Durant knew when to give up. He leaned back in the zebra-striped chair, gazed at something just above Wu’s head and let indifference creep into his voice when he said, “If I know Otherguy and, by God, I should—right after he talked to the Count, he called the twins and offered them imaginary jobs because he damn well knew what Agnes’s reaction would be and exactly what you’d do. He cut himself in.”
Voodoo, Ltd. —30
“True,” Artie Wu said. “But I’m perfectly aware of how Otherguy’s mind works.”
“There’s that,” Durant admitted. “So what happens to Otherguy and Company if we don’t take the Glimm job?”
“We have to take it,” Wu said, paused, then added, “You do realize that?”
After a moment or two, Durant nodded and said, “Okay. I can work with Otherguy and watch him at the same time. And Booth always lends a bit of tone. But you have to sell me on Georgia.”
“I’m not sure I can,” Wu said. “I received a letter from her a few weeks ago. She’s being released from that women’s prison on Luzon.”
“The one in Mandaluyong,” Durant said, then asked, “When?”
Wu looked at the ceiling, as if trying to remember. “Either tomorrow or the day after. Her letter was apparently smuggled out and mailed from San Francisco. Georgia says she’s cut a deal with Aquino’s opposition. They’ve agreed to finagle her release, providing she gives them everything we did in eighty-six that can still embarrass Aquino and friends in the ninety-two elections.”
“Political ammunition,” Durant said.
Wu nodded. “I assume Georgia made up a lot of stuff— enough to secure her release anyway. Her letter asked about jobs, contacts—
anything to help her get reestablished.” He paused. “I didn’t answer the letter.”
“You just hired her instead and sent Booth to Manila with the glad tidings.”
Wu studied his cigar and said, “Maybe I believe in redemption after all. Or want to.”
“Know how I remember Georgia?” Durant asked, his voice again soft and gentle and altogether sinister. “We’re back on that Hong Kong ferry. She’s in her Secret Service half-squat with her piece in that two-handed service grip and aimed right at me. In less than a second she’ll pull the trigger and blow me away. That’s how I remember her—when I remember her at all.”
Wu nodded and blew another smoke ring, but said nothing.
Durant’s voice was back to normal when he said, “Okay. She’s hired.
But don’t ask me to count on her. Ever.”
After two more glum nods, Wu brightened. “What if we teamed her with Booth Stallings?”
“He still stuck on her?”
“I asked Otherguy that,” Wu said. “And just before I caught the train last night, he called back from Amman to give me a message from Booth. The message was, ‘Tell Artie it’s none of his fucking business.’
“
“He’s still stuck on her,” Durant said.
Voodoo, Ltd. —31
Seven
Neither Wu nor Durant displayed any surprise when Enno Glimm arrived for the 2 P.M. meeting accompanied by Jenny Arliss.
Durant merely told Wu, “You’ve already met Jenny,” then introduced him to Glimm. They were all standing in what Glimm had called the pretty little reception room. After the introduction was made, Wu took over and ushered everyone into the office and over to the seven-foot-long oval walnut slab that served as both desk and occasional conference table.
Four small place cards, standing like tents, had been nicely hand-lettered by Miss Belle Hazlitt, Wudu’s office manager, receptionist, secretary, bookkeeper and chief of protocol. Miss Hazlitt, who had insisted on being called that when hired three years before, was neither pretty nor little, as Enno Glimm had guessed, but a handsome, smartly dressed 66 who had spent tbirty-five years doing something either vague or secretive for the Foreign Office until retiring at 62.
She soon grew bored, answered a blind ad in The Times of London for a “flexible perfectionist”—Artie Wu’s phrase—and was hired five minutes into her interview.
Miss Hazlitt cheerfully worked twelve-hour days when necessary or, with equal cheerfulness, did nothing at all for days or even weeks when Wu and Durant were away on business. She passed the idle hours by reading American novels and was particularly fond of those with steamy Deep South backgrounds. Whenever Wudu, Ltd., ran short of funds and couldn’t pay her salary, Miss Hazlitt stayed home, returning to work only after Wu or Durant proved that fresh funds had indeed been banked.
Satisfied that everything in the large office was as it should be, Miss Hazlitt softly closed the door, went to her desk, sat down and picked up a novel about a brokenhearted middle-aged lawyer in Savannah in the 1930s.
Behind each of the place cards were bottles of Evian water and Dortmunder beer with separate glasses for each. Teacups were provided for later, if needed, and ashtrays were placed to the right of each place card, except Durant’s because he no longer smoked. The oval table was covered with a rarely used green baize cloth, one of Miss Hazlitt’s first purchases. Two just-sharpened pencils rested on each of the four unlined notepads.
Voodoo, Ltd. —32
Jenny Arliss seemed more amused than surprised when she found her name on a place card. She looked up at Durant, smiled and said,
“How long’ve you known I was with Help!?”
“Since the day after you picked me up at the Tate. If you play mystery lady again, don’t use your real name.”
“I’ve always thought I lie rather well.”
“You do all right,” Durant said.
After half listening to Arliss and Durant, an obviously impatient Enno Glimm turned to Wu and said, “Can we for Christ sake sit down and get started?”
“Of course,” Wu said, pulled out his own chair and waited for the others to sit. After all were seated, Glimm was on Wu’s right, Jenny Arliss on his left. Wu smiled at Arliss, turned to Glimm and said,
“Suppose you tell us your problem and we’ll tell you what, if anything, we can do about it.”
“I wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t do something.”
“Don’t overestimate us,” Durant said.
“Look,” Glimm said. “My business is never overestimating anybody.
But before we get to me and my problem, I need to ask you guys something.”
“Please,” Artie Wu said.
“What d’you call yourselves? I mean, if somebody says, ‘I take from Voodoo, Limited, the whatchamacallit people,’ that’s not much of a description, especially if you two’re depending on word of mouth.”
“Not much,” Durant agreed.
Glimm frowned at Durant, then turned again to Wu. “And don’t get pissed off at the way I pronounce your company name. That’s what I started calling it and now it just pops out. But let’s get back to what you guys are. I know you’re not private enquiry agents. And your overhead’s too big to be con men. You might be into industrial espionage, but everybody tells me that’s kind of boring. So what do you think you are? High-priced gofers? Noncombatant mercenaries? I classify everybody I meet by occupation and not being able to pigeonhole you two’s giving me the jimjams.”
“The jimjams?” Durant said.
“They’re sort of like the willies.”
“Would you be offended,” Wu said, “if I were to ask where you learned your English?”
“In a minute. I want a job description first.”
“Wudu, Limited,” Wu said slowly, “is a closely held limited liability company that does for others what they cannot do for themselves.”