Tom and Jerry appeared in the lobby, two runners cut from the same mold: medium height, skinny frame. They wore their hair down over their ears, but not long enough for them to be mistaken for hippies. More like the Beatles. Tom’s was red and Jerry’s was brown. It flopped when they ran.
“Do you want to go to an Italian place?” Tom asked. “Italian food’s good for carbohydrates.”
“There’s one about two blocks from here.” Jerry looked at Drake. “Do you think you can walk that far?”
“I don’t have my cane with me, but I think I can make it.” Drake used an old man’s voice. “If not, you can carry me.” He exaggerated a hobble as they started along the street. Young whippersnappers.
“Congratulations on being in first place.” Melody was trying to direct attention away from Drake.
Fred had posted a typed listing of the teams on a bulletin board in the motel and written down the time of each team so far. Drake and Melody were so far behind that they didn’t even try to figure out how far.
“Thanks,” Tom said. “But we’re only about five minutes ahead of three or four other teams. Not exactly a comfortable lead with so far to go. We’ve had to learn to pace ourselves. A couple of teams tried to break away today, but they ran out of steam and we caught them.”
Jerry nodded. “They underestimate the difficulty of running on sand. It slows you down and takes a lot of energy, something they don’t account for. They think they can run as fast on sand as pavement.”
“I was in the race when you won Boston,” Drake said to Tom. “I was a few hills behind you, however.”
“So was everybody else.” Jerry grinned at his teammate. “He blew them away.”
“Jerry ran under two-thirty in that race,” Tom said.
They were clearly the team to beat. They reached the small restaurant and were seated immediately at a square table for four with a red and white checked plastic tablecloth. It was noisy and friendly. Drake ordered a bottle of beer. Melody had iced tea. Tom and Jerry split a carafe of red wine. Each team had been issued two credit cards for food and incidental expenses.
“How did you two become teammates in this race?” Melody asked.
Tom looked surprised. “I was invited to enter and pick my partner. Jerry and I train together in Redding, so it was a natural. What about you?”
Evasion time. Drake signaled Melody with his eyes. “We didn’t pick each other. Giganticorp picked for us. I guess that’s why we’re in last place.”
Tom looked from one of them to the other. “Didn’t you know each other before?”
How much had Fred let slip? “Only casually. We’d run into each other a few times.”
Jerry laughed. “Run into each other. That’s good. So the beanstalk boys picked you. We call Fred and Peaches and the others the beanstalk boys. Giganticorp-giant-‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’ Get it? You two must have been chosen to add color. A girl and a war hero.”
“I’m not a war hero.”
“We were chosen because we make a good team.” Melody had the look in her eye that Drake knew meant that you better not underestimate her. “If Drake hadn’t been hurt, we’d be doing much better.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Tom said. “I’ve watched you run. You’re the best female runner I’ve seen. And I’ve seen the women who’ve run Boston since they started letting them in.”
Melody picked up male admirers wherever she went. It was obvious that Tom was among that number. Also that she was susceptible to his flattery. Something stirred inside Drake. He tried to squelch it. He’d had his chance and blown it.
Tom looked at Drake. “If you were in top shape I’d be watching over my shoulder for you two.”
“Thanks. Maybe you’ll still have to.”
Drake closed the door of the phone booth located at an intersection in downtown Oceanside, not far from their motel. He had walked back to the motel with the others. After they had said goodnight to Tom and Jerry, he had told Melody what he was going to do.
He had decided against making the call from the motel room. Years of covert operations had taught him that if you didn’t want other people to find out what you were doing, you shouldn’t leave a trail, however faint. With the phone booth door closed, nobody would hear him, especially with the traffic noise. He kept his hand over his mouth on the off chance that somebody might be watching through a pair of binoculars and trying to read his lips.
He lifted the black receiver and dialed zero.
“Operator.”
“I’d like to make a collect call to…” Drake gave the long distance number to the operator. When she asked for his name, he said, “Drake.”
He heard various noises while the operator put through the call and then the sound of a ringing telephone. He hoped Blade would be home.
After half a dozen rings the operator said, “Nobody is answering.”
“Let it ring a few more times.”
After about the eighth ring Drake heard the sound of the phone being answered with a brusque hello.
“I have a collect call from a Mr. Drake. Will you accept the charge?”
“Drake? Who does that bastard think he is?”
“Will you accept the charge, sir?”
“All right, all right, put him on.”
“Go ahead, Mr. Drake.”
“You took long enough to answer the phone.”
“What do you mean by calling me collect?”
“Relax. I’ll pay for it. I’m calling from a phone booth.”
“Yeah, just like you paid for all those drinks you owe me. It’ll be a cold day in hell… Speaking of hell, where the hell are you?”
“California.”
“Since you flunked geography you wouldn’t know that there’s a three-hour time difference.”
“You never go to bed before midnight, unless you’ve suddenly gotten senile. I need your help.”
“That’s not new. I bailed you out your whole career. What’s the matter now?”
“I’m in a race called Running California. You ever hear of it?”
“Not a chance. It sounds crazy, just like you.”
“It’s being sponsored by a privately owned company called Giganticorp.”
“I have a vague hit on that one. I think they supply military products to the government.”
“I need more information on them and their CEO, Casey Messinger. He just announced he’s running for senator from California?”
“You mean in nineteen seventy? That’s more than a year away.”
Drake heard a woman’s voice in the background asking who was on the phone.
“Did you get married?”
“Hell no.”
“Another thing. Somebody-or some group-may be betting on Running California.” Drake filled him in quickly on the details, not mentioning the note or the demands. “I need any information you can give me on that.”
“When I find out something-if I find out something-where can I reach you?”
“I’ll have to call you. We’re on the move.”
“I supposed you’ll call collect.”
“Probably. Oh, and there’s one more thing. Do you remember Melody?”
“How could I forget that babe? Although what she saw in you I’ll never know.”
“She’s in the race. She’s been having trouble reaching her mother in England, and she’s worried about her. Do you think you could have an agent check up on her?”
“I’ll see what I can do. Give me her mother’s address.”
Drake did that. “Thanks for the help. I owe you one.”
“You owe me more than you can ever repay.”
“Say hello to your squeeze for me.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
