Read Ashes To Ashes: Ashton Ford, Psychic Detective for Free Online Page A

Only.
    I marked that one in the mind but had only a
quick study as we walked past: no windows, big mainframe computer
at the back wall, several small desks with terminals, half a dozen
or so Teletypes and several stockmarket tickers, God knows what
else. This was Saturday afternoon, remember, but two of the
Teletypes were spitting copy and a guy in knee shorts and bright
Hawaiian shirt was wrestling a stack of computer printouts.
    The throne room was at the very end, beyond
another ten or twelve closed-door offices, with its own waiting
room with two secretarial desks and a telephone switchboard—the
old PBX type.
    Kalinsky trailed a finger along the top of
the switchboard as we walked through—said, almost lovingly, "Don't
use this anymore, of course, but it was JQ's pride so we keep it
around for old time's sake."
    I learned later that everyone at the palace
referred to the dead king by his initials (middle name was Quincy).
The also-dead son was called TJ, when at all.
    Seemed to be the style here to abbreviate
names. Kalinsky murmured, "In here, Ash," as he showed me into the
Executive Office.
    I don't know exactly what I'd been expecting
to find in there, but it must have been less than the reality
because I was a bit surprised by the layout. The polished mahogany
desk (Philippine mahogany, no doubt) would hold a king-size
mattress, even between the swirls for the visitors' chairs, which
were pedestal-mounted on swivel bases and richly upholstered in
some fine leather. The executive chair, rail-mounted at the rear,
was contour-molded and heavily padded with a backrest about four
feet high. Had a control console built into the right armrest—I
didn't know, maybe they launched missiles from Vandenberg here—and
there was another gizmo built into the desk that obviously was
light-years ahead of the old PBX in the outer office, some jazzy
telephone setup with video monitors and taping facilities.
    Kalinsky motioned me toward one of the three
scoop-outs up front. Pretty nice working environment, I had to
admit as I eased myself into the imbedded chair—imbedded in the
desk, that is, at just the proper height to rest both arms on the
shiny surface at either side, plenty of work space directly ahead,
each chair angled into the massive structure in such a way that
four people could be seated there and working comfortably while
almost head to head.
    I took the opportunity to orient myself as
Kalinsky went around and clambered into the Command Pilot's seat.
Nice, yeah, very impressive. About forty feet square, interior
walls displaying heavy books from floor to ceiling, French windows
opening onto a private flower garden and outside lounge, luxurious
carpeting, evidence of a tiled bath off behind the desk—probably
very elaborate—all the usual tycoon comforts and then some.
    "I'd offer you a drink, but JQ was death on
mixing booze with business—so, no drinking in the executive
wing—I'm sure you understand—we still honor JQ here."
    I said, "Sure. Not that much for booze,
myself."
    "Good. Nothing against a social drink, mind
you."
    "'Course not," I agreed.
    All that dispensed, my host was now
obviously ready to get to that talk we both needed.
    "We know exactly who you are, of
course."
    That was nice. I was not sure, myself,
exactly who I was. But I knew, now, approximately who Kalinsky was.
There was no doubt in my mind that he was the "we" who was now
running this empire.
    "We got your pedigree. Shortly after you got
Bruno."
    "Poor guy," I said quietly.
    "Yeah. You shouldn't have copped the poor
guy in the balls, you know."
    "He didn't die of that," I observed.
    "How do you know that? Delayed reaction,
maybe."
    "Are you suggesting that's where his heart
was?"
    The guy chuckled. It was not a bad sound.
But we were, after all, discussing a recently dead employee and
organizational "uncle."
    "Sometimes I wondered," Kalinsky said, still
grinning. The smile faded as he veered back into our talk. "I was
not referring to his