Ross Thomas - Chinaman’s Chance

“And everybody got rich, huh?” Wu said.

“Well, they say that some of ’em did, and I know for a fact that Gyp Lucas got out of there with at least two hundred grand in emeralds that he traded fifteen first-class seats to Paris for. But all I managed to score was a little walking-around money. Well, after all that I went to Singapore for a while, but that’s been turned into a fucking YMCA, so I left there and tried Hong Kong, but you gotta be a goddamn millionaire to live there now, so I went back to Manila, which ain’t much better, but at least it’s where I belong, and that’s where I heard about Pelican Bay.”

“Who’d you hear it from?” Wu said.

“Billy Prospect.”

Durant grinned. “What’s Billy got going, his pirate-picture scam?”

“Yeah. I figured it’s the same fucking deal he pulled off in Ceylon two years ago, although this time he was trying to get Manila to put up the development money. Anyway, Billy showed up carrying this script around and it looked to me like it had the same old coffee rings on it. Of course Ceylon’s still looking for Billy and that two hundred and fifty thousand they advanced him, but he figures that maybe Manila hasn’t heard about that. So anyway, we were sitting in Boy Howdy’s place out on Mapa Boulevard, and Billy, who’s just in from L.A., starts telling me about Pelican Bay. He tells me money’s lying around in the streets.”

“What kind of money?” Durant said.

“Billy’s kind.”

Wu examined his cigar again. “What do you have to do to get it?”

“You have to do what you always have to do,” Overby said. “You have to see the man.”

“Did Billy say who the man was?”

Overby nodded. “Reginald Simms, and nobody ever calls him Reggie. Not even Billy. Well, Billy paints me this picture and it sounds so good that I flew in here a couple of months ago.”

Durant looked around the shabby apartment. Overby caught the look. “That’s right,” he said. “I ain’t quite got rich.”

“What happened?”

Overby thought about it for a moment. “Well, you know how I am. I’m not bragging, but usually I can fly into a town at nine in the morning and by noon I can tell you what the Mayor’s taking for his piles. You guys know that.”

Wu knocked half an inch of ash from his cigar. “We know how wonderful you are, Otherguy. Just tell us what happened.”

“Well, I got here and I nosed around a little, but I didn’t turn up anything interesting, so I decided to go see this guy Simms and tell him that I’m ready to help him pick up some of the loose change that’s supposed to be lying around in the streets. Well, Simms has got the whole fifteenth floor of the Ransom Tower here. But I don’t get in to see him. All I get to see is Simms’s assistant, a real smooth number called Chuck West. So this guy West goes through a whole rigamarole which is sort of the fine print, if you know what I mean. Then we get to the bottom line, which is if I wanta talk to Simms about doing a little business it’s gonna cost me ten thousand bucks just to talk. Well, I tell Chuck baby that although I’m sure it’s just one hell of a fine offer, I’d like to think it over. And that’s what I’ve been doing ever since — thinking it over.”

“That’s all?” Durant said.

“Well, I’ve been nosing around here and there.”

“And you’ve turned up what?”

“That they had an election here last November.”

“They had one all over the country.”

“Not like they had here. They dumped a majority of the old city council here, and the first thing the new one did was fire the city manager and the police chief and bring in Simms as sort of an industrial-civic consultant. At least, that’s what the newspaper here calls him when it mentions him at all, which it don’t hardly ever do.”

“Where’s Simms from?” Durant said.

“Back East, although nobody seems to know for sure. At least, he’s supposed to have a lot of connections back there.”

Wu blew a smoke ring. “After Simms got here — what happened?”

“Well, the first thing he did was find ’em a new city manager. He found ’em this guy who’d been fired off his last job, some place in Idaho — Boise, I think — for being a lush. And he ain’t no reformed lush, either. Then Simms brought in the new police chief, a guy named Ploughman who’s from Jersey. Well, I don’t have anything better going so I do a little checking on Ploughman, and it turns out he’s had a touch of trouble with a grand jury back in Jersey, if you know what I mean.”

“Well,” Durant said.

“You getting the picture?”

Wu smiled. “As you said, Otherguy, it sounds ripe.”

“It gets better.”

“How?”

“Well, the first thing I always do when I hit a cold town is try to get in right with a reporter. I try to find the kind who covers either the police or politics. I especially try to find one who’s maybe fifty years old and making two-fifty, three hundred a week and who’s just woke up to the fact that he ain’t never gonna win any Pulitzer Prize like everybody said he was when he was editing the college paper back in ’49. Well, you find a guy like that and buy him a good steak and all he can drink and you can learn a lot. So I found one. A guy called Herb Conroy. And one night he’s had his thirteen dollar steak and his twenty-two-dollar bottle of wine and is working on his fifth or sixth drink and I bring up Simms and the police chief and the city manager and ask him how come I haven’t read anything nasty about ’em in the Times-Bulletin, which is the rag he works for. Then I go on to tell him that if he doesn’t know anything real juicy about ’em I’d be glad to drop a couple of hints in his lap, at least about the police chief and the city manager, which I dug up all by myself with just two or three long-distance calls.”

“So what did he say?” Durant asked.

Overby shook his head in a kind of wonder. “Well, he started crying. So, shit, you know how you feel when you have to sit there and watch a fifty-year-old man start bawling in public. You sorta squirm around and see if anybody’s noticing, and of course, everybody is, and, Christ, well, it makes you embarrassed.”

“Why was he crying?” Durant said.

“That’s what I asked him. I sorta patted him on the arm and gave him my handkerchief, and he went and blew his nose in it and then started apologizing all over the place. And then, in between sniffs, he tells me how he’s been a reporter on the Times-Bulletin for twenty-five years; in fact, it’s the only job he’s ever had, although if it hadn’t been for his mother-in-law, who lives with him and his wife and who won’t leave California, he could’ve been working for The New York Times or The Washington Post, or UPI anyway. Well, I don’t know how many times I’ve heard that story. All these fucking reporters claim that the only reason they’re not all dressed up in trench coats and reporting from Paris or some place on the six-thirty news is because they’ve always refused to kiss ass. Anyway, I buy him another drink, which he sure as shit don’t need, and he starts telling me that he don’t need me to tell him about what’s going on in his town.” Overby thought about what he had just said. “You follow me?”

“Sure,” Wu said.

“So I say what do you mean, and he says he knows all I’ve told him about the police chief and the city manager and more besides. And that if I don’t understand why I’m not reading it in the paper, then maybe I’d better do a little more checking and see who really owns the fucking paper. Well, by now he’s mad. You know how drunks get. He’s mad at me, and he’s mad at himself for not living in Georgetown and having Kissinger over for dinner every week, and he’s mad at his mother-in-law and his wife and God knows who-all. Himself mostly, I guess. Well, I figure if I get another drink or two in him he’ll really turn confidential, you understand what I mean?”