He had been a heavy reader of adventure and suspense novels all his
life, and he yearned to be a character like one of those he read about,
especially a character worthy of being a lead in a John D. MacDonald
novel, because John D’s lead characters were as rich in insight as they
were in courage, even as sensitive as they were tough. In his heart Hal
knew that work at Dakota & Dakota was usually as mundane as the day
grind of a gardener, and that the opportunities for heroism in the
security industry were far fewer than they appeared to to outsiders. But
selling a bag of mulch or a can of Specticide or a flat of marigolds,
you couldn’t kid yourself that you were a romantic figure or had any
chance of being one. And, after all, self-image was often the better
part of reality.
“If Frank shows up here,” Hal said,
“what do I do with him?”
“Pack him in a car and take him to Bobby and Julie.”
“You mean their house?”
“No. Santa Barbara. They’re driving up there tonight, staying at the
Red Lion Inn, so tomorrow they can start digging into the Pollard
family’s background.”
Frowning, Hal leaned forward on the reception-lounge sofa.
“Thought you said they don’t figure ever to see Frank again.”
“Bobby says he thinks Frank is coming apart, won’t last through this
latest series of travels. That’s just his feeling.”
“So then who’s their client?”
“Until he fires them, Frank is.”
“Sounds iffy to me. Be straight with me, Clint. What’s really got them
so committed to this one, especially considering how crazy-dangerous it
seems to get, hour by hour?”
“They like Frank. I like Frank.”
“I said be straight.” Clint sighed.
“Damned if I know. Bobby came back here spooked out of his mind. But
he won’t let go of it. You’d think they’d pull in their homes, at least
until Frank shows up again if he does. This brother of his, this Candy,
he sounds like the devil himself, too much for anyone to handle. Bobby
and Julie are stubborn sometimes, but they’re not stupid, and I’d expect
them to let go of this, now that they’ve seen it’s a job big enough for
God, not a private detective. But here we are.”
BOBBY AND JULIE huddled with Lee Chen at the desk, while he shared with
them the information he had thus far obtained.
“The money might be stolen, but it’s spendable,” Lee said.
“I can’t find those serial numbers on any currency hot sheets federal,
state, or local.”
Bobby had already thought of several sources from which Frank might have
obtained the six hundred thousand now in the office safe.
“Find a business with a high cash flow, where they don’t always get to a
bank with the receipts at the end of the day, and you’ve got a potential
target. Say it’s a super market, stays open till midnight, and it’s not
a good idea for a manager to tote a lot of cash to a bank for automatic
deposit. so there’s a safe in the market. After the place closes, you
trans port inside, if you’re Frank, and use whatever other power you
have to open that safe, put the day’s receipts in a grocery bag, and
vanish. You’re not going to find big chunks of cash, a couple hundred
thousand at a time, but you hit three or for markets in an hour, and
you’ve got your haul.”
Evidently Julie had been pondering the same question, she said,
“Casinos. They all have accounting rooms you!” find on the blueprints,
the ones the IRS gets into with a little effort. But they’ve got hidden
rooms, too, where the skim goes Like big walk-in safes. Fort Knox would
envy them. You use whatever minor psychic abilities you have to figure
the location of one of those hidden rooms, teleport in when it’s
deserted and just take what you want.”
“Frank lived in Vegas for a while,”
Bobby said. “Remember I told you about the vacant lot he took me to,
where he’d had ù a house.”
“He wouldn’t be limited to Vegas,” Julie said.