Donald Westlake - Drowned Hopes

Dortmunder bristled. He didn’t know what this was going to turn out to be, but already he knew he didn’t like it. “What’s that?” he demanded. “Another one of your phone gizmos?”

“No, no, John,” Kelp assured him. “Nothing to do with phones. It’s a personal computer, and it just may be the solution to our problem here.”

Dortmunder stared at him with loathing. “Personal computer? Andy, what are you up to now ?”

“Let me explain this, John,” Kelp said. “It’s a very simple thing, really, you’re gonna love it.”

“Uh-huh,” Dortmunder said.

“There must be maps,” Kelp said, “old maps from before the reservoir was put in. We use those to do a program for the computer, see, and it makes a model of the valley. Your pal shows us—”

“He’s not my pal,” Dortmunder said.

“Right,” Kelp agreed. “Your ex-cellmate shows us—”

Dortmunder said, “Why don’t you just call him Tom?”

“Well, I don’t really know the guy,” Kelp said. “Listen, can I describe this thing to you?”

“Go right ahead,” Dortmunder said.

“The maps I’m talking about,” Kelp explained, “I don’t mean your gas station road maps, I mean those ones with the lines, the whatchacallit.”

“Topographical,” May said.

“That’s it,” Kelp said. “Thanks, May.”

Dortmunder stared at her. “How come you know that?”

“Why not?” she asked him.

Kelp said, “I’m trying to explain this.”

“Right, right,” Dortmunder said. “Go right ahead.”

“So the computer,” Kelp said, “makes a model of the valley from before the water went in, with the towns and the buildings and everything, and we can turn the model any way we want—”

“ What model?” Dortmunder demanded. He was getting lost here, and that made him mad. “You wanna make like a model train set? What is this?”

“The model in the computer ,” Kelp told him. “You see it on your screen.”

“The television, you mean.”

“Very like television, yes,” Kelp agreed. “And it’s this detailed three-dimensional model, and you can turn it around and tilt it different ways—”

“Sounds like fun,” Dortmunder said acidly.

“ And ,” Kelp insisted, “you can blow up part of it bigger, to get the details and all, and then your, uh, this, uh, this fella who buried it, he shows us on the model where he buried the box, and then we input the reservoir and—”

“You what?”

“Input the reservoir,” Kelp repeated, unhelpfully, but then he added, “Our first model in the program is the valley from when the towns were there. So we can pinpoint the box. Then we tell the PC about the reservoir, and put in the dam, and fill the water in, and probably tell it how much water weighs and all that, so it can tell us what might be different down there at the bottom now.” A shadow of doubt crossed Kelp’s eager face. “There’s a lot of data we’re gonna have to get,” he said, “if we’re gonna do this right. Guy-go, you know.”

“No,” Dortmunder told him. “Guy-go I don’t know.”

“You never heard that expression?” Kelp was astonished.

“May probably did.”

“No, I don’t think so,” May said.

“Guy-go,” Kelp repeated, then spelled it. “G, I, G, O. It means ‘Garbage In, Garbage Out.’ ”

“That’s nice,” Dortmunder said.

“It means,” Kelp amplified, “the computer’s only as smart as what you tell it. If you give it wrong information, it’ll give you wrong information back.”

“I’m beginning to see,” Dortmunder said. “This is a machine that doesn’t know anything until I tell it something, and if I tell it wrong it believes me.”

“That’s about it, yes,” Kelp agreed.

“So this machine of yours,” Dortmunder said, “needs me a lot more than I need it.”

“Now, there you go, being negative again,” Kelp complained.

May said, “John, let Andy finish about this. Maybe it will help.”

“I’m just sitting here,” Dortmunder said, and tried to drink from an empty beer can. “I’m sitting here listening, not making any trouble.”

“I’ll get more beer,” May decided.

As she got to her feet, Kelp said, “I’ll wait for you to come back.”

“Thank you, Andy.”

While May was out of the room, Kelp said, “Actually, if we could work this out, that’s a lot of money.”

“It is,” Dortmunder agreed.

“I’m not saying necessarily a tunnel,” Kelp said, “but whatever, probably wouldn’t take a lot of guys. Your old—This, uh, guy, he’s seventy years old, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“How strong is he?”

“Very.”

“Well, that’s fine,” Kelp said. “So he can carry his weight. Then you and me. And a driver, probably.”

“Absolutely,” Dortmunder said. “I drove up there once already. That’s enough. We’ll call Stan Murch, if it looks like we’ve got something.”

“And maybe Tiny Bulcher, for the lifting and the moving around,” Kelp suggested as May came back with three more beers. “Thanks, May.”

May said to Dortmunder, “I already opened yours, John.”

“Thanks.”

“You know,” Kelp said, popping open his beer can with casual skill, “your old— This guy, uh…”

“Tom,” Dortmunder said. “His name is Tom.”

“Well, I’ll try it,” Kelp said. “Tom. This Tom sounds a lot like Tiny. In fact, I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

Dortmunder muttered, “Better you than me.”

“ Anyhoo ,” Kelp said, “we were talking about the PC.”

Dortmunder looked at him. “ ‘Anyhoo’?”

“The PC,” Kelp insisted. “Come on, John.”

“Okay, okay.”

“It’s true,” Kelp said, “we have to get a lot of information to put into the computer, but that’s nothing different. You always want the best information you can get anyway, in any job. That’s the way you work.”

“That’s right,” Dortmunder said.

“And when we put it all in the computer,” Kelp told him, “then we say to it, ‘Plot us out the best route for the tunnel.’ And then we follow that route, and it takes us right to the box.”

“Sounds easy,” May said.

“Whenever things sound easy,” Dortmunder said, “it turns out there’s one part you didn’t hear.”

“Could be,” Kelp said, unruffled. “Could be, we’ll give the model to the computer and ask it about the tunnel, and it’ll say the tunnel doesn’t work, too much water around, too much mud, too far to go, whatever.”

“Be sure to put all that last part in,” Dortmunder told him, “when you’re putting in the rest of the garbage.”

“We’re not going to put garbage in,” Kelp corrected him. “We’re going to input quality data, John, believe me. In fact,” he said, suddenly even more peppy and enthusiastic, “I know just the guy to work with on this program.”

“Somebody else?” Dortmunder asked him. “One of us?”

Kelp shook his head. “Wally’s a computer freak,” he explained. “I won’t tell him what we’re trying for, I’ll just give it to him like as a computer problem.”

“Do I know this Wally?”

“No, John,” Kelp said, “you don’t travel in the same circles. Wally’s kind of offbeat. He can only communicate by keyboard.”

“And what if he communicates by keyboard with the law?”

“No, I’m telling you that’s all right,” Kelp insisted. “Wally’s a very unworldly guy. And he’ll save us weeks on this thing.”

“Weeks?” Dortmunder said, startled. “How long is this gonna take?”

“Just a few days,” Kelp promised. “With Wally aboard, just a very few days.”