Death Sentence Read Online Free

building at 313 Monroe near Wacker in the heart of the Loop. The building might have been designed in the 1920s by an enthusiast who had understood more history than architecture: its façade was a tribute to at least three classic styles. The ninth-floor offices were deserted for the weekend but Spalter had shown him dutifully from the boardroom and the chairman’s corner suite through computer rooms and mailroom and Spalter’s own sanctum and finally a well-appointed office which already had Paul’s name in gilt on the door.
    â€œYou’ll like it, Paul. We’re go-getters here—it’s our inferiority complex. We’re competing with the New York hotshots and we know we’ve got to be ahead of them just to stay even. Keeps us on our toes, let me tell you.”
    Spalter had signed them out under the eye of the lobby guard and walked Paul down Monroe to the University Club. It reminded Paul of the Harvard Club in New York: primly old-fashioned with forced humorless masculinity.
    Spalter chose a pair of armchairs and ordered drinks. “We were doing some audit work for a plastics plant on the South Side. They had an unannounced sit-down strike and the manager out there didn’t know what the hell to do—he had a rush order to bring in on a penalty contract. He and Childress were having lunch in the club here and the plant manager was moaning about the strike. Our esteemed chairman of the board proved what executive genius is all about, that day.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œChildress told the manager what to do. The manager walked into the factory and told the strikers as long as they were on a sit-in they might as well make themselves comfortable. He brought in bourbon and beer by the case. When the strikers were pretty well stewed he sent in a busload of professional ladies to entertain them. They were having the time of their lives in there, and then the manager brought the men’s wives in to see what was going on. Well the strike was called off in less than an hour.”
    Paul joined his laughter and Spalter sat back and covered his evident hesitation by turning his drink to catch the light, examining it. Paul said, “I’m looking forward to it—working for a firm with a sense of humor.”
    â€œThere’s enough laughs, most of the time.Childress is a born practical joker though—you want to watch out for a while until you catch onto his style. It’s nothing crude—he won’t put exploding cigars in your desk humidor, nothing like that. He saves the nasty pranks for people on his hate list. The manager of our building gave us some trouble a couple of years ago and Childress got beautiful revenge. You know all those bulk-rate catalogues and magazine subscription blurbs, the stuff you’re overwhelmed with when you get on mailing lists? Well Childress filled out dozens of the damn things in the name of the building manager. The poor guy was buried in’ magazines and mail-order junk he hadn’t ordered. I think he almost went to court on two or three of them. Took him months to get it sorted out—he was a complete wreck.”
    Paul had met John V. Childress only once, when the chairman was visiting New York. Ives, the senior partner of Paul’s firm of CPA’s in New York, had been very understanding about Paul’s need to get away. Ives had introduced Paul to John Childress and used his influence to obtain the Chicago position for Paul. In his brusque way Ives was the kindest of men; Paul was immodest enough to know he’d been valuable to the firm and Ives hadn’t wanted to lose him. But Paul had been insistent. Esther’s death had overwhelmed him, the reminders in New York were too much for him: he had to make a fresh start in new surroundings. When Carol had died it had been the final straw.
    Spalter sipped his scotch. “It’s not always fun and games working for Childress. He works our asses