Out on the Rim

Chapter Twenty-nine

When the moving mass blocked out the sun at 10:52 A.M., Georgia Blue’s eyes snapped open. She was wearing an immodest green bikini and lying on one of the wheeled chaise longues near the Magellan Hotel pool. The shoulder bag was nearby and her hand darted toward it but stopped when the heavy woman in the bright red slacks said, “I’m Minnie Espiritu.”

“Minnie?”

“Minerva. And I’ve got a letter for either Wu or Durant, except they’re not in. The desk says you’re with them so I guess I can give it to you.”

Georgia Blue sat up slowly. “Minerva Espiritu?”

“Alejandro’s sister.”

“You’re from—”

Minnie Espiritu interrupted, as if in a hurry. “From here. Cebu. But I spent a lot of time in California and sure wish I was back there.” Wariness spread across her face. “You are Georgia Blue, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Minnie Espiritu dropped a folded copy of The Manila Bulletin on the chaise longue near Georgia Blue’s feet, fished a pack of cigarettes out of her red pants pocket and lit one, using both hands to shield the match. She blew the smoke out and turned to inspect the pool and the guests. “Inside the paper,” she said, still inspecting the pool.

“I’ll take it up to my room.”

Minnie Espiritu nodded, continuing her inspection. “The Magellan’s not bad,” she said. “I like nice hotels. If I had my way, I’d check into one and never check out. Well, nice meeting you.”

She turned and headed toward the hotel. Georgia Blue yawned, seemed to notice the folded Manila Bulletin for the first time, picked it up and carelessly stuck it into her shoulder bag. She then lay back down, her left forearm across her eyes, and waited for five minutes to pass.

In her hotel room, Georgia Blue switched on the air-conditioning, took off her bikini and stood naked in front of the window unit, studying the sealed letter she had found in the folded Bulletin.

It was an ordinary white envelope with nothing written on its front. She held it up to the window. After staring at it for a few seconds she picked up a thin silk robe from a chair and put it on as she crossed to her suitcase. From it she removed a packet of plain white envelopes, comparing one of them with the one that came in the folded newspaper.

Satisfied, she used a nail file to slit open the envelope Minnie Espiritu had delivered, slipped the letter from the envelope and took it to the writing desk. It was a two-page letter, folded once.

A rough map had been drawn on the first page. She ignored it and quickly read what was written on the second page. She read it again, this time more slowly. After the second reading she opened the writing desk drawer, selected a sheet of hotel stationery and copied the map with a ballpoint pen.

Finished, she folded the copy she had made of the map and sealed it in a Magellan Hotel envelope. Picking up the telephone, she dialed an outside number. When it was answered, she said, “Room three-nineteen, please.”

Room 319 answered on the second ring and Georgia Blue said, “Get a pen and take this down.”

She waited until whoever had answered the phone was ready. Then she read into the phone the contents of the letter Minnie Espiritu had delivered. She read at dictation speed, spelling out all abbreviations:

“‘Am bringing A. Espiritu out today, starting approx. 4 P.M. from A on map. Meet us with transp. at B on map, 5:30-6:00 P.M. Stallings.’” She paused. “Got that?”

There was a brief reply and a question. The question irritated Georgia Blue. “Where the hell would I Xerox a map? I copied it.” Another brief question irritated her even more. “With a goddamn pen, what else?” she said and slammed down the phone.

At the open-air counter of the Orange Brutus juice stand on the west side of Jones Avenue, Otherguy Overby was lifting a glass of papaya juice to his lips when Carmen Espiritu joined him on the right and something brushed against him on the left.

Overby put his glass down and turned left to inspect a slim man in his mid-twenties who looked uncomfortable in a white shirt, blue tie and dark gray pants. Overby recognized him as one of the three young men from the night before who had squatted on the mountain trail and smoked cigarettes in the glow of the rented Toyota’s headlights.

Overby nodded at the man and turned to Carmen Espiritu. “Just him?”

“There’re two of them, but you need only talk to this one.”

Overby turned to the man again. “Like some juice?”

The man smiled. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

Overby signaled the counter woman to serve juice to Carmen Espiritu and the man. After it came and the man took his first sip, Overby said, “Her name’s Georgia Blue, B-l-u-e.”

“I can spell blue,” the man said stiffly.

“She’s in room four-two-six.”

“Excuse me,” the man said. “But what exactly do we ask her?”

“You heard about our big fight this morning?” Overby said.

The man nodded.

“Ask her about that and what caused it and if I need money and how much.”

This time the young man looked thoughtful when he nodded. “We are to be very suspicious of you.”

“Right.”

“What if she refuses to answer?”

Overby shrugged. “Slap her around a little.”

A frown expressed the man’s disapproval. “That is not... nice.”

Overby stared at the man for a moment and turned to Carmen Espiritu. “Where’d you find Violet here?”

“He’ll do whatever’s necessary,” she said. “But it’s silly. A staged fight followed by a staged interrogation. What good will it do?”

“It’ll make Wu and Durant think everything’s going just like they’ve planned it.” He smiled. “Even me.”

“They’re wondering about you, are they?” she said.

“A little.”

“You also make me wonder, Mr. Overby.”

Overby studied her. “Carmen, would you like me to remind you of something that’ll make you feel just one hell of a lot better?”

“What?”

“Your half,” Overby said, smiling his hard and utterly ruthless smile, “will be two point five million.”

The taxi driver outside the Magellan Hotel knew exactly where the Cebu Plaza Hotel was. But the name of the man to whom he would deliver the sealed envelope that contained the hand-copied map puzzled him. So he asked Georgia Blue to repeat the name slowly.

“Mr. Boy Howdy,” she said, pronouncing the name with exaggerated care. “Room three-nineteen. The Cebu Plaza. Mr. Boy... Howdy.”

The driver nodded dubiously and drove off, silently mouthing Boy Howdy to himself. Georgia Blue went back into the Magellan, stopping at the front desk to ask if either Mr. Wu or Mr. Durant was back. After being told that they weren’t she took an elevator up to the fourth floor.

She saw the slim young man in the white shirt, blue tie and dark gray pants as soon as she entered her room. He had plastered himself to the wall next to the door. She automatically feinted a left-handed stab, her right hand darting down inside her shoulder bag for the Walther. When the slim young man ducked to his right as expected, she caught him with a kick to the stomach that doubled him over.

It was then that the huge left arm clamped itself around her neck from behind. The bathroom, she thought. This one was in the bathroom.

A hand that felt like a vise caught her right hand down inside the shoulder bag and immobilized it. She smelled the cloves on his breath although he seemed to be breathing effortlessly. She decided he was immensely strong but not all that good, and that she’d better relax before he snapped her neck out of either incompetence or pique.

She made herself relax and go almost limp. The man in the white shirt straightened slowly, pressing both hands to his stomach. He looked not at her, but at something that seemed to be a few inches above her head and to the right. “Take the bag,” the man in the white shirt said.

The enormous left arm stayed clamped around her neck but the other hand released her right wrist and removed the shoulder bag.

“On the bed,” said the slim young man who had drunk juice with Otherguy Overby earlier that morning.

The shoulder bag landed on the nearer of the twin beds. The slim young man crossed slowly to the bag, picked it up and dumped out its contents. He examined the Walther, made sure it was loaded, and sat down on the bed, aiming the pistol at Georgia Blue with his right hand, pressing his stomach with the left.

“Let her go,” he said.

The arm was removed. Georgia Blue massaged her throat. “May I sit down?” she asked.

The man on the bed nodded. She went to the room’s one good chair, turned, sat down and had her first look at the man who had choked her. He wasn’t as tall as she had expected — not much more than six feet. But he had immense arms and a massive chest that strained his white short-sleeved shirt. He also had a large head and a curiously placid face with a sweet mouth and dark brown eyes that, for some reason, looked gullible and even trusting.

Georgia Blue turned to the man with the Walther and asked what she thought he expected her to ask. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Tell us about Overby.”

“He’s a rotten son of a bitch. Anything else?”

“You’re lovers?”

“No. Not now.”

“Yet you fought with him at breakfast. Why?”

“Money.”

“He wouldn’t give you any?”

“Just the opposite.”

“He wanted money from you?”

She nodded.

“How much?”

“Fifty thousand U.S. dollars.”

“A loan?” asked the sweet-mouthed big man as he moved over to the bed and began poking at the shoulder bag’s dumped-out contents with a thick forefinger.

“You don’t lend Overby money,” Georgia Blue said. “You just kiss it goodbye.”

“Why did he want the money?” he asked in a soft and coaxing tone that surprised and bothered Georgia Blue.

“I didn’t ask,” she said.

“Could you have lent him that much money?” he asked almost idly as he picked up her billfold and started going through its compartments.

“No.”

“Then why did he even ask?” the big man said, discarding the billfold and picking up a plain white envelope.

“He thought I could raise it,” she said, watching him rip open the envelope.

The big man obviously forgot about Georgia Blue during the seconds it took to read Booth Stallings’ letter and examine the crude map. The placidity vanished from his face. The sweet mouth turned sour. A scowl plowed up his forehead. Glaring at Georgia Blue, he handed the map and letter to the slim young man with the gun.

When the slim young man was finished with the map and letter, he looked stricken. “Tricked,” he whispered. “We are being tricked.”

The big man reached Georgia Blue in two long strides. “Who gave you these — these things?” he demanded, all coaxing gone from his voice.

“It was slipped under the door,” she said. “I didn’t even open it. I thought it was an advertisement or something.”

“Let’s kill her,” said the slim young man, now using both hands to aim the Walther at Georgia Blue.

“He wants to kill you,” the big man said, his tone reasonable. “If you stop lying, he might not.”

“I don’t know what it is or where it came from,” she said, repeating the lies in a monotone the service had trained her to use. “It was slipped under the door. I didn’t open it. I don’t know what’s in it.”

The dull flat lies succeeded only in removing the last trace of gullibility from the big man’s eyes.

“WHY?” he bellowed, caught up in a sudden rage that threatened to consume him. “Why do you foreign people do these bad things to us?”

Georgia Blue started to ask, “What things?” but there wasn’t time because his locked-together hands came smashing down at her like a hammer. She tried to slip the blow but the huge hands slammed into her head, just missing the temple.

There was the imagined taste of something in her mouth, something from her childhood that she couldn’t identify. But it lasted only the instant before oblivion came and she could no longer taste anything, not even the copper in her collection of old Indian head pennies.