The Great California Game

“Not that word, please,” from Berto Gordino in anguish. “From selected activities, Lovejoy.”

Once a lawyer, I thought.

“— Why, it’s easy to handle. Suppose a Police Commissioner were to bet fifty per cent of the police hack and lost, okay? He’d simply raise his hack. That’s the stake.”

I looked round the table. Bullion prices would be lifted fractionally to provide the losing margin if Melodie lost. Hadn’t she said something about Monsignor O’Cody fiddling the diocesan funds? Politics was Denzie Brandau’s wager—presumably he peddled influence in the time-honoured way, for a price. Charlie Sarpi was a drugs man, Kelly Palumba the real-estate queen, Epsilon the showbiz hacker…

“If the game’s over, what’re we all here for?”

“Because you lost, Lovejoy.”

“I what?”

Nicko smiled. His eyes were miles off now, thank God. “Everybody here pays their losses into the kitty. That kitty’s the stake when we get to LA. For the California Game.”

“Thus getting a share in the New York wager.” Jennie was dying to spiel out a load of figures. I could tell.

“Which I shall bet for us all in —”

“— In the California Game,” I said. “All New York? One bet?”

“He makes it sound unfair,” J.J. said, inventing the wheel with his first-ever try at irony. People chuckled.

Melodie intervened, dear thing. “You see, Lovejoy, we gamble to see who wins here. In New York, see? In Florida, why, they’re doing the same thing. Then there’s four bets come from the Mid-West, six from California, one from Washington…”

“The Game itself’s held yearly, Lovejoy. Each bet’s the product of sectored interests.” Nicko shrugged. “It’s up to each to get the best possible finance behind them. The bigger the stake, the bigger the win.

“What’s the Game? Cards? Roulette?”

Nicko chuckled, hailstones on tin. “The entire loot of the nation, Lovejoy.”

“For twelve months,” Jennie amended. “Shared among us, in proportion as stated. The Game on the Gina was to decide who plays in LA and the total stake.”

I drew breath to ask my one remaining question, but Orly was already sniggering. “Except you, Lovejoy,” he said. “You’re the one here with no share. Yet.”

“Methods, Lovejoy?” Nicko could afford to look all cool. He’d won megamillions. Except now he had to gamble it for higher stakes still.

“I said double Bethune’s stake,” I reminded him calmly. “I meant quadruple.”

He tilted his head Jennie’s way as if interrogatingly. “It’s in ten days, Lovejoy. Nobody could possibly hack so many millions from antiques in so few days.”

“Anybody lend me an aeroplane, please?” I asked, rising. “And I’ll need a bank account — paying-in purposes only.”

“A moment, Lovejoy,” Gina said, but I twisted my hand free.

“I can hear them clearing away the grub out there. I’m starving.” I gave a bright smile down the lines of faces. “Can I get anybody anything… ?”

I just caught Blanche and Chanel wheeling the last trayfuls out, thoughtless cows. They only laughed when I ballocked them about it. You’d think women’d learn, wouldn’t you? It’s a wonder that I’m so patient. I warned them that one day I’d lose my temper altogether, but they only laughed all the more. It’s no good trying to tell women off. They’re like infants, only laugh and think you’re daft.

Somebody inside had come to a decision by the time I returned with my tray. Nicko promised a private jet, two goons, a secretary, and licence to travel.

Nobody mentioned chains, but they’d be there, they’d be there.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

« ^ »

JENNIE was efficiency itself, I’ll give her that.

Thirty lasses came, mostly skilled, beautiful, drivingly ambitious. I picked a small timid bird called Prunella, in specs, clumsy, dressed plain. No wonder the US excels. I didn’t know a hundred words per minute was humanly possible. They all knew computers and could start instantly. I was worn out, told Prunella to start in twenty

“You’ll never regret this, Lovejoy,” she told me with solemnity. “This is my greatest opportunity, travelling secretary. I’ve always been a halfway girl, y’know? Sort of nearly getting there —”

“Prunella,” I said. “Rule one: not much talk.”

“You got it, Lovejoy.”

We were alone in the foyer of the Pennsylvania. “There’s another thing, Prunella. I’ll need certain, er, commercial tasks done in great secrecy. They’ll fall to you.”

She was over the moon. “Economic espionage!” she whispered. “Lovejoy, rely on Prunella!”