Stallings looked at Durant. “You smoke?”
“I quit.”
“Georgia?” Stallings asked.
She shook her head. Stallings squatted beside Carmen Espiritu, his knees up in his armpits, his hands dangling, his rear hanging down between his ankles, an interested look on his face. “Nobody smokes,” he said.
The woman said nothing.
“You Al's daughter?”
“Granddaughter.”
“Why were you going to shoot me, Carmen?”
“I wasn't.”
“Sure looked like it.”
“We don't approve of the people you've hired and I was trying to convince you to come to Cebu alone.”
“What's wrong with themâthe people I hired?”
“Everything,” Carmen Espiritu said. “You were observed from the time you met Harry Crites in Washington until you arrived in Manila.”
“You mean followed?”
“Observed. Watched.”
“By Al's folks?”
“In Los Angeles,” she said, “our people talked to that Blondin girl, the drug addict, and paid her to tell us about Overby. That led us to him,” she said, looking at Durant, “and also to the big Chinese.” Her lip curled slightly. “We already had files on them, but we decided to test their competence.” This time she looked at Georgia Blue. “What we saw on the Baguio road was not impressive.”
Durant smiled.
“So you really weren't going to shoot me?” Stallings said.
“No,” she said. “Of course not.”
“Just wanted to scare me into dumping my associates, huh?”
“Associates,” she said, looking at Georgia Blue. “A cashiered Secret Service agent.” She turned to Durant. “A sociopath adventurer whose Chinese partner suffers from infantile delusions.” She turned back to Stallings. “And then, of course, there's Overby, the hooligan. They made my grandfather uneasy. Suspicious. So we were instructed to make you come alone.”
Stallings nodded as if it all made perfect sense. He looked up at Durant. “I'll have to send old Al a message, I guess.”
“She's already got the message,” Georgia Blue said.
Stallings looked dubious. “Maybe. How's your memory, Carmen?”
“Quite adequate.”
“I want you to give your granddaddy a personal message from me. You tell Al if he tries to fuck me over again, he'll never see a dime. Got that?”
“If he tries to fuck you over again, he'll never see a dime.”
Stallings rose slowly.
“May I leave now?” Carmen Espiritu said.
“Sure,” said Stallings.
Durant took a cigarette from his pocket, lit it and handed it down to her. “I lied about not smoking,” he said.
“How childish,” she said and drew the smoke deep into her lungs.
As they walked back to his still waiting taxi, Stallings said, “She lied about being Espiritu's granddaughter.”
“How d'you know?” Durant asked.
Stallings made no reply until he paid off the young driver and the taxi had driven away. He then turned to examine the four-door Mercedes that was parked just behind where the taxi had been.
“Yours?” he asked.
“The hotel's,” Durant said.
“Air-conditioned?”
“Right.”
“Let's have some,” Stallings said, heading for the car. He climbed into the rear, Durant and Georgia Blue into the front. Durant started the engine and switched on the air-conditioning.
“How old was she, Georgia?” Stallings asked. “Twenty-five? Twenty-six?”
“At least. You could even add on a year or two.”
“Old Al's sixty-two now; maybe even sixty-three. And he wasn't married when I knew him. So he and his kids, if he had any, would've had to hump it to produce a twenty-six- or twenty-seven-year-old granddaughter.”
Neither Durant nor Georgia Blue disagreed. There was a silence until Stallings cleared his throat and said, “No offense, but I've always been leery of nick-of-time stuff. So how'd you two manage it?”
“Nothing fancy,” Durant said. “Artie and I thought the five of us should meet. So I drove over to the Manila and called Otherguy from the lobby. When he didn't answer, I called Georgia. She and I met in the lobby and she saw you getting into the taxi. We followed in the Mercedes and you know the rest.”
Durant watched in the rearview mirror as Stallings smiled coldly. “Checking me out?” Stallings asked.
“That's right.”
“Don't blame you.”
Durant put the car into gear and drove off. For nearly a minute Stallings stared to his right through the sloppily tinted side window, thinking that it was like looking through a quarter inch of blue Jell-O. “She bothers me,” he said, breaking the silence.
“Carmen,” Durant said.
“Not her so much as her apparatus, and she and old Al sure as hell have one. Remember the girl she mentioned in L.A.? Blondin?”
“The addict,” Georgia Blue said.
“A real space cadet,” Stallings said. “I met her at a place Otherguy was house-sitting. In Malibu. Carmen claims her people got to Blondin and then a few days later you guys ran into Carmen herself on the road down from Baguio. I'd sure like to hear about that, Mr. Durant, if you don't mind.”
“I don't mind,” Durant said. “It had to do with the Cousin.”
“Whose cousin?”
“Marcos' third cousin. Ernesto Pineda. Somebody slit his throat and cut off his balls. Carmen and her people take the credit.”
“That's an interesting beginning,” Stallings said. “How's it turn out?”
Durant told of his and Wu's involvement with Ernesto Pineda, leaving out nothing he thought pertinent. He then spent five minutes
answering Stallings' quick, probing questions. After Stallings ran out of questions, they rode in silence for a minute or two until Georgia Blue could no longer suppress the noise that lay somewhere between a giggle and a guffaw.
“My God, Quincy. You and Artie got stiffed.”
Durant opened his mouth to reply but changed his mind. Another silence followed. Stallings broke it when he leaned forward from the back seat and said, “Let's suppose, just for the hell of it, that the Cousin's reinsurance deal was legitimateâas legitimate as those things ever are once you factor in the graft. Okay, Georgia?”
She nodded without conviction.
“And let's also suppose, Mr. Durant, that Carmen found out about your deal with the Marcos Cousin just about the time she heard I'd signed Overby on. Now was there anybody else who'd've known that Otherguy was looking for you and Mr. Wu?”
“Here in Manila?”
“Yes.”
“Boy Howdy.”
“Nice enough fella?”
“The opposite.”
“Think he might've talked too much or even sold Carmen what he knew?”
“You could almost count on it.”
“Then it's possible,” Stallings said slowly, “that Carmen and old Al Espiritu might've preferred the devils they knew.”
“That's Artie and me, I take it.”
“Sure. She must've known what the Cousin was up to and that you and Mr. Wu were in cahoots with him. Well, why not make sure you two jump at Otherguy's proposition? The best way to do that is to dent your finances. So she and her lads kill the Cousin and you guys are out three hundred thousand and brokeâright?”
“Right.”
“All cash?”
Durant sighed. “All.”
“Which means your money might've provided Carmen with a nice chunk of working capital and also more or less forced you to go to work for me. You know, Mr. Durant, the more I think about it, the more it sounds just like old Al.”
“Why'd she stop us on the way down from Baguio?” Durant said. “Just to mindfuck us?”
“Sure. It was typical push-pull intimidation. They love stuff like that.”
“You want a second opinion?” Georgia Blue asked.
“Certainly,” Stallings said.
“I saw her, Booth. Up close. And she was all set to shootânot just hijack you down to Cebu. The signs were all thereâstance, breathing, everything.”
“That your professional Secret Service opinion, Georgia?” Stallings asked.
“It's what they trained and paid me to spot.”
“I'm not so sure,” he said. “A terrorist's first job is to terrify. Well, she sure scared hell out of me. Another minute and I'd've been on my way down to Cebu alone and I don't much care who knows it. But we also threw a pretty good scare into her. Who terrifies most, controls. Right now I'd call it a draw.”
“Carmen's still out front,” Durant said. “Ahead on points anyway. About three hundred thousand points.”
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Otherguy Overby found the man he went looking for in a morning coffee club that was on a side street just off Taft Avenue. It was the third such club Overby had visited and all three seemed to be doing a brisk business of dispensing coffee, rolls, alcohol and sex. The club's customersâoff on their morning breaks that might last until one or two in the afternoonâwere, for the most part, businessmen, executives,
merchants, politicians, lawyers, journalists and a number of well-dressed men who sold things that fell off trucks.
The man Overby went looking for was now in his mid-sixties and had got his start during the Japanese occupation as a young buy-and-sell man in the Manila black market. His name was Abelardo Umali and Overby found him sitting at a table near the crowded bar with two young women and a bottle of something that looked like champagne. Only the two young women drank it; Umali drank coffee.
Overby was dressed in a blue cord jacket, gray pants that looked like flannel but weren't, and a dark blue polo shirt. The only reason he had worn the jacket in the Manila heat was for its inside pocket where the money envelope was. He crossed the room to Umali's table, approaching from the old man's left. When he reached the table, Overby said, “Hello, Abe.”
Abelardo Umali turned slowly and looked up. He had a dark brown wrinkled face with a turtle mouth and tiny wet black eyes that looked as if they wept easily. He wore a starched, immaculately ironed white short-sleeved shirt, gray tie and black pants. Overby could not remember him ever wearing anything else. The turtle mouth smiled.
“Otherguy,” Umali said. “Somebody claimed you were dead.” He frowned, as if trying to remember what he had really heard. “Or maybe it was just that you ought to be. Either way, you've got my condolences. Sit. Join us. Please.”
“It's a private matter, Abe,” Overby said.
“Private? What kind of secrets have we got?”
“The money I owe you.”
The old man's wet eyes widened and the smile returned. “Ah. That money. A real secret.” He turned to the young women. “My heartsâcould youâwould youâpleaseâjust for a few minutes?”
The two young women giggled, eyed Overby, giggled again, rose and hurried away. “Sit, Otherguy. Have something cool.”
Overby sat down and said he would have a beer. Umali ordered
it. When it came, he poured it carefully into a glass and served it to his guest. As Overby took his first swallow, Umali said, “I hear you saw Boy Howdy last night.”
Overby nodded.
“I hear it was a warm talk you had. Very warm.”
“You ever talk to Boy without raising your voice?”
Umali shrugged. “You paid him good moneyâor so I hear.”
“I paid him to find me Wu and Durant.”
Umali's eyebrows went up and down twice in what Overby always thought of as the Cebu salute. The rapid movement of the eyebrows could signal approval, commiseration, agreement, doubt, disappointment or even, Tell me more. “They're at the Peninsula,” Umali said. “Have been for a month.” He paused. “I would've told you for nothing.”
“I want you to tell me something for something, Abe.”
“Is there a figure?”
“Two thousand.”
“Pesos?”
“Dollars,” Overby said. “U.S.”
The old man's eyebrows rose and fell again, indicating what Overby interpreted to be interest.
“I hear very little these days,” Umali said, obviously lying. “I'm an old man now and I have to pay young women to listen to me. I like to talk to them about the pastâabout the old days in Cebu. You remember them, Otherguy?”
“They're not so far back,” Overby said. “Ten, twelve, fifteen years ago.”
“I mean forty, forty-five years ago.”
“About the time I was born. Maybe you and I can even talk about that a little.”
“For money?”
Overby nodded. Umali's eyebrows went up and down, up and down. Overby took the unsealed Peninsula Hotel envelope from his
inside pocket and placed it on the table in front of Umali.
“May I?” he said. Overby again nodded. Umali opened the envelope, peeked inside and sent his eyebrows into motion again. “You can ask,” he said. “Maybe I can answer. Maybe not.”
“Tell me about Boy Howdy,” Overby said. “Tell me why he sort of turned over on his back last night, stuck his paws up in the air, and begged me to scratch his stomach.”
Umali looked left, as if in that direction lay orderly thoughts. “You, Durant and Wu, right?”
“Right.”
“Interesting,” Umali said. “Well, first, you have to understand that Boy's in a state of shock since our leader ran away.”
“Boy's afraid Aquino's not going to let the good times roll much longer?”
“It's more complicated than that.”
Overby waited. Finally, the old man said, “Boy believes in the second coming.”
Overby's hard, merry grin came and went. “Faith is a wonderful thing.”
“Boy's willing to back his faith withâwhat's the saying?âhis fortune and his sacred honor, such as it is. His honor, I mean.”
“He really wants Marcos back?”
“Many do. But Boy is betting everything he's got on it.”
“What're the odds, Abe?”
“For a Marcos return?” He shook his head. “For somebody else?” The eyebrows rose and fell twice.
“Who?”
Again, Umali's eyebrows made a “who knows?” reply.
“Has Boy got a favorite?”
“You'll have to ask him.”
“Okay,” Overby said. “That was my first question.”
“How many more d'you plan to ask?”
“One more.”
The eyebrows said one more would be allowed.
“You know Cebu,” Overby said. “You were born there.”
Umali shrugged.
“Tell me what you know about Alejandro Espiritu.”
The old man's thin mouth stretched itself into a wide tight reproachful line. His eyes grew even wetter. He sniffed, either to hold back tears or because he smelled something unpleasant. Then he said, “Go away, Otherguy. Take your money with you.”
Overby hitched his chair forward, leaned across the table and tapped the money envelope with his right forefinger. “Two thousand U.S., Abe. Just for a sentence or two.”