82 Desire

to make a few preliminary inquiries—but I think it’s going to come down to the same thing. Getting the right job and getting into a computer.”
    Talba slapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God.”
    “What?”
    “Sure. Sure, I could do that. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.” The scenario was suddenly crystal-clear to her—exactly the way to get the information she wanted. She could bypass Allred altogether.
    On the other hand, his proposition appealed to her. And there was certainly the possibility of her plan backfiring. She could use his job as a dry run and figure out what obstacles she might run into. She said, “When do I start?”
    “Why not now? United uses an agency called Comp-Temps.”
    “They might as well call it Nerds R’ Us.”
    “You got it. Go over to CompTemps and get yourself hired. Just do what they tell you, keep your eyes open, and come by after work.”
    “Hold it. Hold it, Mr. Allred. I’m missing something here. United Oil can’t be their only client. Granted, it’s a big company and there might be quite a few openings there—but what if they send me out on some other job? I mean, when you consider the likelihood—”
    He patted empty space. “Ms. Wallis. Calm down now. When you’re an old beat-up PI with the wrong demographics, you gotta figure out some way to stay in business. I got a mutually beneficial arrangement with a gentleman at CompTemps named L. J. Currie.”
    He sat back smugly, letting her take it in. When she thought she thoroughly had the hang of it, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to be involved with such a scheme. Or more accurately, she was quite sure she did—she simply understood that she wasn’t supposed to want to. She summoned as acid a tone as she could. “How nice for Mr. Currie. Industrial espionage must pay handsomely.”
    “Well, I don’t know about that, but it keeps him out of jail. See, I know a thing or two about Mr. Currie.”
    “And the minute he helped you the first time, you knew something else about him.”
    “There’s more to the information highway than the Internet.”
    Talba went over to Gravier Street, where CompTemps had its offices, resisting the urge to brush off the sleaze like so much lint.
    Within the hour, she was walking into the air-conditioned chambers of United Oil Company, where she was sent to the seventeenth floor to do a job so easy she could perform it in her sleep—setting up new workstations. They had staff people installing the network cabling and routers and printers—pretty much a grunt-work job, but one that had to be supervised by someone who knew the whole system. Cheapo temps like herself could install the software.
    At the end of the day, she went back to Allred’s office, where she found him having a drink and reading the paper, his feet up on his desk.
    “You look like something out of an old movie. Real old.”
    He gave her a half grin. “I try. Drink, Ms. Wallis?”
    “No thanks.”
    Allred took his feet off the desk and sat up in his chair, acting more businesslike. “What department they put you in?”
    “Acquisitions and Property.”
    “Ho!” It was an exclamation almost of disbelief. He struck the table as he said it. “Currie’s gone and outdone himself. Who you workin’ for?”
    “With, Mr. Allred, with. I’m working with a brother and a white man who are in exceptionally crabby moods because they’re software designers who got pulled off their current fascinating assignments to do stupid tech work.”
    “A brother. Well, well, well. Better and better. Were you nice to Mr. Brother?”
    “Aka Mr. Robert Tyson, no relation to Mike.” Talba crossed her fingers. “We’re like that.” In fact, it had occurred to her that, once she found the Pill Man, she might want a cushy job designing software at United Oil, and Mr. Robert Tyson might be just the person to help her. She’d spent a good part of the day buddying up to him. He was nice, he was smart, he was pissed off because he couldn’t get no respect, and she was all sympathy. Allred said, “The guy we’re interested in is Russell Fortier. I think he might be in your department.”
    “I’m not sure, but I might have heard the name. He’s a muck-a-muck, isn’t he?”
    “I believe his title is manager of property. Think you can locate his office?”
    “Sure.”
    “Take a look at this.” He held up a tiny object. “Hold out your hand.”
    He dropped the object into her palm.
    “Know what it