'Do you?'
For a moment it seemed he was regarding me almost with affection. He was so sure of himself that he was actually beginning to enjoy this. I decided right then that his giant ego was his biggest weakness. He thought he was simply brilliant. A good technique when you've got a suspect in play is to be exactly what the guy wants you to be. He thought I was a moron and no match for his rapid repartee. The dumber he thought I was, the more careless he would become and the more mistakes he was bound to make. I let fifty IQ points I couldn't spare drop out of my head and hit the floor, then fixed him with a smile as dull as my razor.
'Since you obviously are not going to leave me alone until I figure this out for you, let me see if I can help,' he said.
'That would be excellent.'
He looked at his watch. 'You had lunch yet?'
'No, sir.'
'I know a spot near here. Let's go get something and we'll see what I can come up with.'
As we crossed toward the office door, I couldn't resist taking one last shot. 'Guess this means you owe me the hundred dollars.'
Chapter 25
We went to a steakhouse ten blocks from Cartco. The decor was plush. Dark green carpets, dark wood paneling, hunting prints everywhere.
He ordered a beer and a rib eye. I had coffee and a Chinese chicken salad. When the waiter left, Wade's BlackBerry rang. He pulled it out and looked at a text message. I pulled out mine, showed it to him proudly.
'Hey, look at this. We got the same damn phone,' grinning stupidly, as if I thought we could bond over owning identical BlackBerries.
'Phone rocks,' he said distractedly, and started instant messaging.
' 'Cept I can never get the hang of all the new features on this thing,' I complained.
'Read the manual,' still working on his IM.
'Well, I would, but even then I get kinda lost. I'm from the old rotary dial age of communications.'
He looked up over the BlackBerry with a shit-eating grin. 'What are you, about ten years older than me?'
'Little more.'
He held up his BlackBerry. 'This shit's Y-Gen weaponry. Computers, digital information, it's all moving at warp speed. Unless you were born with a PC on your nursery table, you're bound to fall behind. Don't let it haunt you, dude.'
'That's comforting.'
His cell rang again and he answered it. Another text message, but this time I reached over and covered his phone with my hand. 'I think we need to turn that off,' I said gently.
'I'm not used to being told what to do.' He scowled.
'Then I'll try and keep these moments to a minimum.'
He heaved a sigh, turned off the phone, then looked up and said, 'Better?'
'Much.'
What came next was so utterly ridiculous it was hard for me to believe this guy was actually trying to sell it to me.
He leaned forward in his seat and fixed me with a professorial stare. 'Okay, so as long as we're waiting for our food, why don't I put the time to good use and just go ahead and solve your little problem. Explain how people, who have no real connection to one another, could appear in the same numerical sample.'
'Okay.' I smiled. 'But remember, winning this contest in Los Angeles is, by my estimate, about a ten-million- to-one shot.'
'Then this will be a good lesson for you in statistical analysis. In order for you to understand, I'm going to have to start by giving you a short course in probability curves.'
'Hang on a minute. I don't want to miss anything.' I figured this was going to be rich, so I played it for all it was worth. I reached for my notebook, took out my pen, and held it at the ready, looking stupidly down at a blank page. The only thing I didn't do was lick the ink tip.
'A Y-Gen would carry a little DAT recorder for moments like these,' Wade sneered.
'Got one. Can't work it.'
'Okay, so where does Tito Morales live?' he asked.
'Valley Village.'
'The East Valley. But where does he work?'
'Van Nuys Courthouse.'
'West Valley, good. That courthouse, if I recall, is within blocks of where this prize-winning rare was placed out on Sepulveda. Correct?'
'Yeah.'
'Okay, now follow me here. In that West Valley section of town there are what, maybe ten thousand people?'
'Ten, probably less.'
'Exactly. Probably less. But let's keep it to round numbers and say ten so you won't get lost in the math.'
'Good, 'cause I'm horrible with fractions.'
'I kinda knew that.' He smiled condesendingly. 'Okay, ten thousand people. And how many of those ten thousand people in the West Valley would even shop for beer at a 7-Eleven instead of, say, a supermarket or liquor store?'
'Boy, Wade, I just don't know. Don't have a clue.'
'Let's estimate on the high side to keep our sample safe. Let's say half. Say five thousand. You think half the West Valley might shop at a 7-Eleven-type mini-market? Sound fair?'
'Okay.'
'And how many of those five thousand people do you think buy Bud Light beer instead of some other brand?'
'How many? I have no idea.' I tried to sound confused and hopelessly lost.
'It so happens, I can help us there, because as part of my job, I know the company's local market share. It's twenty-two point six. But let's shit-can the two point six and round it off to twenty so it doesn't get too complicated.'
'Good.' I dutifully wrote it down.
'So twenty percent of five thousand is one thousand people who conceivably might buy Bud Light at that particular market in a month. So now we're down from your original, but incorrect, ten million to one figure to a more realistic and vastly more manageable figure of one thousand to one. Still with me?'
'Right.' I was scribbling, and furrowing my brow in tortured thought, giving this arrogant asshole a ride.
'Okay. So we're now saying there are a thousand people who would buy Bud Light in a mini-market in the West Valley,' he said. 'Of that one thousand people, how many do you think would choose to buy a six-pack of beer in that exact store on that exact day?'
'Not very many.'
'Ten?'
'Uh… I don't see how…'
'Stick with me,' he interrupted. 'You think ten people might conceivably buy a six-pack of Bud Light in that market on that day?'
'Maybe.'
'So now we're at ten to one.' He smiled at me. 'Or the real odds on Tito Morales, who worked just up the street, buying that prize package of beer. Not such a big stretch anymore, is it?'
It was complete gobbledy-gook. He must have thought I learned my math from primates.
