“Did you ever double-cross anybody like this before?” he said.
I shook my head. “Never. It’s not good for business.”
“But since they crossed you back in Washington, you figure it’s okay if you cross them this time, right?”
“If you want to go into the morality of it, I guess that’s the way it is.”
“How’re you going to do it?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “It depends upon what kind of a switch they come up with. All I need is a good look at whoever it is that I turn the money over to. When the thief sets up the mechanics of a switch, there’s usually a moment when he’s got to depend on the go-between’s not peeking. Well, I’m going to peek.”
“What if they come up with something so clever that you can’t?”
“Then I’ll have to do something else.”
“What?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You want to know something?” Spivey said.
“Sure.”
“I think you earn your money.”
We sat there in a not uncomfortable silence with our drinks until five o’clock. At two past five the phone still hadn’t rung. “You think they’re going to call?” Spivey said.
“They said they would.”
It rang at three minutes past five. I picked it up on its second ring and said, “Yes?”
“Do you have the money?” the distorted voice said.
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’m going to say this just once so I want you to listen real good. First, get yourself some real heavy fishing line, about thirty or thirty-five feet of it. Second, have the money in something that you can tie the fishing line to. Third, go to the Santa Monica pier at two fifty-five. That’s two fifty-five A.M. Start walking toward the end of the pier. Take your time and go real slow because we’re going to be watching. Go along the pier until you come to the bar and grill called Moby’s Dock. It’s on the left. When you pass Moby’s Dock start counting your paces. Ninety-nine paces past Moby’s Dock there’s a place where the pier sort of juts out. That’s where you lower the fishing line over. We’ll tie the book to it and you can draw it up. Then you tie what you’ve got the money in to the fishing line and lower that. Wait three minutes while we check the money. After that, you can take off. But don’t try anything tricky because there’s going to be somebody between you and where the pier starts and if you try something tricky, you won’t make it back to New York. You got it?”
“I’ve got it,” I said.
The phone went dead. I hung it up and turned toward Spivey. “The Santa Monica pier at three A.M.” I said. “I lower a fishing line over the end and bring up the book. Then I lower the money. It’s nice.”
“Where does that leave you?” he said.
“You mean how am I going to be able to cross them?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I don’t know yet. I probably won’t know until I’m in the middle of it.”
“What if you can’t?”
“Well, if I can’t, I can’t. And then you’ll be out another hundred thousand, but you’ll have the book back, and I won’t make as much money as I’d hoped I would.”
“One other thing,” Spivey said.
“What?”
“What if they decide to cross you again?”
“That thought occurred to me.”
“And?”
“If they try a cross, I’ll put contingency plan number two-A into operation.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said.
Guerriero didn’t show up until six o’clock. He came in carrying a brown paper sack.
“Did you get it?” I said.
He nodded. “I had to go see a couple of people, but I got it.” He handed me the paper sack. I opened the sack and took out a .38 Colt. It looked like a Detective Special. I made sure that it was loaded and then put it on the bedside table.
“Well, what did you decide?” I said.
“Tell me again how much,” he said. “That’s the only part that I like so far.”
“Five thousand dollars,” I said.
“That’s a lot of money.”
“It is indeed.”
“It would pay for a year’s tuition.”
“It would pay for a lot of things. Well?”
“I’ve been trying to rationalize it.”
“And?”
“Well, I think I’ve come up with something.”
“What?”
“If I did it and you paid me five thousand, and I spent it on tuition, then I’d sort of be working my way through college, wouldn’t I?”
“Sure you would,” I said.
I rented a car from the Hertz people. I rented a big Ford LTD because I have this theory that before long all that they will be renting are Honda Civics, and that by renting a big Ford I was actually doing research into what will soon become the nation’s past.
The Ford had power everything and after Guerriero dropped me off at the Hertz place I drove around a while, running the windows up and down, adjusting the seat, and playing with the button that locked the doors. The Ford also had a lot of scat to it and on a quiet street where there didn’t seem to be any kids or cops I jammed the accelerator down to the floor. The Ford took off with a whoosh and by the time I had reached the end of the block I was doing an effortless seventy.
Back at the motel I found Maude Goodwater’s number and dialed it. When she answered on the third ring, I said, “This is Philip St. Ives. You mentioned that we might have dinner sometime. I was wondering if you could make it tonight?”
“Well, I’m not quite sure—”
“There’s been a new ransom demand for the book and the insurance company has agreed to pay it. In fact, there’s a chance that I might get the book back tonight, but I have to eat first. Why don’t you join me?”
There was a silence. Finally she said, “It’s — well, it’s such a surprise, I mean about the book, I don’t know quite what to say.”
“Say you’ll have dinner with me.”
“I’d already decided to do that. The reason I said I wasn’t sure is because I meant I wasn’t sure what I could feed you.”
“I was sort of planning on us going out.”
“I wouldn’t hear of it.” she said. “When I mentioned something about dinner, I meant dinner here. Do you like lamb chops?”
“Very much.”
“Lamb chops it’ll be. Seven or seven-thirty?”
“Fine.”
“I’m dying to hear about the book, but I’ll make myself wait until you get here. My God, I’m excited! I didn’t realize I was so caught up in this thing.”
“I haven’t got it back yet.”
“Don’t tell me any more. You can tell me all about it when you get here.”
“Okay,” I said. “It’ll be about seven-thirty.”
We said good-bye and I hung up the phone and found the L.A. map and studied it until I was pretty sure that I could get to the Santa Monica pier without getting lost. I reached under the pillow and took out the .38 and put it in my jacket pocket. I picked up the cheap attaché case and glanced around the room to see if there was anything that I had forgotten. There didn’t seem to be so I went out to the Ford and locked the attaché case in the trunk.
I took Wilshire out to San Vicente and followed that until I found a hardware store. I went in and bought a length of fishing line and a flashlight. Next door was a liquor store so, remembering my manners, I bought a bottle of red wine and, a couple of doors down, a bunch of flowers.
Back in the Ford, I headed west on San Vicente. Under the coral trees that grew along the strip that divided the boulevard, some serious-faced joggers, hard breathers all, plugged along in their slow and solitary race toward better health.
When San Vicente ended at Ocean Avenue I turned left and drove until I came to Colorado Avenue. I turned right and went up over a viaduct that had a 10 m.p.h. sign on it. On the other side of the viaduct was the broad Santa Monica pier that seemed to stretch a half mile or so out into the ocean.