“I told you how we need a pro,” Dortmunder reminded him.
Coming farther into the room, glancing briefly at the television set on which the news had now been followed by a comedy series about a bunch of very healthy and extremely witty teens who all hung out at the same sweet shop, Tom said, “Yeah, I remember. For air. You can’t get air without a pro. But I never hearda air costing seven, eight grand before.”
Getting to her feet, May said, “Nobody’s watching TV.” She sounded faintly annoyed by the fact. Crossing to switch off the set, she said, “Anybody want a beer?”
“I think I’m gonna need one,” Tom said, and he crossed to take May’s seat as she left for the kitchen. His eyebrows still well up on his forehead, he said, “Tell me about this rich air, Al.”
“To begin with,” Dortmunder told him, “we had to find the pro. One we could deal with. So the guy that found the right guy, some fella that Andy knows, he wanted a finder’s fee. Five hundred bucks.”
“To find the pro,” Tom said.
“That’s very cheap, Tom,” Dortmunder assured him. “You got a better way to find the exact right guy we need?”
Tom shook his head, ignoring the question more than agreeing with it. He said, “So this is the exact right guy, is it?”
“Yeah, it is. And he isn’t in it for a piece, just a flat payment in front. We’re getting him for a grand, and that’s very cheap.”
“If you say so, Al,” Tom said. “Inflation, you know? I still can’t believe the prices of things. When I went inside twenty-three years ago, you know how much a steak cost?”
“Tom, I don’t even care,” Dortmunder said, and May came in with two cans of beer. Looking at them, Dortmunder said, “May? Aren’t you having any?”
“Mine’s in the kitchen,” May said. “You two talk business.” And, with a blank smile at them both, she went away to the kitchen again, which was hers once more now that Dortmunder had removed all his books and papers and pencils and pens and pictures from it, stowing the whole mountain of stuff in the bottom dresser drawer in the bedroom.
Tom swallowed beer and said, “So we’re up to fifteen hundred.”
“The rest is equipment and stuff,” Dortmunder told him. “And training.”
Tom frowned at that. “Training?”
“You don’t just go underwater, Tom,” Dortmunder explained.
“I don’t go underwater at all,” Tom said. “That’s up to you and your pal Andy, if that’s what you wanna do.”
“That’s what we want to do,” Dortmunder agreed, not letting a single doubt peek through. “And to do it right,” he went on, “we got to train and learn how it’s done. So we’ll take lessons from this guy, and that’s why I’m practicing with this mouthpiece here, learning to breathe through my mouth. So that costs. And then there’s the air and the tanks and what we wear and the underwater flashlights and all the rope we’re gonna need and lots of other stuff, and it all comes out to seven or eight grand.”
“Expensive,” Tom commented, and drank more beer.
“It’s gotta be expensive,” Dortmunder told him. “This isn’t a place you just walk into, you know.”
Tom said, “What about the little fella with the computer? Any thought outta him?”
“Wally?” Dortmunder made no effort to keep victor’s scorn out of his voice. “He had a lot of great ideas,” he said. “Spaceships. Giant magnets. Giant lasers. Even more expensive than me, Tom.” Shrugging, Dortmunder said, “No matter how we do this, it isn’t gonna be cheap.”
“Oh, I dunno,” Tom said. “Dynamite and life are cheap.”
“We agreed, Tom,” Dortmunder reminded him. “We do it my way first. And we finance from your stash.”
Tom slowly shook his head. “Those lawyers really cleaned me out, Al. I don’t have that much left.”
Dortmunder spread his hands. Tom sat there, brooding, holding his beer, wrestling with the problem. There was nothing more for Dortmunder to say to him—Tom would dope it all out for himself or not—so he put the mouthpiece back in and practiced breathing through his mouth without holding his nose. Underwater, of course, he’d have goggles on that would make a tight seal all around his eyes and nose, so he wouldn’t be able to hold his nostrils shut anyway. He had a practice pair of goggles, in fact, that Doug Berry had loaned him, but he would have felt foolish sitting next to May and wearing goggles to watch television, so they were on the dresser in the bedroom.
“There’s one,” Tom said thoughtfully, “up in the same area.”
“Mlalga,” Dortmunder said, and took the mouthpiece out and said, “Under the reservoir?”
“No no, Al, nearby. One of the towns they didn’t drown. We can go up there tomorrow and get it. Rent another car and drive up.”
“No,” Dortmunder said. “I don’t drive up there again. And no more rentals. I’ll call Andy, he’ll arrange transportation.”
EIGHTEEN
Wally said, “Well, the truth is, Andy, I’m kind of embarrassed.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Andy Kelp agreed, nodding. Seated on the brown Naugahyde sofa in Wally’s cluttered living room, he munched cheese and crackers while Wally sat facing him, frowning in agony. Andy said, “I felt kind of embarrassed, too, Wally. Talking you up to John the way I did. And then we get Zog and all this.”
Wally squirmed. His big wet eyes blinked over and over in discomfort. His little pudgy hands made vague unhappy gestures. He felt very awkward in this whole situation. He said, “Gee, Andy, I think… well, I just think maybe I ought to tell you the truth.”
Andy raised an eyebrow, gazing at him over a cheese-topped cracker. “The truth, Wally?”
Wally hesitated. He hated having to trust his own instincts, particularly when it meant disagreeing with the computer. But on the other hand, this was a computer that didn’t know the difference between Zog and Earth, which was perfectly all right in some applications but kind of a problem in others. So maybe Wally was right to override the computer’s decision this time. On the other other hand, exposing himself to these people was definitely scary. “The warlord has no pity,” the computer had reminded him, more than once.
Did Andy have pity? His eyes seemed very bright, very alert, as he looked at Wally, waiting for the truth, but he didn’t really look—Wally had to admit to himself, reluctantly—what you could call sympathetic. As Wally hesitated, Andy put the cracker and its shipment of cheese back on the plate on the coffee table and said, “What truth was that, Wally?”
So there was nothing for it but to go forward. Wally took a deep breath, swallowed once more, and said, “The treasure is seven hundred thousand dollars in cash stolen from a Securivan armored car in a daring daylight robbery on the New York State Thruway near the North Dudson exit on April twenty-sev—”
Andy, staring at him, said, “What?”
“Tom was one of the robbers,” Wally rushed on, “and he’s been in jail ever since, but not for that, because they never found the people who robbed the armored car.”
Wally, blinking more and more rapidly, sank back in his chair, exhausted. He looked at the plate of cheese and crackers and suddenly desperately wanted to eat all of them; but he was afraid to. He’d have to leave his mouth clear in case he had to talk, in case he had to, for instance, plead for his life. Reluctantly, hesitantly, he looked up away from the food at Andy’s face, and saw him grinning in admiration and astonishment. “Wally!” Andy said in unmistakable pleasure. “How’d you do that?”
Wally gulped and grinned in combined relief and delight. “It was easy,” he said.
“No, come on, Wally,” Andy said. “Don’t be modest. How’d you do it?”
So Wally explained the reasoning he’d worked out with the computer, and then demonstrated his access to the New York Times data bank, and actually brought up the original news item about the armored car robbery, which Andy read with close attention and deep interest, commenting to himself, “Not much finesse there. Just smash and grab.”
“I wanted to tell you so we’d have better communication,” Wally explained, “and better input to help solve the problem. But I was afraid. And the computer advised against.”