Kane & Abel (1979) Read online

  The next item on Abel’s agenda was the insurance man.

  Henry Osborne turned out to be tall and good-looking, with dark eyes and a mop of dark hair turning grey around the temples, and an easy, congenial manner. He had little to add to what Lieutenant O’Malley had told Abel. The Great Western Casualty Insurance Company had no intention of paying any part of the claim while the police were pressing for a charge of arson against Desmond Pacey, and until it was proved that Abel himself was in no way involved. Despite the blunt statement, Osborne seemed to be very understanding about the whole problem.

  ‘Has the Richmond Group enough money to rebuild the hotel?’ he asked.

  ‘Not a red cent,’ said Abel. ‘The rest of the group is mortgaged up to the hilt, and the bank is pressing me to sell.’

  ‘Why you?’ said Osborne.

  Abel explained how he had come to own the group’s shares without actually owning the hotels.

  ‘Surely the bank can see for themselves how well you ran this hotel? Every businessman in Chicago knows that you were the first manager ever to make a profit for Davis Leroy. I realize the banks are going through hard times, but even they ought to know when to make an exception, especially when it’s in their own interest.’

  ‘Not this bank.’

  ‘Continental Trust?’ said Osborne. ‘I’ve always found old Curtis Fenton a bit starchy, but amenable enough.’

  ‘It’s not Continental any more. The hotels are now owned by a Boston outfit called Kane and Cabot.’

  Henry Osborne went white and sank back in his chair.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Abel.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘Have you had dealings with Kane and Cabot in the past?’

  ‘Off the record?’ said Henry Osborne.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Yes, my company came up against them once before, and we ended up losing every penny.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘I can’t reveal the details. A messy business - let’s just say one of the directors took advantage of a carefully worded contract.’

  ‘Which one?’ asked Abel.

  ‘Which one have you been dealing with?’

  ‘William Kane.’

  Osborne didn’t regain his colour. ‘Be careful,’ he said. ‘He’s the world’s meanest son of a bitch. I could give you the lowdown on him, but it would have to be in the strictest confidence because he’s not a man to cross.’

  ‘I intend to cross him,’ said Abel, ‘so I may well be in touch. I have a score to settle with Mr Kane.’

  ‘Well, you can count on me to help in any way I can if William Kane is involved,’ said Osborne, rising from behind his desk, ‘but that must be strictly between us. And if the court finds that Desmond Pacey set fire to the Richmond and no one else was involved, the company will pay your claim in full the same day.’ He opened the door for Abel. ‘Then perhaps we can do some additional business with your other hotels.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Abel.

  Abel walked back to the Stevens, to find another message awaiting him. A Mr David Maxton wondered if he was free to join him for lunch at one.

  ‘David Maxton,’ he said out loud, and the receptionist looked up. ‘Why do I know that name?’

  ‘He owns this hotel, Mr Rosnovski.’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course. Please let Mr Maxton know that I shall be delighted to have lunch with him.’ Abel glanced at his watch. ‘And would you tell him that I may be a few minutes late?’

  ‘Certainly, sir,’ said the receptionist.

  Abel went up to his room and changed into a new white shirt, wondering what David Maxton could possibly want.

  The dining room was already packed when he walked in. The headwaiter showed him to a private table in an alcove where the owner of the Stevens was sitting alone. He rose to greet his guest.

  ‘Abel Rosnovski, sir.’

  ‘Yes, I know you,’ said Maxton. ‘Or, to be more accurate, I know you by reputation. Do sit down, and let’s eat.’

  Abel was compelled to admire the Stevens. The food and the service were every bit as good as the Plaza. If he was to run the best hotel in Chicago, this would be the one he’d be measured against.

  The headwaiter reappeared with menus. Abel studied his carefully, politely declined a first course and selected the beef, the quickest way to tell if a restaurant is dealing with the right butcher. David Maxton did not look at his menu, but simply ordered the salmon.

  ‘You must be wondering why I invited you to join me for lunch, Mr Rosnovski,’ said Maxton.

  ‘I assumed,’ said Abel, laughing, ‘you were going to ask me to take over the Stevens.’

  ‘You’re absolutely right, Mr Rosnovski.’

  Abel was speechless. It was Maxton’s turn to laugh. Even the arrival of the waiter wheeling a trolley of the finest beef did not help. The carver sharpened his knife. Maxton squeezed a slice of lemon over his salmon and continued.

  ‘My manager is due to retire in five months, after twenty-two years of loyal service, and the assistant manager will also be leaving soon afterwards, so I’m looking for a new broom.’

  ‘Place looks pretty clean to me,’ said Abel.

  ‘That doesn’t mean it can’t be improved, Mr Rosnovski. Never be satisfied with standing still,’ added Maxton. ‘I’ve been watching your activities carefully for the past two years. It wasn’t until you took the Richmond over that it could even be classified as a hotel. It was a huge motel before that. In another two or three years it would have been a rival to the Stevens if some idiot hadn’t burned the place down.’

  ‘Potatoes, sir?’

  Abel looked up at an attractive junior waitress. She smiled at him.

  ‘No, thank you. Well, I’m very flattered, Mr Maxton, both by your comments and by the offer.’

  ‘I think you’d be happy here, Mr Rosnovski. The Stevens is a well-run hotel, and I would be willing to start you off at fifty dollars a week and two per cent of the profits. And you could begin as soon as it suited you.’

  ‘I’ll need a few days to think it over, Mr Maxton,’ said Abel, ‘although I confess I’m tempted. But I still have a few problems to deal with at the Richmond.’

  ‘Peas or cabbage, sir?’ The same waitress, the same smile.

  The face looked familiar. Abel felt sure he had seen her somewhere before. Perhaps she had once worked at the Richmond.

  ‘Cabbage, please.’

  He watched her walk away. There was definitely something familiar about her.

  ‘Why don’t you stay on at the hotel as my guest for a few days,’ Maxton said, ‘and see how we run the place? It may help you come to a decision.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Mr Maxton. After only one day as a guest I knew how well the hotel is run. My problem is that I own the Richmond Group.’

  David Maxton’s face registered surprise. ‘I had no idea,’ he said. ‘I assumed old Davis Leroy’s daughter would have inherited his stock.’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ said Abel, and he spent the next twenty minutes explaining to Maxton how he had come into the ownership of the group’s stock, and the position in which he now found himself. ‘What I really want to do is raise the two million dollars myself and build the group up into something worthwhile, so I could give the Stevens a good run for its money.’

  ‘I see,’ said Maxton as a waiter removed his empty plate.

  A waitress arrived with their coffee. The same waitress. The same familiar look. It was beginning to bother Abel.

  ‘And you say Curtis Fenton of Continental Trust is looking for a buyer on your behalf?’

  ‘He has been for almost a month,’ said Abel. ‘In fact, I’ll know later this afternoon if they’ve had any success, but I’m not optimistic.’

  ‘Well, that’s all most interesting. I had no idea the Richmond Group was looking for a buyer. Will you please keep me informed either way?’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Abel.

  ‘How much time is