Росс Томас - Voodoo, Ltd.

Again Broach interrupted. “Who’ll be taking the call?”

“Artie Wu. I’ll probably listen in on an extension. Quincy Durant might also listen in — or he might not.”

Broach nodded, satisfied.

“Anyway,” she said, “after Oil Drum calls, he’ll be told the money’s ready.”

“The million?”

“The million. We’ll then settle on where to make the buy. It’ll be a quiet, out-of-the-way place.”

“What kind of place?”

“A place where he can count the money in private and where I can check out the tape on a VCR.”

“You have such a place in mind?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Sorry.”

“Of course,” Broach said. “Security.”

“Common sense,” said Georgia Blue. “Artie and Oil Drum will dicker about the place. Oil Drum’ll turn our first suggestion down and we’ll reject his alternate proposal. Artie’ll then recommend the place we wanted all along and make it clear that unless Oil Drum agrees, the deal’s off.”

Broach frowned. “That sounds risky. All ultimatums do.”

“Oil Drum’s selling, we’re buying and we have the customer’s leverage. After he finally agrees, we’ll haggle about the time. We’ll suggest eight o’clock and he’ll come back with nine or ten. We’ll let him win because unless he has time to scout out the meeting place, he won’t show and who could blame him for that?”

“Interesting,” Broach said. “Will you be going alone?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s occurred to me that if you don’t go alone, then you’ll have to share this—” He touched the carryall. “— with somebody else.”

“I won’t be going alone,” Georgia Blue said, rose and picked up the carryall.

Broach also rose. “Who’re they sending with you?”

“Durant,” she said. “But he and I won’t be sharing anything.”

She turned then, strode to the door, the carryall in her right hand, opened the door, looked back, smiled and left. Jack Broach judged it to be another perfect exit.

Georgia Blue walked south on the west side of Robertson Boulevard, moving with long quick strides until she came to the rented Ford. She walked with the blue money bag in her left hand, her right one thrust deeply into her new over-the-shoulder Coach purse that contained the .38-caliber revolver she and Overby had bought from Colleen Cullen.

After reaching the Ford, she opened its front curbside door, tossed in the carryall, got quickly into the car, closed the door and locked it. Durant started the engine, glanced over his left shoulder, then pulled out of the metered parking space and asked, “How’d it go?”

“Fine,” she said. “He was very interested in what he called the mechanics.”

“Translated, I’d say that means: are you going alone or with somebody?”

“He also said that if somebody does tag along, I’ll have to share this.” She patted the blue moneybag.

“And you said?”

“I said Durant is coming with me but he and I won’t be sharing anything.”

Durant grinned, then chuckled. She frowned slightly and said, “That must be the first laugh you’ve had in a month.”

“There haven’t been any funny parts until now.”

“Not even when you and the movie star were getting it on?”

He gave her a quick, not quite surprised look. “Were we now?”

“She was obvious about it, even if you weren’t. But then you’ve had years and years of experience. I don’t think anyone else noticed except Otherguy. Anyway, she’s rather nice. I think I like her, although I still can’t believe she’s all that famous.”

“She made it big during the last four or five years.”

“Then perhaps I should go see some of her pictures.”

“You don’t have to go see them anymore,” Durant said. “You can rent them on tape for two or three bucks. Play them at home on a VCR. Microwave your own popcorn. Fast-forward the dull parts.”

“Is that the chief cultural advance I’ve missed?”

“I can’t think of any others,” Durant said.

After that, they drove in silence. Durant took the Robertson Boulevard on-ramp to the Santa Monica Freeway and headed west toward the Pacific Coast Highway. Three minutes later, Georgia Blue broke the silence. “We’d better — never mind.”

“We’d better what?” Durant said.

“I was going to suggest we stop at the Bank of America in Malibu and get some money,” she said. “But then I realized we already have three hundred thousand.” She touched the carryall.

“Money for what?”

“Remember Otherguy telling you about Colleen Cullen and her lie-low bed-and-breakfast inn?”

He nodded. “Topanga Canyon.”

“I think we’d better go rent it for the night. The entire place.”

“How much?”

“She’ll probably ask ten thousand. We’ll offer her five and settle for seventy-five hundred.”

“Where’ll she be when it starts?”

“You haven’t met her, have you?”

“No.”

“When you meet her,” Georgia Blue said, “tell me where you think she should be.”

After riding a bus into Santa Monica, Booth Stallings took a taxi that let him out at the Beverly Hills Budget rental car outlet that specialized in exotic autos. On duty was the same clerk who had rented him the Mercedes 560SEL sedan that Wu and Durant drove. She looked up when he came in, smiled and said, “Hi, there, Mr. Stallings. Don’t tell me somebody went and stole the Mercedes?”

Stallings, remembering that her name was Gloria, decided she still had yet to experience a moment of gloom. He returned her smile and said, “Not yet, Gloria.” He paused then, frowned slightly and said, “What’d you tell me your last name was?”

“I didn’t. But it’s Ransome with an ‘e’ — at your service.”

“Well, Ms. Ransome with an ‘e,’ I need me another car.”

“Business must be good — whatever you guys are doing out there in Malibu.”

“Picture deal,” Stallings said. “A fat one.”

“No kidding? That’s wonderful. So what’ve you got in mind? Just remember we’re talking car now.”

“If you were a few years older, we might be talking Tahoe weekend.”

“I’ve gone out with older guys.”

“To Tahoe?”

“No, but there’s always the first time.”

“Tell you what, Gloria,” Stallings said, leaning on the counter, “after we sign this picture deal, I’m going to treat myself to both a weekend in Tahoe and a new car and probably could use some company.”

“What kind of car?” she asked.

“I’ve been thinking about a Mercedes 500SL.”

“Good Lord! You know how much those things cost?”

“About a hundred thousand. But what I’m more interested in right now is how much they rent for. I thought I’d test-drive one for a few days before deciding anything.”

“Must be some picture deal.”

“Like I said, it’s fat. Real fat.”

“Well, the 500SL rents for four hundred a day but you’ve got to put up a cash deposit.”

“How much?”

“Five thousand.”

“That’s fine. You got one ready to go?”

“Let me check.” She turned to her computer, tapped away for a few moments, studied the screen and said, “You’re in luck. We’ve only got the one and it’s available.”

“You’ve only got one?”

“They’re real expensive and we don’t get all that many calls for it.”

“Is it black?”

She nodded. “You got something against black?”

“No, I was just wondering if it’s the same one a friend of mine rented last New Year’s Eve.”

“Like me to check that for you?”

Stallings gave her his warmest smile. “Only if it’s not any trouble.”