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they could prove the doctor knew about the switch and meter. Or so I was

told."

Nim said skeptically, "Sounds like the old story-there are two kinds of

justice, depending on who you are and whom you know."

"T'hat happens," London agreed. "Saw plenty of it when I was a cop. just

the same, that doctor paid up all the money owing, and we're collecting

from a lot of others, including some more we're prosecuting where there's

strong evidence." He added, "I got some other news, too."

"Such as?"

"All along I've said that in a lot of these theft cases we're dealing with

professionals-people who know how to do good work, then cover it up so our

own company guys have trouble finding it. Also I thought the professionals

might be working in groups, even a single big group. Remember?"

Nim nodded, trying not to be impatient, letting Harry London get to the

point in his own didactic way.

"Well, we got a break. My deputy, Art Romeo, had a tipoff about a

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big office building downtown where current transformers have been tampered

with and the gas system, which beats the -vvhole building, has a massive

illegal shunt. He did some checking and found it's all true. Since then I've

been in there myself-Art recruited a janitor who's working with us; we're

paying him to keep watch. I'm telling you, Nim, this is big-time, and the

job's the slickest I've seen. Without the tipoff Art got, we might never

have found it."

"Where did be get the tip?" Nim had met Art Romeo. He was a sbiftly little

man who looked like a thief himself.

"Let me tell you something," Harry London said. "Never ask a cop that

question-or a Property Protection agent either. A tipster sometimes has a

grudge, mostly he wants money, but either way be has to be protected. You

don't do that by telling a lot of other people his name. I didn't ask Art."

"Okay," Nim conceded. "But if you know the illegal installation is there,

why aren't we moving on it right away?"

"Because then we'd seal up one rathole and close off access to a lot of

others. Let me tell you some of the things we've found out."

Nim said drily, "I was hoping you would."

"The outfit that owns that office building is called Zaco Properties,"

London said. "Zaco has other buildings-apartments, offices, some stores

they lease to supermarkets. And we figure what they've done in one place

they'll try in others, maybe have already. Checking out those other places,

without it being known, is what Art Romeo is working on now. I've pulled

him off everything else."

"You said you're paying the janitor in the first building to keep watch.

What for?"

"When an operation is that big-even stealing-there has to be a checkup

occasionally and adjustments."

"In other words," Nim said, "whoever bypassed those meters is likely to

come back?"

"Right. And when they do, the janitor will tell us. He's an old-timer who

sees most of what goes on. He's already talked a lot; doesn't like the

people he works for; it seems they did him dirt somehow. He says the

original work was done by four men who came well organized for it, on three

occasions, in two well-equipped trucks. What I want are license numbers of

one or both of those trucks, a better description of the men."

It was obvious, Nim thought, that the janitor bad been the original

informant, but he kept the conclusion to himself. "Assuming you get all or

most of the evidence you need," he said, "what then?"

"We bring in the District Attorney's office and the city police. I know who

to contact in both places, and who's reliable and Nvill move fast. Not yet,

though. The fewer people who know what we've uncovered, the better."

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"All right," Nim acknowledged. "It all sounds promising, but remember two

things. Number one, warn your man Romeo to be careful. If this operation

is as big as you say, it can also be dangerous. The other is-keep me

informed of everything that happens."

The Property Protection head gave a wide, cheerful grin. "Yessirl"

Nim had the feeling that Harry London was restraining himself from

snapping off a smart salute.

5

Traditionally, the annual meeting of Golden State Power & Light shareholders

was a sedate, even dull, proceeding. Only two hundred or so of the company's

more than 54oooo shareholders normally attended; most ignored it. All that

the absentees cared about, it seemed, were their regular quarterly

dividends, until now as predictable and reliable as each year's four

seasons.

But not any more.

At 12 noon, two hours before the annual meeting was due to begin, a trickle

of shareholders began presenting credentials and entering the ballroom of

the St. Charles Hotel where seating-to allow for all possible

contingencies-had been provided for about two thousand. By 12:.15 the

trickle had become a flow. At 12:30 it was a flood tide.

Among those arriving, more than half were elderly people, some walking with

the aid of canes, a few on crutches, a half-dozen in wheelchairs. A

majority was not well dressed. A large number bad brought coffee in thermos

bottles and sandwiches on which they lunched while waiting.

The mood of most arrivals was clearly evident; it varied between resentment

and anger. Most were barely polite to GSP & L staff whose job was to check

identifications before allowing admittance to the ball. Some shareholders,

delayed in the process, became belligerent.

By i P.m., with an hour still to go, all two thousand seats were filled,

leaving standing room only, and the influx of arrivals had become even

heavier. The ballroom now presented a babel of noise as countless con-

versations and group discussions proceeded, some heatedly, with partici-

pants raising voices. Occasionally, words and phrases were audible above

the rest.- - __

". . . said it was a safe stock, so we put in our savings and . . . . lousy,

incompetent management .

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". . . all very well for you, I told the guy who came to read the meter,

but what am I supposed to live on-air?"

It * * . bills are high enough, so why not pay a dividend to those who . .

."

. . . bunch of fat cats in the boardroom; what do they care?"

. . . after all, if we sat here and simply refused to leave until . . .

"String the bastards up, I say; they'd soon enough change their . .

The variations and permutations were endless, though a single theme

persisted: GSP & L management was the enemy.

A press table near the front of the hall was already partially occupied and

two reporters were moving around in search of human interest vignettes. A

gray-haired woman in a light green pantsuit was being interviewed. She had

spent four days traveling by bus from Tampa, Florida, "because the bus is

cheapest and I don't have much money left, especially now." She described

how five years ago she quit working as a salesclerk, moved into a

retirement home and, with her modest life savings, bought GSP & L stock. "I

was told it was as safe as a bank. Now my income has stopped, so I have to

move out of the home and I don't know where I'll go." Of her journey to

California: "I couldn't afford to come but I couldn't afford to stay away.

I had to know why these people here are doing this awful thing to me." As

words tumbled out emotionally, a wire service photographer shot close-ups

of her anguish which tomorrow would be displayed in newspapers across the

country.

Only still photographers were being allowed inside the meeting ball. Two TV

crews, encamped in the hotel lobby, bad protested their exclusion to Teresa

Van Buren. She told them, "It was decided that if we let television cameras

in it would turn the annual meeting into a circus."

A TV technican grumbled, "From the looks of things, it's already a circus."

It was Van Buren who was first to signal an alarm when it became evident,

soon after 12:30, that the space and seating reserved would be totally

inadequate. A hastily called conference then took place between GSP & L and

hotel officials. It was agreed to open another hall, about half the size of

the ballroom, where an overflow crowd of fifteen hundred could be

accommodated, proceedings in the main ball to be transmitted there by a

public address system. Soon, a squad of hotel employees was setiing up

chairs in the extra room.

But fresh arrivals quickly objected. "Nuts to that! I'm not sitting in

some second-class outhouse," a heavyset, red-faced woman insisted

loudly. "I'm a stockholder with a right to be at the annual meeting and

that's where I'll be." With one beefy hand she shoved aside an elderly

security guard; the other she used to unfasten a roped-off area, then

marched into the already crowded ballroom. Several others pushed 1 ' - as

t

the guard and followed her. He shrugged helplessly, then replaced the

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rope and tried to direct still more people to the overflow accommodation.

A thin, serious-faced man appealed to Teresa Van Buren. "This is ri-

diculous. I've flown here from New York and I've questions to ask at the

meeting."

"There will be microphones in the second hall," she assured him, and

questions from there will be beard and answered in both halls."

The man looked disgustedly at the milling throng. "Most of these people

are just small stockholders. I represent ten thousand shares."

A voice behind said, "I got twenty, mister, but my rights are as good as

yours."

Eventually both were persuaded to go to the smaller hall.

"He was right about small stockholders," Van Buren observed to Sbarlett

Underhill, who had joined her briefly in the hotel foyer.

The finance vice president nodded. "A lot of the people here own ten

shares or less. Very few have more than a hundred."

Nancy Molineaux: of the California Examiner had also been observing the

influx. She was standing near the other two women.

"You hear that?" Van Buren asked her. "It refutes the charges that we're

a huge, monolithic company. These people you're seeing are the ones who

own it."

Ms. Molineaux said skeptically, "There are plenty of big, wealthy

shareholders, too."

"Not as many as you'd think," Sharlett Underhill injected. "More than

fifty percent of our shareholders are small investors with a bundred

shares or less. And our largest single stockholder is a trust which holds

stock for company employees-it has eight percent of the shares. You'll

find the same thing true of other public utilities."

The reporter seemed unimpressed.

"I haven't seen you, Nancy," Teresa Van Buren said, "since vou wrote that

rotten, unfair piece about Nim Goldman. Did you really have to do that?

Nim's a nice, hard-working guy."

Nancy Molineaux smiled slightly; her voice affected surprise. "You didn't

like that? My editor thought it was great." Unperturbed, she continued

surveying the hotel foyer, then observed, "Golden State Power doesn't

seem able to do anything right. A lot of people here are as unhappy about