“Three hundred thousand.”
“Pesos?”
Wu shook his great head sadly. “Dollars.”
“Mother of God,” Cruz whispered. “If you did kill him, they might rule it justifiable homicide.”
“But you’ve already been in touch with the Baguio cops, haven’t you?” Durant said.
Cruz hesitated, then nodded.
“So you know we didn’t.”
“Who do you think did?”
“A guess?” Wu said.
Cruz moved his tailored shoulders in a “why not?” shrug.
“An NPA sparrow team,” Wu said.
The answer made Cruz frown. But then the frown went away and he nodded reluctantly. “Makes sense,” he said. “A little.”
There was a long silence while Lt. Cruz examined Wu, then Durant and then Wu again. “You two,” he said softly, “may be the best liars I’ve come across in years.”
Wu smiled. “I take it that means we can go.”
“But not far.”
“Cebu okay?” Durant asked.
Lt. Cruz bristled. “Cebu! What’s in Cebu?”
“Business,” Durant said. “We still have to eat.”
Lt. Cruz stared at Artie Wu. “Ever been in any of our jails, Mr. Wu?”
“Never.”
“They’re an absolute scandal.”
Wu nodded. “How does one avoid them?”
“One keeps in touch.”
“What if one has nothing to report.”
“Our jails, although horribly overcrowded, can always hold two more.
“We’ll keep in touch,” Wu said.
Durant taped his own chest in the Peninsula Hotel Mercedes that Wu had parked across the street from a big Forbes Park house that flew the West German flag. A uniformed Filipino security guard eyed them suspiciously but didn’t interfere. Wu cut off strips of surgical tape with a pair of scissors and handed them back, one by one, to Durant who sat in the rear with his shirt off. Wu had bought both scissors and tape at the hotel pharmacy at Durant’s request. Durant taped his chest with quick sure movements.
“Cracked?” Wu asked.
“Maybe not.”
“Hurts though?”
“Not like it did.”
“Okay. Let’s hear it.”
Durant looked down at his now taped chest, gave it a light thump, grimaced a little, and started putting his shirt back on. “Emily’s guard was dead when I got there. The door was open. Just a little. I kicked it all the way open and that Big Stoop who bounces for Boy Howdy came through it with a knife. He missed and I got him in the eye with a brass nozzle — one of those garden hose jobs.”
Wu nodded.
“It didn’t bother him much and he tried to kick me in the balls and caught my chest instead. Some kick.”
“Why didn’t he finish you off?”
“Who knows? Maybe nobody told him to.”
“Maybe nobody told him to do Emily either,” Wu said.
“I thought of that.”
“Which is why you didn’t tell Cruz about him.”
Durant nodded.
“We’d better go talk to Boy,” Wu said.
“Let me talk to him.”
“What do I do?” Wu asked.
“You hold him.”
A $100 bill slipped to the bartender bought Wu and Durant the one-long, two-short buzzer code into Boy Howdy’s locked office. Wu rang the code and when the unlocking buzzer sounded he pushed open the metal door and stood there, leaning slightly on his cane and staring at Boy Howdy whose right hand strayed toward the desk drawer that contained the .45 automatic.
“I wouldn’t do that, Boy,” Wu said. “That fucking Durant might not like it.”
“That fucking Durant might rip your face off,” Durant said over Wu’s shoulder.
Boy Howdy’s right hand stopped. “He didn’t kill her,” Howdy said. “She was dead when he got there. The watchman, too.”
Artie Wu strolled into the office and looked around. Durant moved to Wu’s left, not taking his eyes off Howdy. Wu examined the acrylic-on-velvet painting of the fat carabao and the plump tiger. “Anyone ever mention, Boy, that you have what may well be the worst taste in Asia?”
“He didn’t kill her,” Howdy said. “She was dead when Ozzie got there.”
“Ozzie?” Durant said.
“Osmundo,” Howdy explained.
“How is Osmundo?” Durant asked.
“Lost his left eye, didn’t he?” Howdy said. “Blinded him, you did.”
Wu looked around the room and selected a straight-backed chair, the same chair Otherguy Overby had chosen. He sat down, removed his hat, put it on the floor, and folded his hands over the top of his cane. Durant leaned against a wall on the opposite side of the room, his eyes still fixed on Boy Howdy.
“What was Ozzie doing at Mrs. Cariaga’s, Boy?” Durant said.
Howdy made his reply to Wu. “I rent him out, don’t I? I mean, if somebody’s got a bit of cash they want to see inside the bank safe and sound, they rent Ozzie at five hundred pesos per hour. Nobody in his right mind wants to fuck with a giant. So I get a call this A.M., going on noon. A woman. Says she’s Mrs. Cariaga and lives over in Forbes Park. Says she’s going to the airport and wants Ozzie to go with her and make sure she gets on the plane. So I ask what time she wants him and she says half past three and I tell her the price and say he’ll be there.”
“Did you know her husband?” Durant said.
Still looking at Wu, Boy Howdy said, “If his name’s Pat Cariaga, then that’s right, I’ve heard of him. Who hasn’t? But he’s almost three years dead now, isn’t he?”
Wu nodded and leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands that were still folded over the head of his cane. He stared at Boy Howdy with deep interest.
“So Ozzie got there at half past three?” Durant said.
“Right. And there the watchman is in the bushes with his neck broke. So Ozzie goes to the door, finds it open and steps inside. He says hello a couple of times. You know. But nobody says hello back so he looks around. No servants, he says. Not a soul. So he goes to the back of the house and finds her lying there by the bed, stone dead. Well, Ozzie’s not all that quick, is he, but he knows when it’s time to leave.”
Boy Howdy stopped as if waiting for encouragement. When none came, he cleared his throat and continued: “Well, Ozzie hears something then. He hears this car driving in and a bit later somebody running toward the house on the gravel walk and that somebody turns out to be that fucking Durant.”
Howdy turned to stare at Durant for the first time. “So Ozzie does what he does and you do what you do and poor old Ozzie ends up blind in one eye.” Howdy paused for a moment. “He’s thinking maybe you done her and the watchman too. And for all I know, he’s right.”
“Boy,” Artie Wu said.
Howdy looked at him. “What?”
“As I see it, you have three choices. You ever hear of a homicide lieutenant called Cruz?”
“Gildo Cruz? Yeah. Sure. I’ve heard of him.”
“He’s one of your choices. You and Ozzie can talk to him. If you don’t much like that, then I’ll leave you alone with Durant and you can talk to him. He might have a cracked rib or two, but Durant’s pretty steamed. Maybe you can handle him; maybe not. I don’t think so.”
Boy Howdy looked at Durant. “He’s not all that much. I’ve settled worse. A lot worse.”
“Leave me your cane, Artie,” Durant said. “I may want to slice him up a little.”
“As I said,” Wu continued, “Durant’s a bit steamed. He and Mrs. Cariaga were good friends. Very good friends.”
A ribald look began to form in Howdy’s eyes. He opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut when he looked at Durant.