Out on the Rim

Chapter Forty

After Otherguy Overby knocked on the door of Artie Wu’s fifth-floor suite in the Manila Peninsula Hotel, he was told to come in. He entered to find Durant up and leaning against a wall. Wu was seated on a couch, looking freshly barbered and wearing his white silk money suit. Overby would have preferred to find them feet up, shoes off and drinking beer.

“Sit down, Otherguy,” Wu said. “Like a beer?”

Overby shook his head as he sat down in a straight chair, folding his arms protectively across his chest and planting his feet firmly on the carpet.

“Everything set?” Durant asked.

Overby looked at him. “I called the old Colonel down in Cebu and he got word to Minnie. She’s agreed to meet us in Hong Kong but she wants proof it’s all on the up-and-up. Otherwise, no deal. Okay?”

Wu said it was fine and Overby continued. “Welcome-Welcome got the telex confirmation on our rooms at the Hong Kong Peninsula and it’ll send a couple of cars to meet us at the airport.” He paused and looked again at Durant. “What about that homicide cop, Lieutenant Cruz?”

“Manila contacted Hong Kong through a back channel and got him wired into the CID there,” Durant said. “He’s to get full cooperation.”

“No trouble with the airline, I trust?” Wu said to Overby.

“None.”

Wu gave Overby a long look of what seemed to be genuine liking. “I was just trying to tell Quincy about that Rotary Club billboard in Cebu, Otherguy. How’d it go? ‘Will it benefit all concerned?’”

“‘Be beneficial to all concerned,’” Overby said.

Wu nodded, as if grateful for the correction. “And it really looks as if it might be beneficial, doesn’t it?” he said. “Except to one of us.” He stared at Overby. “Or possibly two of us.”

“Get to the point, Artie,” Overby said. “You can shine me on some other time.”

Wu sighed. “I think I will have a beer, Quincy.”

“Me, too,” Overby said.

Durant went to the room’s mini-refrigerator, took out three cans of San Miguel and passed them around. Wu opened his, took several swallows and said, “Who were you, Otherguy, when you called the Secret Service from Cebu?”

“Reuters,” Overby said and drank some of his beer.

“Inquiring about?”

“October, last year.”

“Any special date?” Durant said.

Overby shrugged. “October eighteenth, around in there.”

Wu and Durant looked at each other. Durant shook his head. The date meant nothing.

“October eighteenth where?” Wu said.

“New York.”

“It’s like pulling teeth,” Durant said.

“Otherguy tells things his own way,” Wu said. “Where in New York, Otherguy?”

“The United Nations.”

“Ah!” Wu said.

“What the fuck does ‘Ah!’ mean?” Durant said.

Wu ignored him and smiled again at Overby. “You’re doing fine, Otherguy. What happened last year on October eighteenth at the U.N.?”

“An acting foreign minister made a speech. At a commemorative session of the fortieth anniversary.”

Durant smiled mockingly at Wu and said, “Ah, so!”

Wu ignored him and gently asked Overby, “Whose acting foreign minister, Otherguy?”

Overby had another drink of beer and said, “The acting foreign minister of the Philippines.”

Durant got there first and said, “Jesus.”

Artie Wu, scarcely a beat behind, nodded at Overby and said, “Imelda Marcos, right?”

Overby shrugged again and drank more beer.

“What was in her speech, Otherguy?” Wu said.

“How the hell should I know? We live in terrible times. We should all pull together. Stamp out injustice. What they always say at the U.N.”

“It wasn’t the speech, Artie,” Durant said.

“No. Of course not,” Wu said, staring at Overby. “It was Georgia, wasn’t it?”

Overby looked first at Durant, then at Wu. It was an amused, speculative look. “Good thing you guys don’t play this game for money.”

Artie Wu smiled, as if in complete agreement. “The Secret Service had assigned Georgia to watch Imelda Marcos’ back, right?”

“That’s it.”

“How’d you pry it out of them?” Durant asked.

“I told them Georgia was applying for a job out here with Reuters and I was checking her references and work history. And is it true, I ask, that Miss Blue was once assigned to Mrs. Marcos who’s listed as a reference? And they say yes and give the dates and places. So then I ask if Georgia had quit the Service or been fired or what, and they say she quit. Resigned. Although she tells everybody else, Booth anyway, that she got canned.”

“You got all this over the phone?” Durant asked with unconcealed skepticism.

“From their personnel section, which is what it’s there for. Credit checks. References. And if I’ve got to say it myself, Quincy, I’m the best fucking phone man who ever lived.”

“You are indeed, Otherguy,” Wu said. “But tell me. What exactly made you pick up the phone?”

“Artie, nobody — and I mean nobody — sends out five million dirty unless they’ve got a trace on it. A trace they can trust. Well, I eliminated me first, of course, then Booth and you two last. That left Georgia. Then I remembered Booth saying Georgia’d told him that Treasury assigned her mostly to the wives of visiting big shots. So I play the hunch, pick up the phone, ask a couple of questions and bingo.”

“Nice,” Artie Wu said. “Very nice. Almost brilliant.”

“And that’s when you almost went solo, right?” Durant said.

Overby looked up with his unassailable, nothing-can-touch-me stare. “Like I said, Quincy, it crossed my mind.” He smiled his hard merry smile. “Just like it would’ve crossed yours.”

Wu rose, walked over to the seated Overby and put a friendly, almost comforting hand on his left shoulder. Overby looked down at the hand suspiciously.

“It was thoughtful of you to confide in us, Otherguy,” Wu said. Overby rose and turned to Durant who was still leaning against the wall. “Now that Espiritu’s dead, you guys know what she’ll try to do, don’t you?”

“We know,” Durant said.

Overby nodded. “Yeah. I thought you might.”

After he had gone, Wu turned to face the suite’s open bedroom door. He raised his voice slightly and said, “You can come out now, Lieutenant.”

Lt. Cruz walked into the suite’s sitting room. “You get all that?” Durant asked.

The homicide detective nodded. “Fascinating. He has a very good mind, doesn’t he?”

“Too good sometimes,” Durant said.

Lt. Cruz smiled, obviously pleased. “Yes, well, I’ll see you in Hong Kong then.”

The Hong Kong Peninsula Hotel had dispatched two Rolls-Royce sedans to the airport. One of the two uniformed chauffeurs carried a neatly lettered sign that sought “Mr. Wu and Party.” Artie Wu served as tour director, assigning Durant, Overby and Booth Stallings to the lead Rolls. He and Georgia Blue settled into the rear one. As the two-car procession rolled toward Kowloon, Wu pushed the button that raised the glass partition.

“Been to Hong Kong before, Georgia?”

“Twice,” she said. “I drew the Secretary of State’s wife the first time; the Vice-President’s the second.”

Wu smiled. “Fun trip?”

“Nothing but girlish giggles.”

“I can imagine.” There was a block-long silence until Wu asked, “What about Harry Crites back in Washington? Think he’ll kick up a fuss?”

“When Espiritu’s death is announced?”

Wu nodded.

“What can Harry say? Espiritu flew to Hong Kong, picked up his five million, changed his mind, flew back home and died of a second stroke. The NPA won’t deny he’s dead. They’ll deny the five million and all, but I don’t think Harry is going to sue.”

“Then we’re virtually home free, wouldn’t you say?”

She considered the question. “I think so. It certainly beats trying to throw a switch on a live Espiritu.” She grinned at Wu. “You really were serious about running the pigeon drop on him, weren’t you?”

Wu smiled almost wistfully, as if at some lost chance. “An elegant variation thereof. It would’ve been beautiful.” He sighed. “And no comeback. None at all.”

“There won’t be any this way either,” she said.

“Let’s hope not,” said Artie Wu.

Booth Stallings decided that royalty wouldn’t have received a much warmer reception than the one the Hong Kong Peninsula gave Wu, Durant and Otherguy Overby. The hotel obviously cherished its trio of free-spending guests and even made a small fuss over Georgia Blue. By virtue of his membership in Mr. Wu’s party, Stallings himself was treated with the deference usually reserved for visiting ministers of sport and culture and fading rock stars.

After Stallings was shown to his room, he took a shower, had a nap, read, ordered a room service dinner and waited for the phone to ring. It rang at 8 P.M. After he said hello, he heard Durant say, “Let’s take a walk.”

“What for?”

“Because I want to,” Durant said.

They walked a block up Salisbury Road to the Kowloon YMCA, once the residence of Otherguy Overby.

“Let’s have a cup of tea,” Durant said.

“Tea?”

“Tea.”

“Well, I guess we are in China, sort of.”

The YMCA restaurant offered Formica tables, plastic chairs that wobbled and the smell of cheap food cooked in vast quantities. Durant examined the almost empty room before selecting a table that was occupied by a Filipino in a well-cut suit of tan linen whose jacket sleeves had cuffs that really buttoned. The Filipino nodded coolly at Durant as he sat down. Stallings chose a chair across from the Filipino.

Durant made the introductions casually. “Lieutenant Cruz, Booth Stallings.”

Stallings stared at Cruz and said, “At the Manila airport, right?”

Lt. Cruz nodded.

“You were a lieutenant of what when you picked up Durant?”

“Homicide. I still am.”

Durant asked Cruz, “You talk to the Hong Kong cops?”

“I called them from Manila and then saw them after I got here. They gave me this.” He picked up a leather attaché case from the floor, opened it on his lap, removed an envelope and handed it to Durant. The empty letter-size envelope bore the name of the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. Durant carefully put it away in his inside jacket pocket.

Lt. Cruz used his chin to point at Stallings. “Does he know?”

“Not yet.”

“Know what?” Stallings said.

They ignored the question as Lt. Cruz raised an eyebrow at Durant who shrugged. The detective leaned toward Stallings and spoke in a low rapid voice.

“Listen carefully. The Hong Kong police will arrest Miss Blue when she comes out of the bank tomorrow.”

“For what?”

“The murder of Mrs. Emily Cariaga — who was a friend of his.” Lt. Cruz indicated Durant with a nod.

“So far, it sucks,” Stallings said.

“We have evidence,” Lt. Cruz said, “that Miss Blue, directly or indirectly, is in the pay of Ferdinand Marcos or his wife, Imelda. Possibly both.”

Stallings chuckled. It sounded to Durant like glass being ground up. “Their hired gun, huh?” Stallings said.

“I’m saying only that the late Mrs. Cariaga, apparently through her extensive social or political connections, learned that Miss Blue was in the Marcoses’ pay. The information frightened her. So much so that she decided to leave the country.”

“Who says she was frightened?” Stallings asked.

“I do,” Durant said. “She called and told me she was and asked me to drive her to the airport.”

“She tell you about Georgia and the Marcoses?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because when I got to her house she was dead.”

“So you think somebody tipped Georgia off that the Cariaga woman knew all about her and the Marcoses, and that’s why Georgia killed her?”

Lt. Cruz nodded.

“Sounds weak to me,” Stallings said. “Who tipped Georgia off — one of the Marcoses?”

“Possibly.”

“Since when does ‘possibly’ hack it in a murder case?”

“It doesn’t,” Lt. Cruz said. “But an eyewitness does.”

“And you just happen to have one, huh?”

Lt. Cruz sighed in exasperation. “Miss Blue hired herself a frightener who worked for a very undesirable alien called Boy Howdy.”

“A friend of yours, wasn’t he?” Stallings said to Durant.

“Not quite,” Durant said.

“She hired this frightener,” Lt. Cruz went on doggedly, “ostensibly to throw a scare into Mrs. Cariaga. But actually to blame him for the murder. She and Howdy may have conspired in this. The poor brute is very, very large and very, very dumb.”

“So Georgia and Howdy set him up?” Stallings said.

Lt. Cruz nodded. “As I said, the man is none too bright. He got the time mixed up and arrived at Mrs. Cariaga’s early, only to find her day guard dead from a broken neck — which, I understand, Georgia Blue is quite capable of doing.”

“Is she?” Stallings said.

Lt. Cruz ignored the question. But Durant said, “Yes. She is.”

“After finding the body,” Cruz continued, “the dummy hid in the shrubbery, not sure what to do next. He saw Georgia Blue come out of Emily Cariaga’s house. After she drove away, he went in the house and found Mrs. Cariaga dead. Stabbed. He panicked and tried to leave, only to bump into Durant here. They fought. Durant lost, or so he says. When sufficiently recovered he quite sensibly called the police.”

“And told you about the dummy,” Stallings said.

Lt. Cruz gave Durant a disapproving look. “Not right away, unfortunately.”

Stallings smiled slightly at Durant. “Held out on the cops, did you?”

“For a while.”

Stallings turned back to Lt. Cruz and asked, “Do you find him and his partner kind of devious?”

“Extremely so.”

Stallings nodded thoughtfully. “But you’ve talked to the dummy — the so-called eyewitness?”

“At length,” Lt. Cruz said. “He freely admits what I’ve told you.”

“So who shot Boy Howdy down in Cebu?” Stallings asked in a quick hard voice, as if trying to rattle Lt. Cruz.

“Carmen Espiritu, of course,” Lt. Cruz said. “Probably because Howdy worked for whoever paid him — for the Espiritus, for Georgia Blue, even for the Palace. Apparently, Georgia Blue paid better than anyone else and his loyalty, such as it was, went to her. We can only presume the Espiritus found out about his duplicity and killed him. We’d like to question Carmen Espiritu, but I hear she’s dead. I do hear correctly, don’t I, Mr. Stallings?”

Booth Stallings sat at the Formica table on the wobbly plastic chair, thinking not about Lt. Cruz’s question, but about the night he had gone to bed with Georgia Blue. He probed, rather gently, for feelings of revulsion or moral outrage, but found none. He did turn up a lot of regret and a measure of sadness. But what you regret, he decided, is that you won’t be jumping into bed with her again. And what you’re sad about is that these guys are going to ask you to do something to her, something high-minded, like bringing her to justice, and you’re going to say yes, although what you really want to do is run off to New Caledonia with her.

He looked at Lt. Cruz and said, “You asked if Carmen’s dead?”

Lt. Cruz nodded.

“Yeah. She’s dead.”

Lt. Cruz made no comment, as if waiting for Stallings to continue. Instead, Stallings asked a question. “Why don’t you and the Hong Kong cops go arrest Georgia right now?”

“Because,” Lt. Cruz said, “you and she haven’t come out of the bank yet.”

“You want to bust her with the money on her, right?”

“I pray to God she won’t have it on her.”

“I think I missed a beat there.”

Lt. Cruz looked away. “For reasons of national security we prefer not to arrest her until she comes out of the bank.”

Stallings nodded glumly, as if at the familiar punch line of some bad old joke. “In my dictionary, national security’s a synonym for politics.”

“You have an excellent dictionary, Mr. Stallings,” Lt. Cruz said and rose. “Good evening, gentlemen.” He turned and walked out of the YMCA restaurant.

Durant and Stallings sat in silence until Durant said, “It’s not the principle of the thing, Booth. It’s the money.”

All Stallings said was, “We never did get that tea.”

Durant rose. “Somebody else’ll buy you a cup.”

Stallings also rose to follow Durant out of the YMCA and into the night. Durant’s eyes roamed over the sidewalk and the street, poking into the darker corners. Otherguy Overby seemed to materialize out of the shadows.

“He’s all yours,” Durant said.

Overby nodded toward the corner. “Let’s go, Booth.”

Both men turned, but Overby turned back when Durant called to him. “Otherguy.”

“What?”

“Buy him a cup of tea, will you?”

Their walk took them six blocks north of the Peninsula Hotel and two blocks east. The streets narrowed and the tourists thinned out as the shops grew junkier. When they came to a small restaurant with a Chinese sign, Overby said, “Take a good look because you’ll be coming back here tomorrow.”

“I’ll never find it again,” Stallings said.

Overby handed him a slip of paper with the name and address of the restaurant written in both English and Chinese. “Give it to any taxi driver.”

They went in. A young Chinese woman seemed to know Overby because she smiled at him and asked him a question in Chinese. After Overby replied in English she led them toward the rear of the nearly deserted restaurant. They went along a row of booths whose seat backs rose to the ceiling, transforming the booths into small semiprivate cubicles.

The young woman asked Overby another question in Chinese. He again replied in English. “Tea for three, please.”

After the woman left, Overby waved Stallings into the far seat of the last booth. As he slipped into it, Stallings saw the woman diagonally across the table, almost huddled into the corner next to the wall.

She smiled at him wanly. “So how’s it go, Booth?” Minerva Espiritu said.

“It goes, Minnie,” Booth Stallings said.

Otherguy Overby sat down next to Minnie Espiritu. “Any problems?” he asked her.

“Not yet.”

After looking around for eavesdroppers, Overby leaned toward Stallings and spoke in the low soft tones of the born conniver. “Okay, Booth. Now here’s what’s really going to happen.”