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Chapter 17

"How do you do Mr.—would Puck be your first or last name?"

"Only."

"Mr. Puck. I'm Samuel Offing, owner of Reginald Court Menswear." He held out a hand and the devil, somewhat hesitantly, shook it. "We have the finest men's garments in Raleigh. Historically we have relied on word-of-mouth for our advertising, but recent changes in statewide demographics have required us to be a bit more flexible in our approach."

"He just said all the rich people moved out of state," Puck said to Dan in a stage whisper that Dan was certain Offing couldn't have missed.

Offing's laugh sounded false in Dan's ears. "Precisely."

Dan said, "I understood what he was saying without the translation."

"Sorry."

Offing said, "Please don't worry about it. I understand that Mr. Puck is still . . . ah . . . rough around the edges. But I also understand your campaign, Mr. Cooley. I think you have a wonderful idea, and I'd like to help. However, I will expect a significant return on my investment."

Dan nodded and got out one of the station's advertising contracts. "What were you thinking of?"

"First let me tell you what I can do for you. In addition to paying your regular advertising rate for spots, I'll supply a complete wardrobe for Mr. Puck here. Suits, sports clothing, undergarments, appropriate footwear, neckties, hats if he needs them . . . all tailored to emphasize his good points." Offing paused a minute to study Puck. Dan figured he was trying to come up with a good point or two to use as examples. He frowned, shrugged and said, "Or at least deemphasize the worst of his bad points."

"When can you have it for him?"

"I assume you have a full schedule today. If he comes in tomorrow morning, though, early, we'll fit him. I can have some of the wardrobe tomorrow—sportswear won't take much work on our part. The suits I can have in the next several days."

Dan nodded. "That's quite generous. A regular advertising campaign wouldn't cost you as much as a wardrobe of these clothes."

"No. It wouldn't. But I don't want a regular advertising campaign. In exchange for my investment, I want exclusivity. No other clothier, no other clothing advertised in relation to Mr. Puck."

Dan figured out amounts involved, and said, "We'll need a guaranteed number of thirty-second spots per week for the length of the Great Devil Makeover campaign to guarantee exclusivity."

"I'll have my assistant work out the contract details with you. I'll sign your contract after I've had a chance to speak with Mr. Puck."

Dan's eyebrows went up. "Why—"

Offing cut him off. "You say you have a devil who's willing to try to change his ways. Before I risk any of my money, which is increasingly hard to come by, I want to feel that there's some chance of his success."

"I'll talk to him," Puck said.

"Fine." Dan shrugged, not really certain that he should turn the devil loose with Offing, but not sure what else he could do. So he went off with the assistant and got the man to agree to an exorbitant amount of advertising.

Offing and Puck, meanwhile, went into the back room.

When they came out, nearly forty-five minutes later, Offing wore a smile Dan could have spotted from across town. He got ready to discuss the contract, but Offing just signed it and said, "Have him in here tomorrow."

Dan glanced at Puck, wondering what the devil had said to so completely reassure the man, then gave him a hard second look. Puck's scales were smaller and finer, and his features seemed a little bit more sculptured . . . a little less like afterthoughts. And he couldn't be sure, but he thought perhaps the claws had become slightly less sharp.

Contract in hand and fitting appointment made, he walked Puck out to the car in silence. Only once they were on the road did he ask.

"What happened in there?"

Puck leaned back in the seat and stared at the road ahead. "His only son died in a car accident last year. Ugly circumstances. He wanted to know if he'd . . . ah."

"Gone to Hell?"

"Yes."

"How could you help him? I thought you said you didn't work in Personnel," Dan said.

"That's right."

"Then how could you know his son isn't in Hell?"

"He had a computer. I'm out of the loop, but I still know the ropes, if you know what I mean."

"Computer?"

"Yes. If you know what you're doing, you can extract data from the HellWire Info Net."

"And what did you find out?"

"That his son wasn't a bad kid. He didn't sign on with us."

"You look different."

"I feel different. I helped him, you know. And I didn't do it to make him buy your station advertising or because I was going to get a bunch of clothes out of him. I did it because . . . because . . ." Puck fell silent.

"Why?"

"I don't know why."

"That's okay. Sooner or later, you'll figure it out."

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Framed