Part 18 (2/2)

”I'm just wondering what it'll take to buy us out of this. I mean, you know that you have to run, right?”

”Well, obviously.”

”You'll never see the Penny Skim. And the Merlin Game, that's gone, too.”

”I have my own resources.”

”I'm sure you do,” I said. ”But wouldn't, say, a hundred thousand, cash, improve the picture?”

Hines squatted down beside me. ”And where would I find this windfall?” he asked. ”Tucked inside your BVDs?”

”I have it,” I said. ”Buried back at my place. It's my dash cash.” Okay, so I added a zero. You bait what hooks you've got.

”Your dash cash,” he repeated. ”You have a way with words, bub. I'll give you that.” He thought for a minute. ”Maybe I'll deal,” he said. ”Answer one question first.”

”Shoot,” I said.

”What's your real name?”

I answered without hesitation, ”Radar Hoverlander.”

Hines stood up, accidentally baptizing me with a slosh of gas. ”See, that's the problem,” he said. ”It might be. It might not be. You might have a hundred grand in dash cash buried in your backyard. You might have a dead goldfish.” He shrugged. ”There's just no way for me to know. So we'll do things my way.” He walked back to the Song Serenade. ”And oh, by the way, if you had had been capable of, I don't know, thirty seconds of honesty anywhere along the way, I wouldn't have to kill you now.” been capable of, I don't know, thirty seconds of honesty anywhere along the way, I wouldn't have to kill you now.”

See what I mean?

Anyway, Hines splattered more gas inside the car and this maddened Mirplo to the point of action. He leapt to his feet, but the steel braid connecting him to us flopped him back down. He landed in the snow and mud with a goopy sploosh. Despite everything, I had to laugh.

Hines glared at me. ”What's so funny, funny boy?” Well, that made me laugh even harder. It was a syntax thing. Funny, funny boy Funny, funny boy. That just cracked me up.

I suppose I was becoming hysterical.

But whatever, it was contagious. First Vic got it, as he tried to wipe the mud off himself, but just succeeded in smearing it around. ”I'm a mud man!” he shouted. Next Billy went off, muttering under his breath, ”s.h.i.+rley Temple? s.h.i.+rley b.l.o.o.d.y Temple, mate?” Finally, Allie started, with a chuckle that morphed into a cackle, then unstoppable serial laughter. For no reason I can think of, she flicked some mud at me. It hit me just above the eye and resounded with a soft splat. I fell back melodramatically, as if shot. Thwacking down hard into the mud, I sent up a cratered cascade, much of which landed on Billy.

”Mate!” he howled in protest, and started flinging handfuls of mud at me. I returned fire. Allie and Vic got caught in the blowback, and soon joined in.

Pause for a moment to view this scene from above. Four young grifters are bound together by coils of cable cinched snugly at their waists and wrists. All of their actions are two-handed, and none of them can move far without moving the others. Being good grifters, they have a finely honed understanding that random times call for random actions. Being on the verge of death, they seem to have lost all sense and reason, but that's bluff. They dive on each other, hurl mud, try to stand, fall down, drag each other down, flop around like beached flounders, and generally make idiots of themselves. Off to the side stands an FBI agent with two guns but no clue. Should he fire a warning shot? Into someone's leg, maybe? Just start killing indiscriminately? He'd rather not put bullets into people if he can avoid it. Bad for the evidence trail. He can't understand how people could take so dire a moment and turn it into a mud fight. Maybe he doesn't know how to have fun. Maybe he hasn't grasped what every good grifter knows: that the best offense is a good pretense. Nor does he notice that the fight is developing its own rhythm and cadence. First one grifter is standing, then brought down. Now two are up, now down. Three get to their feet; the other drags them down, reeling them in by the fistful. They're laughing, carrying on, having a wonderful time. The fibbie yells at them to stop. His problem, he's not a whimsical person.

His other problem, he didn't hear someone call shenanigans.

We were Brownian motion, a Heisenberg uncertainty principle, bouncing and jouncing and flinging mud like chimpanzee dung. Some hurled insults with the mud. Vic seemed to have had enough of Billy's mockery. Allie aspersed my manhood. Me, I just sang. Hines thought we were nuts. It made him lower his guard.

Our random movements finally brought all four of us to our feet at the same time.

That's when we rushed him.

It was a clumsy charge, not exactly a pro blitz, but it had its desired effect. In a second we had him face down in the guck, with the weight of four bodies and a considerable quant.i.ty of mud holding him there. I saw one gun go flying, but the other was ... where? Underneath him? Lost in the mud? And where was the key to the padlock? In his pocket, I supposed, but how to get at it without maybe giving him the chance to gun someone down? It was an odd little impa.s.se. One that I apparently could have bought myself out of with thirty seconds of plain honesty somewhere back down the line, but the next sound you hear will be the barn door slamming behind that particular cow. I didn't even have the Hackmaster, which meant I'd lost my leverage. I supposed I could vamp about backup files on hidden hard drives, but see above: barn door; cow.

I was starting to think that honesty was a surprisingly powerful card, and one I should really try to play more often.

”So what do we do now?” asked Vic. ”Just lie here till we all freeze?”

”That could take a while,” a voice said. ”Maybe I'll just put everyone out of their misery now.”

I looked left, and there were the no-nonsense black boots of Detective Constable Claire Scovil. She bent into my field of vision and scooped Hines's pistol from the muck. ”Let's see ...” she said, brus.h.i.+ng off the snow and mud, ”Milval's gun. Milval's bullets ... I'm thinking murder-suicide,” she said. ”How does everyone fancy that?”

the hot tub of truth.

I 'm saying I didn't fancy it at all. All my life I've tried to (well, had to) hold on to things fairly loosely. Homes, cars, possessions of all kinds. The way grifters roll, they need to be ready to drop everything and run. I thought I held on to life the same loose way. It was a fine party and all-the best I ever crashed-but every party ends, and anyone who doesn't acknowledge this is just not being realistic. You can fantasize that you're immortal. You can hold out the hope of heaven, if you like. Me, I was always just 'm saying I didn't fancy it at all. All my life I've tried to (well, had to) hold on to things fairly loosely. Homes, cars, possessions of all kinds. The way grifters roll, they need to be ready to drop everything and run. I thought I held on to life the same loose way. It was a fine party and all-the best I ever crashed-but every party ends, and anyone who doesn't acknowledge this is just not being realistic. You can fantasize that you're immortal. You can hold out the hope of heaven, if you like. Me, I was always just enjoy the ride, and turn in your ticket when you're done enjoy the ride, and turn in your ticket when you're done. But finally staring death in the face-or from this p.r.o.ne perspective, staring it in the chunky Doc Martens-I found that I wasn't holding on so loosely any more. Why the change of heart? My something to lose, of course, sprawled there beside me in the mud. Having finally found love, I would be royally p.i.s.sed off not to get to enjoy it and cherish it for the next sixty or seventy years.

Want to hear something really weird? Much as I couldn't bear the thought of me dying and her living, I couldn't bear the thought of me living and her dying even more.

n.o.bility from a grifter? A genuinely selfless act? It was beginning to look that way-if I could pull it off. could pull it off.

I tried to roll over, but I was all cabled up against Billy's back and couldn't gain leverage. The mud caked on my face was starting to harden. I felt like Quest for Fire Quest for Fire. ”Claire,” I said into Billy's shoulder blades, ”you don't have to kill us all. Just kill me. I'm the one you want, right?”

Scovil settled down on her haunches and brought her eyes level with mine. ”n.o.bility, Radar? Really?” See? She didn't buy it either.

”It happens,” I said, trying but failing to shrug. ”People change.” She just shook her head. ”Anyway, what about the money? Don't you want that, too?”

”Honey, I want it all. But first I want an explanation.” She thwacked Billy on the nose. ”Mate. Why was I knocked out for two hours, and why do I have such a headache?”

”Ah, that would be the flunitrazepam,” he said.

”The what?”

”Roofies. Surprisingly easy to get in this country.” He had that right. At the Blue Magoon, they practically sell them over the counter. ”You're right lucky I only gave you a half dose.”

”Thanks for that. I'll only kill you half dead.”

”It was my idea,” I chimed in.

”More n.o.blesse, Hoverlander? What are you, applying for sainthood?”

”Nah, mate mate. I'm just trying to buy my friends' lives.”

”Since when do you have friends?”

”I know, huh? It surprises me as much as it surprises you. But look, you know ... the Penny Skim ... plenty enough to share.”

For reasons that beggar imagination, she kicked me quite hard in the ribs. ”I don't want to hear any more about the b.l.o.o.d.y Penny Skim,” she said. ”I made it for woffle the first moment I heard of it.”

”I don't know what woffle is,” I said, gasping for breath, ”but I a.s.sure you-”

And she kicked me again! Now that that was uncalled for. was uncalled for.

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