Free The Headsman by James Neal Harvey Page A

Charley Boggs walking toward them from the showroom. Boggs was short and overweight, and as usual he was wearing one of his garish sports jackets, this one a bilious green plaid. He was carrying his topcoat over his arm. They said good morning to him as he approached.
    Boggs glanced at his watch. “Where’s Morrow and Guzik? It’s after eight-thirty.”
    Jack Morrow and Fred Guzik were the other two salesmen. “Should be here any minute,” McCarthy said.
    “Better be,” Boggs muttered darkly. “I’m not running this place for the fun of it. Those two clowns want to work for Boggs Ford, they better get humping.”
    He’s in his executive mood, Karen thought. Ready to pound the desk and kick ass. The jerk.
    Boggs pointed to the overflowing in-box on her desk. “Gotta get to those invoices there, Karen. And the customer orders. Also I want the repair bills to go out. Bookkeeping was late getting ’em ready, damn it.”
    Karen looked at the box. As if she didn’t know what her job was, or that she had to get this work out today. “Sure, I’ll take care of it.”
    He marched through the outer area and into his office, closing the door behind him. Ed McCarthy glanced at Karen and rolled his eyes, holding his hands palms-up.
    The front door opened and a middle-aged couple stepped into the showroom.
    McCarthy jumped to his feet and hurried toward them, beaming. “Ah, Mr. Colvis. Good morning. And this must be Mrs. Colvis. How are you, ma’am? I’m Ed McCarthy. It’s nice to see you both.”
    Colvis was a little guy, wearing a tan storm coat and a cap. His wife was about twice his size, and she squinted at Ed through eyes narrowed to slits. She had on a woolly coat that made her look as if she were inflated.
    Just behind them came Morrow and Guzik, the errant salesmen. They’d probably been sitting around in some diner together, having breakfast and shooting the breeze, Karen thought. And now the day was underway; it was time to go to work.
    There were some factory orders she’d finished typing yesterday that needed Boggs’s signature. She might as well get those out of the way. Picking up the stack of papers, she left her desk and went to his office, knocking on the door.
    “Come in.”
    She went inside and closed the door behind her. Boggs always insisted on that, saying his office was private and that he didn’t want customers to think they could just go barging in on him whenever they might feel like it. She stepped over to his desk and put the orders down in front of him. “Would you sign these, please?”
    While he busied himself with the stack Karen stood beside his chair and looked around the office. The wall behind him was covered with pictures of Boggs with celebrities of one kind or another. There was one of him with Senator D’Amato, and another of him with Senator Moynihan. There was one with Cardinal O’Connor, and one with some New York Mets player, and one with Governor Cuomo. There was also one of him with a woman who looked like Faye Dunaway, but Karen wasn’t sure. How had a sleaze like Boggs managed to get his picture taken with people like that? It was amazing. And it was also a clue as to why he thought so highly of himself. To him, the photos would be proof that he was a man of importance.
    She glanced at his desk. There was a portrait of him there with his family, in a silver frame. His wife looked very much like Charley, round-faced and impressed with herself, and there were his two teenaged kids, a boy and a girl. Her gaze drifted to Boggs, and to her surprise he wasn’t looking at the papers she’d given him, but at her.
    He smiled. “How’s it going with you, Karen honey?”
    The smile was oily, and it made her uncomfortable. “Fine. It’s going fine. They all signed?”
    He ignored the question. “You know, I’ve been thinking about you.”
    “Oh?”
    “Uh-huh. I like you, Karen. And I’m real pleased with your work.”
    “That’s good. I’m glad you are.” Her