Arthur Hailey - Overload

"Madam," London said firmly, "I caution you to hang on to that dog or tie it up. I'm a security officer for Golden State Power & Light"-he produced a badge-"and this is Mr. Goldman, a vice president of the company."

"Vice presidents don't impress me," the woman snapped. "My husband knows the president of your company well, and the chairman."

"In that case," Nim told her, "I'm sure he'll appreciate that everyone here today is simply doing his job. You are Mrs. Edgecombe?"

She answered haughtily, "Yes."

"Our Service Department has reported you have an illegal installation across your electric meter."

"If there is, we know nothing about it. My husband's an important orthopedic surgeon, and he's operating today or I'd call him to deal with your impertinence now."

For all the bravado, Nim thought, there was a hint of nervousness in the woman's eyes and voice. London caught it, too "Mrs. Edgecombe," he said, “we want to take photographs of the electric meter and some wires behind it; they lead to a switch in your garage. We'd appreciate it if you'd give us permission."

"And if I won't?"

“Then we'll seek a court order. But I should point out in that case everything will become a matter of public record."

The woman hesitated and Nim wondered if she realized Harry London was largely bluffing. By the time a court order was obtained the evidence could have been destroyed. But the exchange had flustered her. "That won't be necessary," she conceded. "Very well, do what you must, but be quick about it."

"Just one other thing, madam," London said. "When we're finished here, your electricity will be disconnected until the arrears, which our Billing Department will estimate, are paid."

"That's ridiculous! My husband will have plenty to say about that." Mrs. Edgecombe turned away, fastening the dog's leash to a steel ring in the wall. Nim observed that her hands were trembling.

* * *

"Why do they do it-people like that?" Nim posed the question softly, asking it of himself as much as Harry London. They were in London's car, headed once more for the shopping plaza where Nim would retrieve his own car, then drive downtown. He had seen more than enough of Brookside, he decided, and enough of power thievery to grasp truly, for the first time, the size and hydra-beaded nature of the beast.

“There's lots of reasons why they do it," London answered. "Where we’ve just been, and at the other places, too. For one thing, people talk. They like to boast about how smart they are, beating a big outfit like Golden State Power. And while they're talking, others listen, then do the same thing later."

"You think that explains epidemics like we've seen today?"

"It's some pieces in the puzzle."

"And the rest?"

"Some of its crooked tradesmen-the ones I really want to catch. They put the word around that they'll do the meter fixing-at a price. It all sounds easy, and people go along."

Nim said doubtfully, "That still doesn't explain that last place. The wealthy doctor-an orthopedic surgeon, one of the highest paid specialties. And you saw his wife, the house. Why?"

"I'll tell you something I learned as a cop," London said. "Don't let appearances fool you. Plenty of people with big incomes and flashy houses are deep in debt, struggling to stay afloat, to save a buck wherever they can, and not too fussy about bow. I'll bet the same thing's true of this whole place, Brookside. And look at it this way: Not so long ago utility bills didn't amount to much; but now bills are big and getting bigger, so some who wouldn't cheat before, because it wasn't worth it, have changed their minds. The stakes are higher; they'll take the risk."

Nim nodded agreement, adding, "And most public utilities are so huge and impersonal, people don't equate theft of power with other kinds of stealing. They're not as critical-the way they would be about burglary or purse snatching."

"I've done a lot of thinking about that part of it. I believe the whole thing's bigger." London stopped the car while waiting for a traffic light to change. When they were moving again he continued, “The way I see it, most people have decided the system stinks because our politicians are corrupt, in one way or another, so why should ordinary Joes punish themselves by always being honest? Okay, they say, one bunch got flushed out with Watergate, but the new people, who were so damned righteous before they got elected, are doing the same crooked things political payoffs and worse-now that they're in power."

"That's a pretty depressing viewpoint."

"Sure it is," London said. "But it explains a lot that's happening, and not just what we've seen today. I mean the crime explosion, all the way from big crime down to petty larceny. And I'll tell you something else: there are days-this is one-when I wish I was back in the Marines where everything seemed simpler and cleaner."

"It wouldn't now."

London sighed. "Maybe."

"You and your people did a good job today," Nim said.

"We're in a war." Harry London pushed aside his seriousness and grinned.

"Tell your boss-the commander-in-chief-we won a skirmish, and we'll win him some more."

"At the risk of inflating your ego," Ruth Goldman said across the breakfast table, "I'll tell you you were pretty good on TV last night. More coffee?"

"Yes, please." Nim passed his cup. "And thanks."

Ruth lifted the percolator and poured; as always, her movements were easy'

graceful and efficient. She had on an emerald green housecoat in vivid contrast to her neatly combed black hair, and her small, firm breasts were attractively visible as she leaned forward; when Nim and Ruth were courting he had referred to them fondly as "half-pint specials." At this moment her face had the merest trace of makeup, exactly the right amount, complementing a milk-and-roses complexion. No matter how early it was, Ruth always looked naturally impeccable. Nim, who had seen many other women in their morning-after shambles supposed he should be grateful.

It was Wednesday. Almost a week had passed since D-day at Brookside. Because he had been unusually tired-a result of long work hours and pressure over several weeks, culminating in last evening's session in a hot TV studio under lights-Nim had slept late this morning-late. Leah and Benjy had left for an all-day recreation program before he came down, and now he was having a leisurely breakfast with Ruth, something which happened rarely. Nim had already telephoned his office to say he would not be at work until midmorning.

"Leah staved up to watch the Good Evening Show," Ruth said. "Benjy wanted to, but fell asleep. Children aren't apt to say so, but they're both quite proud of you, you know. In fact they idolize you. Whatever you say, it's as if it came from God."

"I like this coffee," Nim said. "Is it a new brand?"

Ruth shook her bead. "It's because you're not drinking it on the run. Did you hear what I said about Leah and Benjy?"

"Yes, and I was thinking about it. I'm proud of the kids too." He chuckled.

"Is this my day for compliments?"

"If you're wondering if I want something from you, I don't. Except I'd like us to have breakfast this way more often."

He said, "I'll work on it." He wondered if Ruth was being especially agreeable because, like himself, she sensed the gap which had been growing between them of late-the gap created by his own indifference and, more recently, by Ruth's mysterious pursuit of some private interest, whatever that might be. Nim tried to remember, but couldn't, when they had last made love. Why was it, he speculated, that a mail could lose sexual interest in his own attractive wife, yet desire other women? He supposed the answer was familiarity, along with an urge for fresh territory, new conquests. Just the same, be thought guiltily, he should do something about sex with Ruth. Perhaps tonight.