Big fish, p.17
Big Fish, page 17
"I'll take the MAC-10 and a couple of clips," said Altmeyer. "Somebody else take the handguns."
Arthur Paston steadied himself on the railing as he started down the steps. "It's very clever of these people to ship radioactive material clearly labeled. I suppose if we weigh that part of the smoke detector and multiply it by two thousand, someone would be able to tell us the size of the bombs, wouldn't they? Maybe Mr. Cord could do that."
Bucky took a handgun from Rachel and followed her toward the stairs. "I'm not sure we need to know that, Arthur."
Paston was at the foot of the stairs. In the dim light he looked very tall and straight. "You're right, of course. Very early in my life I learned that all intelligent, serious people are obsessed with the specific, with seeing the details clearly. But this is different, isn't it?"
"No," said Rachel. "It isn't. We just have to put off some of the thinking for now."
Altmeyer examined the little submachine gun. "I'll put this in the bag. If anybody has an impulse to destroy anything, please feel free, if it's not noisy."
"No thanks," said Bucky. "I couldn't spoil such a beautiful evening." Rachel walked toward the front door, and Bucky called, "You're not really going to break—"
Rachel spoke over her shoulder. "Don't be silly. I'm just going to see if the time is right for leaving the scene of the crime."
Altmeyer returned from the storeroom with his shopping bag. "How does it look?"
"Just a second. Oh, here it is." She leaned over and peered through the tiny fish-eye lens set in the door. "The street looks good. There are lots of people out there, moving in both directions."
"The theaters must be letting them out about now. Bucky and Rachel go first, and we'll follow. Bucky, do what Rachel does. You go out, and turn right into the crowd. Don't look anybody in the eye, and keep moving, like everybody else."
"We're not going to sneak out the back?"
"It's a waste of time and it's dangerous. What kind of person comes out of an alley at night?"
"The kind who goes shopping with a crowbar."
Rachel stepped out onto the sidewalk and Bucky followed her. Altmeyer had his hand on the door handle and his eye at the peephole, watching the reactions of the people he could see on the street until Rachel and Bucky had taken ten paces and disappeared from his vision. Then he swung the door open and pulled Arthur outside and closed the door. He held the shopping bag in the crook of his left arm as he walked. Paston said quietly, "We seem to have made it." Altmeyer shrugged. "All we really found in there was more to worry about."
"We had to find out what we could."
They turned the comer, and now they could see that Rachel and Bucky were nearly to the car. Altmeyer said, "How much do you have to find out before you figure it's time to dump us and go to the authorities?"
Paston slowed down to stay out of the others' hearing. "My experience with the authorities is that they're slow. When they're dealing with outlandish accusations against a legitimate company they'll be slower."
Altmeyer stopped walking and waited.
Paston spoke with impatience, as though he were reciting. "I know we can't afford to wait for months while the police of several countries are inventing procedures to keep from stepping on each other's toes. Thousands of people might be dead by that time."
"What will it take to get you to make the call?"
Paston scowled. "We don't need to talk about this. Bucky said it. Once you know, there's no way out but forward. If I thought the police would be able to stop this after they had locked us up, I wouldn't need to call them."
Altmeyer studied Paston. "What are you talking about?"
Paston leaned closer. "It pleases you to say you're in this to get your money, but you know there probably never was any money of the sort you could walk away with. You say you can't stop because these people are trying to kill you, but you know that once their weapons are delivered they have nothing to fear from you. If it's time for the police I won't need to call them, because you'll do it."
"You forget who I am. This is what I do for a living."
Paston watched Rachel cHmbing into Bucky's car. "I don't forget anything."
A TELEPHONE RANG somcwherc in the distance, and Rachel listened, trying to find it. The sound seemed to be coming from some other part of the house, past the tall palm trees.
Paston opened a box on the table beside him and lifted a
receiver out of it. "Yes. Oh, hello, Leonard. Bucky and the Altmeyers are here now. All the partners ought to hear this, so I'll switch you to the intercom."
Leonard's amplified voice swept into the room from a speaker somewhere near the bar. "Don't do it yet. Look, I've been checking this deal out from all angles, and none of it looks right. This Altmeyer—"
"I didn't ask you to do any checking there, Leonard," said Paston.
"When you go into a partnership, you'd better know who your partner is. Now don't say anything, just grunt or something if I'm getting through to you. Altmeyer is solvent. He's got a big house in Laurel Canyon that's worth a couple million. He's got a very solid credit rating, the kind that goes with somebody who owns a bank instead of cashing paychecks there. But I can't find any sign of where it all comes from. He and his wife supposedly own this crappy fittle import-export business."
"That may be better than it looks. Let's not worry—"
"Trust me on this, Arthur. I don't have any proof, but this guy isn't what you think he is. He doesn't need a partner for a deal like this any more than you do. He's got to be using you to front the deal for him. Most hkely he's a drug smuggler up to his ass in hundred-dollar bills he has to convert."
"It's probably just inherited."
"Careful, or he'll figure out what we're talking about. I know you said Bucky was with you, but I've got a feefing this guy can cause problems an agent can't get you out of. I knew that sooner or later Bucky's generosity with cocaine was going to turn up some snakes, and this is one of them. This is not a man who inherited anything."
"Not him?"
"Her? I doubt it. I know the last girl who altered your pulse was Marie Dressier, but take a look anyway, and it may stir a dim memory. Women who look like that get rich only after puberty, and most of them do it by marrying men like him. The first time I saw him I knew he was trouble. Look at
his eyes, for Christ's sake. When you brought him in I thought you'd finally hired a bodyguard."
"Ashita."
"Are you even listening? Arthur, if nothing worse happens, some day the IRS is going to stumble on this guy and declare a national holiday. I picked a bank just because they have a branch near his house, and asked if he could cover a movie development deal for half a million, and they didn't have to put me on hold. When they get him, you're going to be on the seven o'clock news."
"I understand. Now I'm going to put you on the intercom." He pushed a button twice, and Leonard's voice changed.
His tone was friendly and informal. "Hello, everyone."
Bucky and Rachel sang, "Hi, Leonard."
"I've got a little more information on Ashita Electronics. First—well, I guess I'd better dispel the suspense. My advice is to forget it. They have a source of capital. They're busy setting up headquarters in six or seven countries. If I were to guess, I'd say somebody already bought a controlling interest."
Altmeyer's voice was low and respectful. "Why, exactly, Leonard?"
"Because there's a change in management style. For years they've built things in Japan and sold them to wholesalers in other countries. All of a sudden they started quietly setting up their own stores in foreign markets. They don't seem to be doing any more business, but they're getting ready for something. It's got to be big, because they're going to a lot of trouble to find prime locations. All the stores are near universities. By the way, you were the one who gave me that lead, and it's a big one."
"It was the UCLA store that made us wonder," said Rachel.
Leonard spoke thoughtfully. "That alone tells you a lot. They've got a mystery product for retail marketing. They're obviously planning to sell it to university students, and hope it turns into a fad. It's such an old pattern that I can hardly believe I didn't catch it."
I
"Don't feel bad," Rachel said. "We just wondered about the locations, but we didn't have a theory. But it looks good, doesn't it?"
"No," said Leonard. "It means everything is wrong. They're investing a lot of money in stores that won't make anything unless the mystery product is a winner. We don't know whether it's going to be the best thing since the Frisbee or a complete failure. What we know is that they already have a partner with risk capital."
"Can you figure out when they plan to introduce this product?" asked Paston. "Maybe we can get in after the first splash while they're wondering if they've made a mistake."
"I doubt it," Leonard said. "Honestly, Arthur. You know I have other reservations about this as it fits into your total financial picture. But this is a separate issue. Whoever is paying the bills has set things up to take a loss for a long time just to have all the licenses and stores ready in advance. They'll introduce the product in one place, then let it hit the magazines. If they can get the hype they want, then it will suddenly appear in the other stores that are set up to sell it."
"Why?" said Rachel. "They're obviously preparing well enough to do it everywhere at once."
"That's no marketing strategy for a small corporation," Leonard said patiently. "People in Minneapolis and Diissel-dorf buy things that somebody convinces them are fashionable in London and Paris. If the product flies in their showcase market, they'll release it in the other places, and probably bump up the price."
"What do you think is the showcase market where they'll introduce this product?" asked Paston.
"All I can do is guess, and my guess is London. It's the first foreign store they opened, which means it's the one they wanted most. London is the place where some of the biggest trends have started over the years, and they even seem to have set up their London outlet as a test market for some of the boring products they sell now."
"What do you mean?" Rachel asked.
"This year's catalog lists a smoke alarm that's available only in the United Kingdom. I'm not saying that proves anything, but it would be a lot easier to run your tests in your home country unless you've got something special in mind. I'm telling you, everything about this looks as though we're seeing phase twelve of a thirteen-phase plan, and not the sort of venture where they take a shot and then go out to look for capital."
"Thanks, Leonard," said Paston. "I'd like you to get Stephanie to set up a trip to London for us. We'll all be going, and I want it to look as innocuous as possible. Maybe the best idea is to set it up as a search for locations. I guess that means I'll bring some cameras, and maybe a tape recorder."
"Arthur, this is not a good idea."
"Thanks, Leonard. Keep in touch." Paston punched the button on the telephone and closed the box on it.
Altmeyer stood up and stretched. "Bucky, would you mind staying here with Arthur tonight and letting us go back to your house alone? We'll try to be here around noon, but don't panic unless you don't see us by ten or eleven at night."
Paston began, "I hope you weren't offended. Leonard is only—"
"Not at all," said Altmeyer, examining Bucky's key chain. "See you tomorrow."
Bucky followed them up the stairs to the door. "What are you going to do?"
Rachel said, "Check on the goats."
Altmeyer lifted the shopping bag at the door and looked inside. "We'll just take a couple of the handguns. Keep the rest of this stuff with you." He handed the bag to Bucky. "Remember to think ahead. If you hear a knock at the door, look for the guy outside the big window before you move." Without waiting for an answer, he followed Rachel outside.
Bucky whispered to the closed door, "Be safe." He turned and walked down the steps slowly, holding the heavy shopping bag at the bottom. When he reached Paston he said, "Do you want one of these?" He held out the bag.
"I hate the things, but I'd better get used to holding one without shooting myself." Paston gingerly lifted one of the pistols by the barrel and stared at it, then glanced at Bucky. "We'll all be here tomorrow night."
"What do you think they're doing?"
Paston shrugged, and studied the gun. "I suppose this thing is loaded."
Bucky reached for it, checked the magazine, then clicked it back into the handgrip. "Yes." He handed it back to Paston. "Do you think we're being fools?"
Paston said, "Altmeyer seems to know what he's doing." He paused for a moment, then added, "What Leonard said about Altmeyer wasn't wrong."
"Leonard doesn't know."
"But he isn't wrong. You have to be very unlucky to meet a worse man than Altmeyer. He's a predator."
"If you feel that way, why are you—"
Paston put the gun on his lap and clasped his hands over it. "People like him win wars."
Altmeyer let the Mercedes coast up the driveway, and the automatic garage door swung open to admit them. When the door closed, Altmeyer glanced at his watch. "Very good. We've got plenty of time to set ourselves up in the bushes behind the koi pond before old Calvin comes to work."
"They're not bushes, they're dwarf spruce trees."
"Whatever. Let's go change our clothes."
Rachel stepped out of the car. "I know, my late-night sneaking ensemble in olive drab. It's a good thing I know what to pack."
"Just be sure it's something that'll keep you warm and dry for a couple of hours."
She paused and studied him across the hood of the car. "That's the sort of thing I'm supposed to say. If we live another year, we'll be like those old couples who never have to talk at all."
•We'U talk to the kids."
She feh the skin of her face tighten, as though she weren't controlling the muscles anymore. There was a false smile there, protecting her from something, and she heard herself say, "Yes, and the adult goats too."
Altmeyer was already opening the door to Bucky's house for her, and she couldn't see his face. She swept past him, as though she could evade his next sentence by outstepping it. Then she uas in the guest bedroom, and she could hear Altmeyer somewhere near Bucky's library. She wondered what he would have said next. He might still be thinking about it, alone in the other room. He might have been tr)ing to tell her something important. It might not have been just another empty remark. Rachel sat on the bed staring at her suitcase, listening for his footsteps. Finally, as her eyes traced the metal strip along the top and settled for the fourth time on the little dent at the comer, she let the moment go.
She opened the suitcase and pulled out a sweat shirt and running shoes, then tied her hair back in a loose braid. As she dressed, she heard Altmeyer walking down the hallway again. "I guess I'm ready to go," she said. 'There's not much point in overdressine for these occasions."
As they walked along the edge of Bucky's patio and stepped on the mosaic near the swimming pool, Rachel thought about the party. That night it had been easier to take the shortcut along the hillside because the flood lamps above the eaves of Bucky's house had lit the path for half the distance. She followed Altmeyer along the hedges and into the weeds. She started watching the ground for the little stone ridge fifty feet before it came. In the 1920s there had been another house farther down the hill, and the little ridge was the remnant of the rock border of a terraced garden. Rachel had always thought of it as an old-fashioned garden of flower bushes that people didn't grow anymore, pink bleeding hearts and white primroses and purple lilacs.
Then they crossed into the thick stand of old eucal)ptus trees that must have been planted to mark the edge of the
original yard, and onto what Rachel thought of as their land. Even though Altmeyer had paid money to somebody to get a deed that said the boundary line was around the middle of the old garden they'd just passed, it had always seemed to Rachel that the real line was where the trees began. Fifteen feet into the grove, the tall chain-link fence that protected the goats meandered among the tall trunks.
Altmeyer was leaning down to work the combination lock on the little gate when she caught up with him. "Can you see well enough?" she whispered.
He nodded, and slowly swung the gate open so she could pass inside. She noticed that he left the lock unclasped on the gate behind them, and it reminded her that they weren't really going home. They might have to run for the gate, and hope that nobody had noticed it there in the trees.
They were careful now not to step on the eucalyptus twigs that stuck out here and there in the litter of fallen leaves. A few more paces, and Rachel set her feet on grass. They moved quickly around the edge of the lawn to the little collection of dwarf spruces she'd planted to shield the koi pond from the hot afternoon sunshine, then huddled together among the thick, dark shapes. Rachel stared across the lawn at the house, and felt cold and lost. It seemed deserted, as though everyone had moved away and died.
The moonlight reflected on the still, flat surface of the koi pond, and staring at it made her feel even colder. As she looked, there was a quick flicker of motion and a brief glimpse of a shining, round shape that rolled on the surface and then disappeared again, leaving only an expanding series of rings that faded before they reached the land. The koi were alive. She closed her eyes and tried to see the image of the fish again. It could have been Robert, the white one with the black splotches. There hadn't been any color, but the gold ones would be pale in this light, too. At least they were alive, and that meant that Calvin had been here every day, and—no, it didn't. Fish could live in the pond for months without anybody feeding them. "Maybe even if everybody did die, and nobody
ever came here again," she began, but then she identified what she had really been thinking and remembered that it wasn't like that. The pond would turn to steam in a thousandth of a second, and the fish in it would be vaporized.
