Part 14 (2/2)

”Why?”

”To chop the trail.” I raised an eyebrow. ”You never heard of trail chopping?” Not likely, since I'd just that instant invented it. ”Next I bounced the parcels around. They pa.s.sed through a Delaware sh.e.l.l corporation I own.” Well, in my imagination I do. ”And then to a Texas credit union with a sister bank in Mexico. So ... over the border, down to Costa Rica, then across the South Atlantic to Zimbabwe. Now the beauty of Zimbabwe is their inflation rate is so high that the banks-”

”Just cut to the f.u.c.king chase, Hoverlander. Where did my money get lost?”

”Ah. Well, that would be France. In the end it was a language problem.”

”Language?”

”Yeah, I wrote all the transaction orders in English, and apparently in France these days that's a no-go. They did the same thing with Google. French only, some bulls.h.i.+t. So now all the funds are in impound while I get a language waiver, whatever that is.” I let disgust leak into my voice. ”The f.u.c.king French, right? Anyway, it shouldn't be more than a day or two. France is the final rinse. Next stop Liechtenstein, and your money, all five hundred grand of it, will be nice and clean and fresh.”

”Half a million?”

”Yeah, we did a little better than expected.” Hines looked pleased at this. In his mind, his runaway retirement just got a little more comfy. Maybe ... comfy enough for two?

A chill ran down my spine I don't know how I knew, I just knew. Maybe the faraway look in his eye suggested a picture where he wasn't alone. Or maybe it was just the final cylinder of a complex lock clicking into place in my head. Whatever. In that instant, I flashed on all the times I'd seen Hines with Allie, how he'd deferred to her. I'd thought it was part of their snuke, but suddenly I knew different. He had a crush on her, and his endgame for all this involved Allie running away with him, if not for affection then as a lesser-of-evils alternative to prison. Or death.

A whole different kind of chill ran down my spine. Man, I wanted to run just then. Just ... drop everything, grab Allie, and run. But I knew that was a fool's paradigm. Hines, I now saw, was the whole lethal package: a bent cop trying to shade and fade; plus a vengeful f.u.c.k who wanted to put the hurt on poor Radar; plus, worst, a middle-aged horndog. He wouldn't let go. He'd scorch the earth before he let go. No, the only way out of this thing for me was through it. Spang-blam straight through the middle.

I have to admit that at that moment my confidence wobbled. Since meeting Billy, I had allowed myself to believe that with the prospect of robbing China I could easily lead Hines around by the greed-shaped ring in his nose. Now I wasn't sure. Suppose he just wasn't interested. After all, half a million should be enough to meet any crooked Jake's needs, right? Suppose he gave me forty-eight hours to get my so-called language waiver and then after that, called in his markers? If I gave him the money, he'd kill me to keep me quiet. If I didn't give him the money, he'd just kill me for spite. In his panic, he'd probably kill Allie, too, and anyone else he could think of. I couldn't have that. It was too messy an endgame. Plus too lethal.

So, okay, that meant I had to chum the waters and hope he liked the taste. Really, what else could I do? Time to put Chad Thurston to rest and reveal the formidable tag-team alliance of Billy Yuan and Radar Hoverlander.

”Listen,” I said, ”there's something else I want to talk to you about.”

I slid the grilled cheese sandwich onto a plate and handed it to Hines.

After a moment, he took it.

moire or less.

S omewhere in the bowels of the information technology department of the People's Bank of China, IT manager Zhao Guixian had just received an e-mail. The wording and syntax, plus some esoteric insider's slang, would seek to convince Zhao that the e-mail came from his opposite number in Taiwan's Central Bank of China. In fact, it came from my laptop, but a powerful address emulator (Chuck was right-the Hackmaster did omewhere in the bowels of the information technology department of the People's Bank of China, IT manager Zhao Guixian had just received an e-mail. The wording and syntax, plus some esoteric insider's slang, would seek to convince Zhao that the e-mail came from his opposite number in Taiwan's Central Bank of China. In fact, it came from my laptop, but a powerful address emulator (Chuck was right-the Hackmaster did tricks!) tricks!) said otherwise. The e-mail took pains to couch its intent in circ.u.mlocution, but the gist was this: that certain code cowboys in the Central Bank's IT section had written some skim software, ”just for fun.” Now they were thinking about moving it out of the fun stage and into implementation, but the regulatory atmosphere in Taipei was not conducive (i.e., too nosy), and would Mr. Zhao be interested in speaking to the regulatory atmosphere in Beijing? said otherwise. The e-mail took pains to couch its intent in circ.u.mlocution, but the gist was this: that certain code cowboys in the Central Bank's IT section had written some skim software, ”just for fun.” Now they were thinking about moving it out of the fun stage and into implementation, but the regulatory atmosphere in Taipei was not conducive (i.e., too nosy), and would Mr. Zhao be interested in speaking to the regulatory atmosphere in Beijing?

Billy and I had worked on the pitch day and night for a week. That is, I had worked on the pitch while Billy backstopped my language choices (it turned out that, yes, he was fluent in Mandarin) and also refined the relevant software, which intended to exploit certain bookkeeping lags and inefficiencies-friction, if you will-to grift the smallest fraction from any transaction. Though the amount of each skim was negligible, when you multiplied it by billions of transactions, the sum of the get would be exactly, uhm ... a b.u.t.tload. I, meanwhile, built a moire effect into my pitch. In graphic design, a moire effect is created by two sets of lines or dots imperfectly aligned so that other patterns emerge. Such patterns can be beguiling or distressing, but mostly what they do is occlude: They make things fuzzy. In the grift, a moire effect is a sorting device that presents a pitch to prospective marks in terms that can be interpreted as an offer or a threat, depending on the mark's proclivities and point of view. It's self-selecting in the sense that those who consider it an offer come after it, and those who see it as a threat (those cowering cowards we don't want anyhow) just blow it off. Naturally, I wasn't putting all my eggs in one Zhao-shaped basket. Like every other grift, you separate the qualified leads from the chaff-but you don't want the chaff going around making noise. The moire effect, with its veiled you might be blamed for this you might be blamed for this warning, a.s.sures that relevant whistles go unblown. warning, a.s.sures that relevant whistles go unblown.

If Zhao doesn't respond, then, someone else will. Even a centralized system like a big bank has redundancies, and like every other part of China's bloated bureaucracy, the People's Bank IT department (in both the central branch and its many lucrative regional offices) was top-heavy with earnest wage earners desperate to stay ahead of the nation's rapidly steepening prosperity curve. For some, this meant keeping up with the Jianses in the rush for more appliances, better mopeds, and-G.o.d love them that they dare to dream-two-bedroom apartments. For others, it was the pressure of grease from above. When every palm must be crossed with silver, lest hopes for advancement be dashed, silver is a never-ending need. Now here comes an offer to partake in the nation's national pastime-corruption-cottage-industry style. Accept or decline the offer, that's moire or less up to you. But be sure that if you don't, your brother will, and there's no point in ratting him out because then you'll just be pa.s.sing the benefit up the food chain to someone who, let's face it, is already sucking at the public t.i.t too much as it is.

Thus I put my prospectus out to every midlevel brain boy with access to the big bank's mainframe. Given the size of my target market, I projected that we'd get dozens of positive responses. More than enough for our purpose.

It was Sunday evening-Monday morning in Asia. We had just unleashed the pitch on China and were kicking back, congratulating ourselves on the completion of phase one. Allie had come over to my place, where, for convenience, Billy and I had set up shop. She'd brought Chinese food, which I thought was cliched, but she offered it with ironic intent. Allie, Billy, and I had pa.s.sed pretty quickly through the whole ”I know you like me, but I'm dating him now” thing. To his credit, Billy had taken it in stride, and I thought I understood why, for there's nothing like an involving snuke to take your mind off your thwarted heart.

Mirplo was there, too, trying to interest everyone in a game of shenanigans, which is not the board game you may be thinking of, or the alb.u.m by Green Day, but the grifters' version, where a gang of you invade a public place and at the drop of the code word-”Shenanigans!”-all start acting in some chaotic, random fas.h.i.+on. This can be just for fun or to create a diversion for other endeavors, like shoplifting. Vic wanted to hit the Glendale Galleria, open late for holiday shopping, but I vetoed. Last thing we needed in the middle of a major grift was a misdemeanor theft arrest.

I figured that Hines was watching the house, or having it watched, in which case he'd know that we four were hanging out. Was he cool with that? Hard to say. Having shed the Chad Thurston ident.i.ty, I was now working in diligent open partners.h.i.+p with Yuan, and Hines wouldn't mind that. But what about Allie? If he saw us together, would he a.s.sume she was still playing me, still easing me in? I decided not to give a rat's a.s.s. Allie was with me now for the duration-even if that duration turned out to be only the last ten minutes before police battering rams arrived.

And Detective Constable Scovil? MIA. Completely. Which I found a tad distressing. In terms of personal appearances, this staunch Sheila was 0-for-December-odd for someone who'd previously come on so strong. What gave? Had she bought my mislead so completely that she'd had to bank her fires while confirming up her chain of command that she wasn't inadvertently stepping on another undercover operative's toes? Had she, in short, believed Vic? Impossible. Who believes a Mirplo? But if she'd doubted him, why had she not confronted me? I was still her b.i.t.c.h, right? Or was I? Had she changed the parameters without telling me? While I would feel affronted by such duplicity (what, she didn't trust her b.i.t.c.h to stay b.i.t.c.hed?) I could certainly understand it. She'd want to keep me guessing.

I asked Vic if she'd given him any hint about how she took his news. ”She told me to go f.u.c.k myself,” he said, ”if that's any help.”

It wasn't, not really.

She was a worry, though. All week long, she'd been like a seed stuck in my tooth. What was she up to? Was she really content to let me work without her supervision? Did she really trust me that much? Unlikely.

So then, she was giving me leash, and a whole d.a.m.n lot of it, too.

Why?

Well, on one level you could say that while she didn't trust me, she still might have confidence in me: confidence that, via either the Penny Skim or the Merlin Game, I'd reel in Hines, the fish she wanted to land. But wait a minute, whose word did I have that he was, really, her intended catch?

Hers. Only hers.

I cast my mind back to my first encounter with Scovil, how we'd instantly rubbed each other the wrong way. I hadn't really disliked her, I recalled-just responded to the vibe she'd given off. But where did that vibe come from? Why did she loathe me so? She didn't even know me.

Did she?

Well, did she?

”Hey, Billy,” I asked. ”How far back do you and Scovil go?”

”Years, mate. She recruited me out of prison for her training program.”

”Yeah, that's what she told me,” I mused. ”That was a rather profound act of trust.”

”She said she had my measure. Knew my type. Said if I so much as thought an evil thought, she'd know it.”

”Knew your type, huh? I wonder how.”

”Ah, well, as to that, she's had long experience with the art of the con.”

”As a pract.i.tioner?”

”Nah, mate. Victim.”

My ears p.r.i.c.ked up. ”Go on,” I said.

”Right, well,” said Billy, ”you have to know she was drunk when she told me this, so it could either be true truth or only pub truth, yeh?”

”Understood.”

”It was the night my training program finished.”

”You'd already figured out you were going after the Reserve Bank?”

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