Out on the Rim

Chapter Twenty-one

Georgia Blue came out of the suite’s bedroom, wearing one of those long white terry-cloth robes that the better hotels provide their guests, along with a warning that he who steals it will pay. She came out barefoot, her right hand deep in the robe’s pocket where it clutched the Walther PPK that Booth Stallings had returned earlier without comment.

Stallings noticed she had recovered her lost poise. It now seemed almost unshakable as she stopped to look at each of the four men. She nodded at Artie Wu, who sat on the couch in his favorite left-hand corner, a cup of coffee in one hand, a morning cigar in the other. Wu nodded back politely. Georgia Blue’s gaze skipped over Overby, seated as usual in a straight-back chair, and lingered only briefly on Stallings, who looked back at her over the rim of his coffee cup. Her gaze came to rest on Durant, who stood by the room service cart with its too many cups and saucers and its twin chrome pots of coffee.

Durant turned to the cart and poured a cup of coffee. “Black, right, Georgia?” he said. “No sugar.”

“Please,” she said.

Durant turned with cup and saucer, crossed to where she stood in the center of the sitting room, and handed her the coffee. She accepted it with her left hand, keeping her right one wrapped around the Walther in the robe’s pocket. She turned then, looking for a place to sit, and again decided on the green armchair with its side table. Placing the cup and saucer on the table first, she sat down, crossing her legs beneath the long robe, keeping her right hand in its pocket.

No one said anything until she picked up the cup with her left hand and sipped the coffee. Then Artie Wu spoke. “Booth told us what you told him last night, Georgia. He made it all very factual, very objective. Anything you’d like to add or clarify?”

“Before I’m sentenced, you mean?”

“I don’t think you really meant to say that.”

She thought about it, shrugged and looked at Durant who still stood, leaning now against a wall and smoking his first cigarette of the morning. “I didn’t know who she was, Quincy,” Georgia Blue said. “I didn’t know she would be killed. I’m sorry.”

Durant stared at her without replying. Finally he said, “Take your hand out of your pocket, Georgia. You’re not going to need it.”

Georgia Blue’s slight sag of relief was almost invisible. She picked up the cup with her left hand, sipped more coffee, put the cup back down and looked at Artie Wu, her right hand still in the robe’s pocket.

“Now what, Artie?” she said.

Artie Wu sent one of his fat smoke rings toward the ceiling. “The plan stays the same,” he said, “except we speed it up. Emily Cariaga was apparently killed to shut her up. But we don’t know what she’d found out or how important it was, and it seems pointless to speculate. We get in and out of this thing fast and hope the Manila cops’ll lose all interest in Durant and me.”

“I think the Cariaga lady found out who’s putting up the five million,” said Otherguy Overby to whom speculation was meat and drink.

“Very pat, Otherguy,” Durant said.

Overby gave him a cold look. “So I like things neat. But just because I like ’em that way doesn’t mean that when nice and neat comes along I’ve got to toss it out just because I like it so much. That’s waste.”

“He has a point,” Booth Stallings said, turning to Wu. “Can’t you guys check it out? See the same people she saw. Find out what they talked about?”

“Quincy and I’ll try, of course,” Wu said. “But I don’t think we’ll get anywhere. Emily moved at social heights where the air’s thin and the climb up’s difficult — if not impossible — for a couple of grifters with no credentials other than their cheerful smiles and witty small talk.”

“That’s what I thought you two did best,” Stallings said. “Separating the undeserving rich from their money. If you can do that, why the hell can’t you get them to babble?”

“To part them from their money,” Durant said in a too patient tone, “all we have to do is tickle their greed. But we’re not going for their money this time. We’re going to ask them to confide in us about something that got someone they know killed. And we don’t have that kind of leverage.”

“But we are going to try, Booth,” Artie Wu said.

“You’d better try damned hard,” said Stallings.

Wu nodded his agreement and turned to Georgia Blue. “I said we’re going to speed things up, Georgia. That means Otherguy flies down to Cebu today on the noon plane and you follow on the three o’clock flight. Booth’ll fly down tomorrow, with Quincy and me following the next day, which is—” He looked at the calendar on his watch. “Wednesday, April the first.”

“April Fools’ Day,” said Overby, ever literal.

No one spoke for several seconds. Instead, they watched Artie Wu blow three more smoke rings into the air. As the last one drifted to the ceiling, Wu said, “Let’s have some more coffee and then I’m going to deliver a small homily that I trust everybody’ll take to heart.”

Overby rose, went to the room service table and picked up one of the chrome pots. He moved about the room, filling the cups. Everyone sipped politely at coffee that no one really seemed to want. Booth Stallings kept his eyes on Artie Wu, not quite marveling at the big man’s ability to dominate the room — any room, for that matter.

It was partly Wu’s great size, Stallings decided, and partly his brilliance that enabled him to lead and command, almost without seeming to. But his real weapon was that effortless easy charm that made virtually everyone like him and, far more useful, seek his approval. Even you aren’t immune, Stallings warned himself.

And then there’s that fucking Durant, he thought, unconsciously adopting the by now familiar designation. Durant, who’s just as smart, or nearly so, and who carefully cultivates that ticking-bomb image, which he damn well might be. The charming, lovable Mr. Wu and his terrible paladin. Some combination.

It occurred then to Booth Stallings — for the first time — that they, the five of them, might really steal the five million after all. The notion was so bizarre that it made him smile and almost caused him to chuckle. But he stifled the chuckle, drained his coffee cup and turned his attention to what Artie Wu had to say.

“With the exception of Booth here,” Wu began, “we’ve all known each other forever, which may be too long. We know each other’s strengths, weaknesses, quirks and hang-ups. None of us is perfect, God knows, but each of us is competent. Extremely so. Well, we’re going for the lallapalooza — for five million dollars and, as Otherguy says, that’s major money. With an even five-way split it should be enough for everybody and I’m convinced we can bring it off. But each of us is human and therefore susceptible to dangling temptation. So if it’s ever dangled in front of you, and you’ve decided you can’t resist, just remember this: I’ll come after you. And right behind me will come that fucking Durant. One of us will find you. Maybe both of us. And you’ll never ever spend the money.”

Artie Wu smiled, puffed on his cigar and leaned back in the couch.

Georgia Blue was the first to respond. “Gosh, Artie, that’s the most inspirational thing I ever heard.” She took her right hand out of the robe’s pocket and rose, gathered up the clothing she had left in the sitting room the night before, and disappeared into the bedroom.

After watching her leave, Durant turned to Wu. “I couldn’t have said it better,” he said. “But I could’ve made it shorter.” He crossed to the door, opened it and looked back at Wu. “I’m going down to the lobby and see if there’s anyone around who’ll talk to us about Emily”

“I’ll be down later,” Wu said.

After Durant was gone, Overby rose and looked around the room, nodding a goodbye first to Stallings, then to Artie Wu. “I’ve got to catch that plane,” Overby said.

“See you in Cebu, Otherguy,” Wu said.

Overby started for the door, got halfway there and turned back to Wu. “Who was all that shit really aimed at, Artie? Me?”

“You and everybody else, Otherguy.”

Overby’s answering nod only served to affirm his disbelief. “I bet,” he said, turned and left the room.

Booth Stallings rose, went over to the window and looked out at Manila Bay. “You have something on your mind you want to tell me, Artie?”

“I don’t think so.”

Stallings turned. “No likely suspects, defectors or agents provocateurs?”

“They’re all likely,” Wu said.

“Me too?”

“You too.”

“What about you and Durant?”

“Five million’s a lot of money, Booth. Keep an eye on us.”

“Everybody watches everybody else, right?”

“It’s the only safe way, if we’re really going to pull it off.”

“Think we are?”

Artie Wu didn’t answer for a moment. Then he said, “I think so. I really do.”

“So do I,” Booth Stallings said. “Well, I’m off.”

“Where to?”

“Corregidor,” Stallings said. “Thought I’d go see if I can ride out on a hydrofoil and take a look.” He patted his pockets to make sure he had his sunglasses, keys and wallet. “Might be the last chance I’ll ever have.”

Wu smiled. “Not planning to pass this way again?”

“Not if I can help it,” Stallings said as he opened the door and left.

When Georgia Blue came out of the bedroom she wore the same clothes she had worn the night before. The same bag hung over her right shoulder and at the sight of the still waiting Artie Wu her right hand slipped down inside it.

“Sit down, Georgia,” Wu said.

She moved to the green armchair and perched on the edge of its seat cushion, her knees together, her hand still down inside the bag and wrapped around the Walther.

“You fucked up, didn’t you?” Wu said.

“I didn’t know who she was, Artie.”

“You could’ve checked with somebody.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Durant’s... well, Durant’s close to the boiling point.”

She nodded. “I could tell.”

“If he boils over, the deal’s dead.”

“I know.”

“So we can’t take any more fuckups — by anyone.”

“Especially by me, you mean.”

Wu shook his head. “Especially by Otherguy.”

Georgia Blue’s hand slowly came out of the shoulder bag. It was empty. “Well,” she said softly. “What d’you know.”

“Down in Cebu Otherguy’ll be the Weak Link. You’ll be the Watchman. Your role’s going to be for real — and so is his, I’m afraid.”

There was a bleak silence until Georgia Blue said, “I’ve known Otherguy a long time, Artie.”

Wu sighed. “So have I.”

“You’re sure?”

He nodded gravely.

“So... ‘for a handful of silver he left us,’” she began.

“‘Just for a riband to stick in his coat,’” Wu finished.

“Browning, right?”

“‘The Lost Leader.’”

“Well, shit.”

“Stay on him, Georgia.”

She nodded, rising.

“He’s smart and he’s tricky,” Wu said.

“I was once his star pupil, Artie.”

“And mine.”

“Then I must know all you two know,” she said. “And then some.”