“Artie’s full of shit then,” Overby said.
A melancholy look spread slowly across Howdy’s knobby face. “I know you, Otherguy. Known you for years. And I know Artie and that fucking Durant. And I know they don’t come cheap and neither do you — and never have done. So what you lads’ve got cooking is something rich and tasty and I think I oughta get my spoonful.”
Overby sighed, stared at the floor for long moments, and then looked up, his eyes brimming with honesty and pure intent.
“Boy, let’s get one thing straight. I’m here to pay you some money. I called you from L.A. and asked you to find Artie and Durant. You did that and I appreciate it. But what I’ve got going is all on spec — except for bare expenses. And that’s all I can offer Wu and Durant: bare expenses plus a slice of some sweet by-and-by. So how many phone calls did you make? Two? Three? Okay. Let’s say three. I’ll pay you one thousand U.S. per call. Three thousand dollars. Now if that’s not more than fair, by God, I don’t know what is.”
Howdy’s face took on a look of utter dejection and wounded pride. “Otherguy, you’re not paying me to pick up the blower and dial some numbers. You’re paying me because I know what numbers to dial and because I run the best fucking message drop between Honolulu and Sydney. So you owe me for unique services, professionally rendered. And if that ain’t worth eight thousand hard cash, I’ll eat my butt.”
“For professional services, I’ll tack on a thousand.”
“Four thousand? That’s a... a professional insult. But because you’re an old customer I’ll drop her to six.”
Again, Overby sighed and again studied the floor. When he at last looked up he said, “By digging into my own pocket, I can go five.” His tone turned cold. “But that’s tapping my own case money.”
“Five, you say?”
“Five.”
“Five it is, then.”
“Okay,” Overby said. “Where’re Artie and Durant?”
“Could I see a bit of the money first, Otherguy?”
Overby bent over and started pulling up the right leg of his jeans. Georgia Blue leaned forward in the chair and reached behind her back, as if to scratch. Boy Howdy walked behind his chrome and plastic desk and opened a drawer.
Taped to Overby’s bare right leg with a strip of Velcro was a fat number ten envelope. He ripped away the Velcro and tossed the envelope onto Howdy’s desk. Howdy grinned, picked up the envelope and looked inside.
“I’ve got their address and phone number right here,” he said, reaching toward the open desk drawer with his right hand.
“Don’t!” Georgia Blue said, snapping the word out.
Boy Howdy looked at her with surprise that could have been either real or pretended. “Don’t what, Miss Sweet Georgia Blue?”
Georgia Blue’s right hand came out from behind her back. In it was the Walther. Boy Howdy’s surprise turned genuine.
“Don’t reach into the drawer,” she said. “Just tell Otherguy what he wants to know and count your money. He’ll phone to confirm Wu and Durant. If you’re not lying, we’ll leave.”
Howdy counted his money first. As he counted it, Overby went behind the desk, reached into the open drawer and brought out a .45-caliber Colt semiautomatic, the 1911 model. He removed the clip, pocketed it and worked the slide, ejecting the round in the chamber. He then put the Colt back into the drawer and the ejected round in his pocket.
“Okay,” Overby said. “Where’re Artie and Durant?”
“The Peninsula,” Howdy said, still counting his money.
“Here or Hong Kong?”
“Here. The number’s—”
“I know the number,” Overby said, picked up the phone, dialed and asked for Mr. Wu. When Artie Wu answered, Overby identified himself and said, “I’m with Boy Howdy, the noted wanker, and we’ve finished our business so I think I’d better drop by and see you and Quincy.” After they agreed on a time, Overby said, “One more thing. I’ve got a surprise for you.” He listened and replied: “It’s not a what, Artie, it’s a her. Georgia Blue... Yeah, you’re right. You had better tell Durant.”
After Overby hung up he turned to give Howdy a bleak look. “We could still take back the five thousand and have you for nothing, Boy.”
Howdy shook his head. “A few years back maybe. But not now. You been away too long, Otherguy. You had yourself an edge once but you went and lost it someplace.”
“And you’re still fucking hopeless,” Overby said as he turned and went to the door. He held it open for Georgia Blue who backed out of the room, her Walther still pointed at Boy Howdy.
When she reached the hall, Howdy said, “I do like my women big, Sweet Georgia Blue.”
She didn’t reply, nor did Overby as he went through the metal door, closing it behind him. Boy Howdy stood behind his desk for several moments, frowning, then picked up the phone and dialed a number. When it was answered, he said, “It’s me and it went about like I said.” He listened to a question and then replied, “Nah, he’s a lamb. It’s Wu and that fucking Durant you gotta keep an eye on.”
Chapter Fourteen
It was past midnight when Artie Wu heard the knock at the door, turned and said, “Let’s get it over with.”
Georgia Blue rose, her hands unconsciously smoothing and tugging at the gaudy Hawaiian shirt she still wore. Head bowed, she walked slowly across the sitting room of the suite in the Peninsula Hotel. Wu and Otherguy Overby watched her, their curiosity evident. Wu was on the couch; Overby in an easy chair. When she reached the door her bowed head came up and both men seemed to relax.
She let her hand rest lightly on the doorknob. The knock came again, two light taps. She gave her lower lip a quick bite, tightened her grasp on the knob and opened the door. Quincy Durant stood in the corridor. It was difficult to tell whether the sight of her shocked or only surprised him.
His eyes reacted first. They blinked twice, quite rapidly, and then his mouth opened, as if there were something he needed to say. But no words came and his mouth spread itself into a wide pleased grin that she thought made him look about six, possibly seven.
Durant said, “Georgia, by God.”
“That’s a silly smile, Durant. It makes you look about six. I was hoping for something older — something that maybe needed a cane.”
Durant ran a hand through his hair. “Like the gray?”
“Not enough of it.”
His smile went away for an instant and then came back, as if taking up permanent residence. “You look almost the same. Except better. I especially like your shirt.”
“Otherguy picked it out.”
“Otherguy. Well. You’re back with him then?”
“I’m his new partner,” Georgia Blue said. “I’m also yours and Artie’s.”
The wide smile slowly went away, an eighth of an inch at a time. “I see.”
“No you don’t,” she said. “But come on in and we’ll explain it.”
After Durant entered and closed the door, he turned to find Georgia Blue standing only a foot or so away. In her eyes and expression was something he interpreted as either a demand or an invitation, so he tilted up her chin with his left hand and put his right arm around her waist. He kissed her then. It was a chaste kiss of the closed-mouth kind that lasted as long as a kiss ever lasts between distant cousins of the opposite sex. Wu and Overby watched with polite detachment.
When the kiss ended, Georgia Blue said, “The fire’s gone out, I see.”
Durant’s right hand patted the Walther that was still stuck down in her jeans. “Must be your extinguisher,” he said.
She reached back and removed the hand. “Years back, Quincy, I had fantasies about you. Real three-in-the-morning S-M stuff that usually ended with my shooting you. But they went away just like cancer sometimes goes away.”