?”
    “Maybe an hour or so. Okay?”
    She walks down to Eddie’s apartment, stopping on the way to buy him a decent burgundy. It’s a sprightly day, summer around the corner, and the blue sky, sharp sun, and kissing breeze make her feel like she owns the world. Life is a tease; that she knows. All souls dissolve; but meanwhile it can be a hoot if you keep running and never look back.
    She poses nude for Eddie for almost an hour, sitting on that stupid stool and trying to make her body as tense, muscular, and aggressive as he commands. Finally he slaps his sketch pad shut.
    “That’s it,” he says. “I’ve got all the studies I need. Now I’ll start blocking out the canvas. This is going to be a good one, Sal; I just know it.”
    “Make me pretty,” she says. “And about six inches taller and twenty pounds thinner.”
    “You’re perfect the way you are.”
    “Marry me,” she says. “And also pour me a wine while I get dressed.”
    They’re sitting on the couch, drinking her burgundy, talking about their mother and whether or not they should try another doctor, when Paul Ramsey comes ambling in. He gives them a beamy smile.
    “I didn’t get the job,” he reports. “They decided I wasn’t the strawberry laxative type.”
    “Thank God,” Eddie says. “I don’t think I could stand seeing you in a commercial, coming out of a bathroom and grinning like a maniac.”
    “Paul,” Sally says, taking the manila envelope out of her shoulder bag, “here’s thirty-six thousand in hundred-dollar bills.”
    “Hey,” he says, “that’s cool.”
    “You opened a brokerage account?”
    “Oh, sure. No sweat.”
    “Well, dump this lettuce in your personal checking account. Draw on it to buy nine thousand shares of Trimbley and Diggs. Your broker will find it on the Nasdaq exchange. I wrote it all out for you. Buy the stock today, as soon as possible. You’ve got five days to get a check to the broker.”
    “Does this make me a tycoon?” Paul Ramsey asks.
    “A junior tycoon,” Sally tells him. “But we’re just getting started.”
    She sits in the one comfortable armchair in the apartment. Eddie and Paul sit close on the rickety couch. The three kid along for a while, chattering about this and that. But then Sally falls silent and listens while the two men, holding hands now, chivy one another as they plan what they’re going to have