Out on the Rim by Ross Thomas

reached Stallings she almost smiled and almost nodded. When her gaze reached Overby it stopped. Nothing changed in her face. But the mutual stare went on long enough, Stallings decided, for her and Overby to catch up on the last few years. The woman then turned abruptly and left the Polo Lounge.
    â€œKnow her?” Stallings said.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œCome on, Otherguy.”
    â€œYou know her?”
    â€œShe’s with Harry Crites.”
    Overby relaxed as a calculating smile wiped away the last vestige of apprehension. “Well,” he said, “what d’you know.” Since it wasn’t a question, Stallings made no reply.
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    Five minutes later Harry Crites came striding into the Polo Lounge followed by the tall woman who now carried a thin black leather attaché case. Harry Crites was wearing a polo shirt, riding breeches and polished boots that nearly reached his knees.
    â€œA polo outfit in the Polo Lounge,” Stallings murmured. “We just lost the edge, Otherguy.”
    Overby’s confident expression hadn’t changed at the sight of Harry Crites, and all he said was, “He forgot his horse.”

    With the tall woman watching his back, Crites reached the table and nodded at Stallings but didn’t offer to shake hands. “Hello, Booth.”
    â€œHarry.”
    Crites turned to Overby. “I hear they call you Otherguy Overby.”
    Overby smiled. “I’ve read some of your poetry, Mr. Crites, and—” He broke off and stopped smiling, as if he’d thought better of what he had been about to say. “Well, never mind.”
    Before Harry Crites could do anything but glower slightly, Stallings said, “Sit down, Harry, and introduce us to your friend. Or did you tell me she’s not exactly a friend?”
    Crites indicated Stallings with a small gesture. “Miss Blue, Mr. Stallings.” She and Stallings nodded at each other. Harry Crites then gave Overby a quick look of disapproval. “You already know him.”
    She nodded at the still seated Overby. “Hello, Otherguy.”
    An unsmiling Overby said, “Georgia.”
    A waiter pulled out a chair and Georgia Blue sat down next to Stallings and across from Overby. Harry Crites took the remaining chair. The waiter passed out menus. Crites automatically handed his to Georgia Blue without a glance and said, “Order for me.” She began reading the menu.
    â€œDidn’t know you played polo, Harry,” said Booth Stallings.
    â€œWhy should you?”
    â€œBeen playing long?”
    â€œTen years. I picked it up down in B.A.”
    Stallings leaned toward Overby. “B.A. is Buenos Aires, Mr. Overby. Mr. Crites was down there a few years back, briefing the generals on internal security techniques.”
    Overby looked at Crites with interest. “Must’ve been like teaching old ducks to swim.”
    Crites aimed a forefinger at Overby but glared at Stallings. “What the fuck’s he?”
    â€œMy guide to the world’s wicked ways.”

    Crites grunted. “From what I hear, he drew the map.”
    The waiter returned to take the orders. Georgia Blue ordered only melon and black coffee for Harry Crites but something more substantial for herself, as did Stallings and Overby. After handing the waiter the menus, she said, “Would you bring the melon right away, please?”
    When the waiter had gone, Overby smiled another too pleasant smile at Crites and said, “Georgia must be quite a Handy Annie to have around.”
    Harry Crites leaned forward, his voice a rasp. “I want you to butt out, Jack. I made a deal with Stallings here. If he wants you along, fine. But I don’t want to hear any more of your crap.”
    Overby added a pleasant nod to his pleasant smile. “Mr. Stallings has retained my services, such as they are, to give him my best counsel. If I decide your project will, one, put him in grave