“Is he in?”
“He usually gets in around nine-thirty.”
“Maybe you could give me a hint. Is Mr. Corrigan happy with your present bank?”
“I guess so. Sure.”
“Bank of America, right?”
“Security Pacific.”
“The one on Wilshire just off Doheny?”
“The one just off La Cienega.”
“Thanks very much. I’ll try Mr. Corrigan later.”
She used GTE information to get the Security Pacific branch phone number. Her call was answered by a recorded actor’s voice that started giving her instructions about which numbers to tap if she wanted to know her checking account balance. Georgia Blue broke the
connection and called GTE information again. After lowering her cold Secret Service tone to freezing, she told the operator she wanted to speak to a human voice, not a recorded one, at the Security Pacific branch. The operator gave her a different number.
When it was answered by a live female voice, Georgia Blue said, “I’d like to speak to one of your new business officers about opening a commercial account in the mid six figures.”
She was quickly transferred to a Mr. Davidson, who wanted to know how he could be of assistance.
“This is Georgia Blue. I’m vice-president of Wudu, Limited, an American-owned, London-based consulting firm. We’re in the process of opening our L.A. Branch and we’re looking for a bank. One of your customers mentioned yours.”
“Which customer?”
“Jack Broach.”
There was a slight hesitation before Davidson said, “I see. Is your company also in the entertainment business, Ms. Blue?”
“Good God, no. We’re security consultants and awfully good at putting an end to chain-store shoplifting and such. But our real specialty is designing programs to prevent industrial espionage.”
“How do you spell Wudu?”
Georgia Blue spelled it and added, “Our address in London is Eight Bruton Street, Berkeley Square, London west one. We bank with both Westminster and Barclays. Our initial deposit with you would be a quarter of a million. Sorry, that’s pounds, not dollars.”
Davidson’s tone grew noticeably warmer when he said, “I’m sure we can provide what you need. Like to drop by this afternoon?”
“This morning’s better for me.”
“What time?”
Georgia Blue looked at her $36 watch. It read1 9:22.””Eleven-thirty?”
“See you then,” Davidson said.
Only Booth Stallings was in the living room when Georgia Blue entered it seven minutes later. He was reading the editorial page of the Los Angeles Times but looked up and offered her the hard-news section.
She shook her head and said, “I don’t know the players.”
“Same old crowd.”
“How goes the war?”
“We’re being brave. They’re being cowardly.”
“That’s good. What’s it about?”
Stallings looked at her but she seemed genuinely curious. “Some say oil,” he said. “Others say it’s about stopping naked aggression and restoring democracy in Kuwait.”
“Since when was Kuwait a democracy?”
“Since the war started.”
“How long will it last?”
“Until the first or second week in March. This country can’t stomach a long ground war with lots of dead American kids. So we’ll get it over with, pack up and go home, have ourselves a nice patriotic orgy and leave the Middle East pretty much like we found it—except for a bunch of dead Iraqis.”
Georgia Blue seemed to tire of the war talk because she glanced around the room and asked, “Where is everybody?”
“Wu and Durant went off to track down the guy who drove that limo.
Otherguy’s off on Otherguy business.”
“And you?”
“I’m in reserve.”
