“Mr. King, the final papers have been delivered and we fully expect the old tenants to be of no further concern by tomorrow.” The bland voice at the other end of the line came sweetly to the man sitting behind the large desk.
“Excellent news. The renovators have their orders and by tomorrow or perhaps the day after will move in to sweep away the . . . debris left behind by those untidy and most unsatisfactory tenants.” He sniffed and stroked the small Lhasa apso who trembled in his lap. “Once they’ve cleared out the trash, we’ll need to expedite the inclusion of our new renters. You might just put them on alert to be ready to move in at a moment’s notice.”
“Certainly, Sir. Will there be anything else?”
“Mr. Smith did very good work for us this time. I think it may be time to either have him for a visit or terminate his employment. I’ll ponder the situation and get back to you on that. And Willis, your work has been most satisfactory in this matter.” His head rested against the rich green leather of his desk chair.
“Thank you, Sir. It has been a pleasure, as always.” The voice actually had a note of pleasure in it for the first time in Mr. King’s memory before it quickly parsed back to normal. “The new tenants are being notified as we speak. I have surveillance on Mr. Smith and will be glad to offer him a further contract if that is what you decide.”
“Tomorrow, Willis. I’ll sleep on it.” And reaching over, he disconnected the call. His movement made the small dog squeak and shiver even harder. Frowning down at the little mop of fur, he pushed another button on his desk. “Phelps, come and get the dog.”
“At once, Sir.” The disembodied voice was followed almost immediately by a soft knock on the door and the quick entrance at his ‘come’.
“I don’t think this breed is right, Phelps. Dispose of him and bring me the Kennel Registry.” He handed over the small ball of fur and brushed the fur off his hands. “Perhaps a larger breed would do the trick.” He mused. “What do you think about a German Shepherd?”
“There are several kennels in New York that breed quite respectable Shepherds, Sir. Constance Levy of the Rochester Levy’s has a kennel, I believe.” The butler stood at attention with the small dog tucked under one arm. The large book of registered breeds had already been placed at his master’s elbow.
“The blond wench with the improbable breasts?” Mr. King chuckled.
“Indeed, Sir. Her plastic surgeon was Dr. Faraday of Los Angles.”
His master chuckled again and waved him away. “Phelps, you really are a treasure. I believe I’ll have tea on the patio today. Have Miss Enderby come in half an hour to push me out.”
“Yes, Sir.” The butler bowed and left with the whimpering little animal still under one arm.
Mr. King rolled his wheelchair a little closer to the desk and used both hands to lift the heavy cover so he could get to the pictures of real dogs. Going small had been a mistake, he acknowledged to himself. He really didn’t like any weight on his lap, not even the single pound of his former pet.
Much better to have a real dog that would sit by his side and pace beside him when Miss Enderby pushed him here and there. Yes, he was looking forward to a new animal to play with. Not to mention, he’d be able to walk at moon gravity once he got the base cleared of those inappropriate settlers.
He smiled down at the picture of an alert German Shepherd. Much better. What had he been thinking of? They’d do quite well on the moon. All of his people would soon adjust to their new home. And if they didn’t, why disposing of them would be quite simple.
Airlocks were so handy, he chuckled to himself.
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End of chapter 37