The Extraordinary Adventures of Alfred Kropp (Alfred Kropp #1)(5)

“Somebody very important, Alfred. Put on some clean clothes and come into the kitchen. We’re eating early.”

I changed my clothes and found my Salisbury steak frozen dinner fresh from the microwave sitting at my spot on the kitchen table. Uncle Farrell was drinking a beer, which was unusual. He never drank beer at dinner.

“Alfred, how’d you like to move out of this dump and live in one of those huge mansions in Sequoia Hills?”

“Huh?”

“You know, where all the rich people live.”

I thought about it. “That’d be great, Uncle Farrell. But when did we get rich?”

“We’re not rich. But we might be. Someday.” He was smiling a mysterious smile while he chewed his Salisbury steak.

“And you’ll be taking your driving test again next week—how’d you like a Ferrari Enzo for your first car?”

“Oh, boy, that’d be great, Uncle Farrell,” I said. He got like this sometimes. It’s no big secret that it’s lousy being poor. But there’s poor and then there’s really poor, and we weren’t really poor. I mean, I never went to bed hungry, and the lights always stayed on, but I guess it wasn’t easy working a lonely night job for the richest man in Knoxville. He wasn’t getting much sleep lately either, and that can make you a little loopy. “But I’d rather have a Hummer.”

“Okay, a Hummer. Whatever. The kind of car doesn’t matter, Al. This guy who’s coming tonight—he’s a very rich man and he’s got this proposition that . . . well, if it works out the way I hope, you and me, we’ll never have to worry about money again.”

“Honestly, Uncle Farrell, I didn’t know we worried about it now.”

“His name is Arthur Myers and he owns Tintagel International. You ever hear of Tintagel International?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s one of the biggest international conglomerates there is, maybe bigger than Samson Industries.”

“Okay.”

“So here’s the deal, Al. One night I’m on my shift and it’s just like any other night, nobody but me at the desk, doing nothing, when all of a sudden the phone rings and guess who’s on the other end.”

“Mr. Myers.”

“Right!”

“What’s a conglomerate?”

“It’s a business that owns businesses, or something like that. That really isn’t the point. Alfred, you need to stop interrupting me and focus a little, okay?”

“I’ll try, Uncle Farrell.”

“So anyway, Mr. Arthur Myers says he’s got a business proposition for me.”

“The owner of one of the biggest conglomerates in the world had a business proposition for you?” I asked.

“It’s crazy!”

“It sure sounds crazy.”

“That’s what I thought!” Uncle Farrell tapped his fork on the plate and started talking really fast. “Who am I but this lowly little night watchman? But I met with him and it turns out he’s the real McCoy, and he needs my help. Our help, Alfred.”

“Our help?” The more he talked about this funny deal, the funnier I felt.

“See, Myers and Bernard Samson go way back. Good buds from, I don’t know, the old country or something. Anyway, Myers convinced Samson to invest in this big business deal—I’m not sure of all the ins and outs but apparently there was a lot of money involved and it went bad. It went real bad. Samson lost a lot of money and he blamed Myers for it.”

“Why did he blame Myers?”

“I don’t know. Now listen, and stop interrupting, Alfred. We don’t have much time.”

“Why don’t we have much time?”

“I’m getting to that.”

“To what?”

“The reason we don’t have much time!”

He took a deep breath.

“Mr. Samson blamed Mr. Myers for this deal that went bad. He took it pretty hard, Samson did, and so he did a terrible thing.”

“What did he do?”

“He stole something.”

“From Mr. Myers?”

“No, from the Louvre in Paris. Of course from Myers! Samson stole it and locked it away in his office.”

I started to get it. “His office in Samson Towers?”

“That’s right. Now you’re getting it. Samson Towers, the night watchman of which happens to be yours truly.”

“And Myers wants you to get it back for him.”

“Right. That’s right, and—”

“What is it?”

“What’s what?”

“The thing Samson stole.”

“Oh. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Uncle Farrell slowly shook his head. “I have no idea.”

“Uncle Farrell, how are you going to get it if you don’t know what it is?”

“That’s a detail, Alfred. Just a detail. The point is—”

“A pretty big detail if you ask me.”

“Do you want to know what the point is?”

“Sure.”

His mouth was moving but no sound was coming out.

“You interrupt me and every thought in my head just flies away! Whoosh! Right out the window! Where was I?”