“What caused it seems to me the frightening part. It was just chance—the odds. Every day of the week some freeway in the area is jammed by breakdowns, or something. Today seventeen major accidents occurred all at once just before the busiest time of the day, and at the same time an equipment failure cut off telephone service. We’ve had every one of these problems before, but not all at once.”
“But I’d been told you were asking the governor to apply for federal aid on the grounds that Los Angeles had been hit by a natural disaster.”
“What has hit Los Angeles is a force of nature that is exactly the same as a flood or a fire or an earthquake. It’s the natural law of probability. Given four to five million vehicles traveling on those freeways each day, a certain number of accidents will happen. It was mathematically unlikely that one would happen at each of seventeen major interchanges simultaneously on any given day, but the odds caught up with us. Mathematics is a force of nature too.”
“An interesting idea, but it certainly contradicts some of the tenets of insurance law.”
“All right. I don’t care if the President or anybody else agrees with me philosophically. We’ve got a disaster, and it doesn’t matter what caused it. If this same disaster had been caused in some other way, the federal government would help with the cleanup, emergency loans, and so on. What if it had been something else? A minor earthquake would have about the same results. If this had happened in San Salvador or Mexico City the check would already be in the mail.”
The telephone was already ringing. Porterfield picked up the receiver. “Yes, I heard it. No, it’s only a coincidence. Don’t worry. There are only a certain number of municipal disasters he would think of. It was just a matter of time—you know, the odds.”
PERSONALS
619352. No need for more dramatics. I’ve read the book. Talk to me, and maybe we can start over.
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Jorge Grijalvas opened his fingers and let the page of newspaper float to the desk.
“It means quite a bit, actually. You wanted to ride that silver saddle in the Pasadena parade. Now you’ll be able to afford to buy a horse to put under it. That’ll make you look a lot taller.”
Grijalvas drummed his fingers on the desk. “Mr. Gordon, this is the third time you’ve come to me. In the first instance you graciously allowed me to buy back my own merchandise, recovering some of my losses. The second time I was able to make a telephone call for seventy-five hundred dollars. I’ve enjoyed these transactions, I’ll have to admit, but I’m a busy man. What is it, exactly?”
Chinese Gordon said, “I’ve been having a hard time selling something. My customer agrees to the price, but when the time comes he just doesn’t seem to be able to part with the money.”
“What you’re selling is drugs. Why didn’t you come to me?”
“It’s not drugs.”
“What, then? If it’s worth anything, I’ll buy it.”
“It’s not transferable. I’ve got some evidence about somebody who can’t bear to see it in print and has lots of money. I offered him a perfectly good chance to buy it back, but he set up a trap.”
Grijalvas covered his eyes with his hands and chuckled. Chinese Gordon could see a gold pinky ring with a ruby the size of a pea. “Blackmail. I’m afraid you’ve learned the first lesson, Mr. Gordon. People who have lots of money are seldom the best targets for extortion. They have little to fear from the police, and if necessary lots of money buys lots of professional assistance. It’s a fool’s game.”
Chinese Gordon nodded his head. “That’s about the size of it, Jorge. My customer has so much professional help I don’t know where he gets it all. Sometimes I’m afraid he’ll spend so much just to make his payroll that there won’t be enough left for fools like me.”
“Take my advice and get out of that business. You’ll never see any money, and the richer your target is, the more likely he is to have connections who would be happy to hunt you down and kill you just to do him a favor.”
“I guess you’d know, wouldn’t you?”
“I would know.”
Chinese Gordon stood up and shrugged. “Well, I’ll think about your advice, Jorge. God, I hate to give up on this one, though. I’ve gone to so much trouble already, and all that’s left is taking the money. That’s the hard part, and that’s why I wanted to cut you in for it—you know, lots of money buys lots of professional assistance.”
Grijalvas stared at the newspaper again. “How much professional assistance did you want?”
“Hell, you’d have been able to ride the winner of the Preakness in your parade and have yourself declared Rose Queen besides. The price for handling the payoff is a half million dollars.”
Grijalvas studied Chinese Gordon. This was not a man whose first offer would be more than 10 percent. Who had secrets worth five million? Grijalvas succeeded in keeping the tension out of his voice. “Just who is this person?”
“Well, actually it’s several people, but I’ve decided that the one I want to deal with is this one, because he’s the only one I have a picture of.” Chinese Gordon handed him a black-and-white photograph of a man with graying hair, shaking hands with another man. The photograph had been clipped from a magazine.
“Where did this come from?”
“I cut it out of a kind of newsletter in the library. He works for the National Research Foundation, handing out money to colleges and things.”
Grijalvas smiled. “That sounds like good practice for what you want him to do. What’s his name?”
“John Knox Morrison.”
Grijalvas shook his head. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Gordon. I can’t get involved in this kind of thing. There’s too much risk. A man like that might have called the FBI already, and there are not a few private corporations he could hire that specialize in handling embarrassing situations for wealthy families. But good luck to you.”
“Jorge, I think you’re making a hell of a mistake.”
“I’ve made a safe, prosperous life out of just such mistakes. But if you succeed and find yourself with a large amount of marked money to trade, I’ll be happy to help you out for very advantageous rates.”
When Chinese Gordon climbed into Kepler’s car he was humming “La Cucaracha.”
“Well,” asked Margaret, “will he do it?”
“Of course he’ll do it.” Chinese Gordon peered into the cooler in the back seat and examined Kepler’s supply of beer. “He can’t get to ride Seabiscuit to the moon on the Fourth of July if he doesn’t use some ingenuity.”
“What?”
“He’ll do it.”
THE DIRECTOR STEPPED INTO THE CONFERENCE ROOM, smiling. Pines followed, closing the door behind him, but not before Porterfield saw the two large men taking their posts outside in the hallway. He whispered to Goldschmidt, “Are those two yours?”
Goldschmidt shook his head. “I’ve never seen them before. He doesn’t want professionals. He thinks those football players will do him some good.”
The Director tossed a file on the table, but it landed harder than he’d intended, giving an audible slap and letting a single sheet skitter out and float to the floor. He bent over and picked it up, and when his face reappeared over the edge of the table, the smile was still there. “This will be quick, and you can all go on with your business. Ben, you were right.”
“About?”
“The people who have the Donahue papers are still willing to talk. We’ve still got a chance to salvage this situation. We heard a response to our advertisement last night.”
“Good. How much do we have to give them?”
“They want five million dollars.”
“I’m disappointed in them. They could have gotten twice that. But I’m glad you decided to get it over
