Dean R Koontz The Dark Of Summer

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past dawn.
NINE
The following morning, after breakfast in his room, as was his usual routine, Will Barnaby enter-tained a
visitor in the library on the first floor, a somewhat portly gentleman with long sideburns, a mustache and
thinning hair, all of which he kept in trim. The visitor, Edgar Aimes, was as well dressed as his host: an
expensively tailored summer suit in a lightweight, coffee colored Italian knit fabric, black leather
hand-tooled Italian shoes, a light brown shirt and a handwoven tie. But the similarity between Barnaby
and Aimes did not end with their clothes. Aimes was as quick and as ob-servant as his host, with dark
eyes that seemed al-ways watchful, in search of an advantage, an edge, something that might prove useful
in bargaining. And when Aimes spoke, his voice was almost as self-possessed and authoritative as
Barnaby's voice. Almost. Clearly, both men were accustomed to having money and to dealing for large
stakes.
Barnaby took a chair behind his desk, leaned back, motioned Aimes to sit down in the easy chair by
the bookcases.
What's the word from Langley? Barnaby asked, watching Aimes very closely, as if he dis-trusted
him.
Aimes sat with a long sigh. He said, Well, he's still asking too much for the property.
How much?
Forty-two thousand dollars.
That sounds Barnaby began.
Unreasonable, Aimes finished.
Barnaby tapped his fingers on the blotter of the desk. You think that's too much?
I know it is.
What should he come down to?
For Jenkins' Niche? Aimes asked, giving him-self time to think, to figure. His own profit, as the real
estate agent for Barnaby's growing property acquisitions, was dependent upon the purchase price. He
didn't want to drive it so low that he hurt himself; yet, he didn't want Barnaby to pay an inordinately high
price. After all, he wanted to re-main as Barnaby's agent, a rather lucrative posi-tion, considering how
fast Barnaby had been buy-ing up seafront land.
For Jenkins' Niche, of course, Barnaby said.
Thirty-five thousand, Aimes said.
So he's asking seven too much.
Aimes waited, not wanting to commit himself further.
Is he adamant?
Aimes said, He pretends to be.
What's that supposed to mean? There was a sharp edge in William Barnaby's voice that was not
lost on the real estate agent.
It means that he can't really intend to stick at that figure. He knows, as well as I do, what the Niche
is worth. He's being stubborn, hoping we'll take it for, say thirty-seven or thirty-eight thou-sand. It's
worth his time to hold out on us, for a couple of thousand extra.
Barnaby was silent for a time, toying with a sil-ver letter opener, using the sharp point of it to slice up
the pressed paper blotter on his desk top. His face was absolutely expressionless, hard and
stony though the slight flush in his face gave evidence of the barely restrained fury which boiled just
below the surface.
Aimes waited, cleaning his fingernails with the tiny point of a pocket knife, not watching Barnaby,
apparently bored. After so many years in a hectic business, Aimes knew how to wait in silence when a
situation called for patience.
How long might Langley play around with us? Barnaby asked at last, drawing Aimes' attention from
his fingernails.
It's difficult to say. He hasn't anything to lose by stringing us along. He knows how badly you want
the Niche, to add it to your other land. He probably figures that you'll break down before he will.
In a tight, hard voice, Barnaby said, I didn't ask you for a longwinded reply. I asked for a figure, a
date. How long will he play around with us?
Perhaps two or three more weeks, Aimes said. Another month.
That's too long.
In a month, I'll ram him down to thirty-five thousand. Isn't it worth the wait to save seven thou-sand
dollars?
No.
You're telling me to take his price?
Yes, Barnaby said.
That's senseless.
I don't care.
Will, you're letting your emotions get in the way of good, sound business sense.
Barnaby frowned. That's your opinion.
No, that's the truth.
How so?
It's those fishermen, isn't it? Aimes asked, no longer interested in his nails, watching Barnaby.
I'll break them, Barnaby said.
Eventually, Aimes admitted. But why the rush?
I don't want to have to wait to break them, Barnaby said. I don't want to have to wait. He had
picked up his letter opener again, was slash-ing at the blotter once more.
Aimes said, Will, I know that a lot of ugliness has passed between you and these men. I can [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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