Out on the Rim by Ross Thomas Page A

Durant?”
    â€œHe doesn’t much give a shit who he is.”
    â€œWhen’d you meet them?”
    â€œThe fourth of July in sixty-eight, Bangkok. At the Embassy reception.” He paused. “The Ambassador’d invited everybody who even looked American. Even us.”
    â€œWhat were you doing in Bangkok?”
    â€œLooking around. I’d bumped into Wu and Durant and they needed a crimp for a little something they’d decided to play off against the chief of station.”
    â€œThe CIA chief of station?”
    â€œWho else.”
    â€œSo what happened?”
    Overby looked puzzled. “What d’you mean what happened? We ran it and walked away with about sixty-three thousand. That was major money back then, in sixty-eight.”
    â€œAnd what did he do about it?”
    â€œThe chief of station? He ate it. What else could he do? He sure
didn’t go around bragging about the bad case of greed he’d come down with.”
    â€œWere either Wu or Durant ever hooked up to Langley?”
    Overby’s answering shrug was a bit too elaborate to satisfy Stallings. “Is that a maybe yes or a maybe no?”
    â€œArtie says that a couple of times they were maybe unwitting assets. But Durant always says they were half-witted assets and no maybe about it. They moved around a lot and sometimes they just took whatever turned up.”
    â€œWhen’s the last time you worked with them?”
    â€œSeven or eight years ago. We went in on a deal together and we all got well.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œHere. In California.”
    â€œWhat kind of deal?”
    â€œThat’s none of your fucking business, is it?”
    They stared at each other for long moments, each searching for the other’s weakness, only to find there was none. Stallings finally replied to Overby’s question. “No,” he said, “I don’t guess it is. Any of my fucking business.”
    Overby drank some of his beer and said, “Tell me about your deal.”
    â€œAll right.” Stallings was silent for perhaps ten seconds as he edited what he planned to say. “Somebody,” he said, “and I don’t know exactly who, wants to pay me half a million dollars to bribe a Filipino freedom fighter and/or terrorist to come down from the hills and light out for Hong Kong where five million dollars U.S. will be waiting for him. Or so they say.”
    Although Overby’s face and eyes remained calm and even impassive, his nose betrayed him with a long, long sniff as if he suddenly smelled sweet profit. After the sniff came the white, wide and utterly ruthless grin, which Stallings found curiously merry.
    â€œYou need help,” Overby said.

    â€œI know.”
    â€œYou need Wu and Durant.”
    â€œSo it would seem.”
    â€œYou also need me.”
    Stallings raised his eyebrows to register surprise. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
    Overby’s ruthless, merry grin returned. “Like hell.”
    â€œIt’s an interesting notion.”
    â€œWhere’s this freedom fighter and/or terrorist of yours holed up—central Luzon?”
    Stallings shook his head. “Cebu. Know it?”
    Overby’s grin grew even wider. “Lapu-Lapu land. Yeah, I know Cebu. Like my name. Not to get too commercial and all, but what kind of split are we talking about?”
    â€œYou’re negotiating for Wu and Durant now, right?”
    Overby nodded. “For both them and me.”
    â€œI was thinking in the neighborhood of fifty-fifty.”
    Overby’s feigned disappointment took the form of a sorrowful frown. “I think we’d need just a little more taste than that.”
    â€œIt’s take it or leave it, Otherguy.”
    The frown went away and the grin came back. “Well, hell, half of five hundred thousand split three ways, less expenses, is about eighty thousand each, which isn’t bad. Not good, you