The Gold Coast

69

Sandy hears about the planned attack on LSR from Bob Tompkins, who gives him a call that afternoon. “Good news, Sandy. Raymond is going to give us a hand in the matter of the lost laundry. Our guardian angel is going to have some trouble tomorrow night, at about midnight. One of those accidents that have been happening lately, you know.”

“One of Arthur’s ventures?” Sandy asks.

Brief silence at the other end. “Yeah, but let’s not talk about it in too much detail now. The point is, when the accident happens our guardian angels will have their hands full, and it’ll be on the side opposite our little aquatic problem, so we think surveillance there will be temporarily abandoned. If you’re ready out there, you’ll be able to rescue the laundry you had to put on hold.”

“I don’t know, Bob.” Sandy is frowning to himself. “I don’t like the sound of it, to tell you the truth.”

“We need that laundry, Sandy. And since you put it there, you’ll have the easiest time finding it again.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Come on, Sandy. We didn’t make the mess. In fact, we’re the ones making you the opportunity to get out of it gracefully. Solvently. Just go for a little night boating, cruise in to your beach, collect the laundry, and return. There won’t be a problem tomorrow night, and all will be well.”

Sandy recognizes the threat behind the pleasantry, and in some ways it does sound like a very easy out of a sticky dilemma, which up to this point has only offered him the choice of either big debt, or the permanent loss of his Blacks Cliffs friends (at best). And it does sound like it will go.…

“Okay,” he says unwillingly. “I’ll do it. I’ll need some help, though. My assistant from last time probably won’t be interested.”

“We’ll send someone, along with the keys to a motorboat based in Dana Point. In fact I may come myself.”

“That would be good. What time does this happen?”

“Tomorrow, midnight.”

“All right. And you’ll show when?”

“I’ll give you a call tomorrow morning. Me or a friend will meet you in Dana Point in the evening.”

“All right.”

“Tubular, man. See you then.”

Sandy calls Tash and asks for his help, but as he expected, Tash refuses to have anything to do with it. “It’s stupid, Sandy. You should pass on the whole thing.”

“Can’t afford to.”

This gives Tashi pause, but in the end he still refuses.

Sandy hangs up, sighs, checks his watch. He’s already late for half a dozen appointments, and he’s still got twenty calls to make. In fact he’s going to have to pinball around all day and tomorrow morning to get ready for this rescue operation. No rest for the weary. He lids some Buzz and Pattern Perception, starts tapping out a phone number.

As the line rings he thinks about it.

Now he knows that Jim is working with Arthur, and Arthur is working for Raymond, and that Raymond is pursuing a private vendetta for private purposes—and perhaps making a profit on the side, or so it appears. The shape of the whole setup is clear to him.

But now—now he’s in a situation where he can’t do anything with what he knows. All his detective work was done with the idea that he could tell Jim something Jim didn’t know, help him out, perhaps warn him away from trouble. Tell him what was really going on, so that he wouldn’t continue thinking he was part of some idealistic resistance to the war machine, or whatever he is thinking—so he could get out of it before something went wrong.

Now Sandy can’t do anything of the kind. In fact he has to hope that Jim does a good job of it. “Come through for me, Jimbo.…”