“I need some more money.”
Stallings nodded. “How much?”
“A couple of thousand. I’ve got one dress, one pair of shoes, and it looks like rain.”
Stallings reached into a pants pocket and brought out a large roll of $100 bills. “I didn’t ask what for; I asked how much.” He counted out twenty $100 bills, paused, counted out five more and handed them to Georgia Blue.
“You’re sweet,” she said.
“Given a choice, I’d rather be sexy than sweet.”
“We’ll see about sexy tonight.”
“Sounds like a real date.”
“It is.”
Stallings rose. “You going into town?”
“Need a lift?” she asked.
“To Santa Monica and Wilshire. That’s where Budget rents its fancy cars.”
“What’re you getting?”
“A Mercedes for Wu and Durant.”
“What happened to their Lincoln?”
“I guess the cops are looking for it by now.”
“Sounds like progress,” Georgia Blue said.
“Yes,” Stallings said, “doesn’t it?”
? ? ?
She dropped him off at Budget’s fancy rental car place that seemed to offer everything from Miatas to Lamborghinis. Ten minutes later she was back in Neiman-Marcus, where she bought a bluish-gray silk and wool suit and a pearl-gray Aquascutum raincoat. The same woman who had sold her the Anne Klein dress wanted to know if she’d ever been a model. When Georgia Blue said she hadn’t, the woman said that was too bad because she could have been big-time. “I mean very big-time.”
Georgia Blue entered the Security Pacific Bank at 11:28 A.M. Three minutes later she was sitting beside the desk of Harold Davidson, who introduced himself as the branch assistant manager. Davidson had a long big-chinned brown face with shrewd dark eyes and a mouth with corners that hooked up at the end, giving him a smile that apparently wouldn’t go away. Although not yet 40, he didn’t have much hair but still had the big gawky frame of a college basketball player who wasn’t quite quick or tall enough for the pros. Davidson helped her off with her raincoat and hung it carefully on a hatrack that held no hats.
Georgia Blue suspected it had never held any.
“London,” Davidson said after she was seated and he had lowered his six feet three inches into his chair.
“London,” she agreed.
“Sort of like London out there today, isn’t it? The rain.”
“I don’t know,” Georgia Blue said. “For the past five years I’ve been Wudu’s permanent representative in Manila.”
“The Philippines,” said Davidson, cocked his head to the left, let his smile grow a little and asked, “Was Wudu by any chance in on the hunt for the missing Marcos billions?”
“Let’s just say I performed various tasks for Mrs. Aquino’s government.”
“And now you’re in L.A.,” Davidson said. “Found yourself some offices yet?”
“No, but we’ve temporarily leased a house in Malibu through a real estate man called Phil Quill, who’ll probably handle our office space.”
“Quill,” Davidson said. “Phil Quill. That somehow rings a bell.”
“He used to play football for Arkansas.’
“All-American, wasn’t he?”
“I don’t follow football.”
Davidson nodded understandingly. “I think you said Jack Broach recommended us.”
“I said he mentioned you.”
“He a client of yours?”
“No. But we’re indirectly doing some work for a client of his, Ione Gamble. I want to emphasize that neither Mr. Broach nor Ms. Gamble
is our client. Our only client in this particular instance is Enno Glimm.”
Davidson was impressed. “The Camaraderie! Glimm?”
Georgia Blue nodded.
Davidson picked up a pen and pulled a notepad closer. “Just what kind of banking services will you be needing,
