Part 19 (2/2)

Okay, not bluffing.

I suppose I owed it to rain or bad light or uncertain footing that Hines didn't hit me. He came close, though; I actually felt the slug whiz through the negative s.p.a.ce above my shoulder and beside my head. At that moment, time stood still, and it seemed like I had forever to think things through. Either that or you get so used to playing nothing nothing straight that in times of stress a certain rote behavior takes over. In any case, I whirled around (as if shot), fell to the ground (as if shot), and howled b.l.o.o.d.y murder (as if-well, you get the gist). straight that in times of stress a certain rote behavior takes over. In any case, I whirled around (as if shot), fell to the ground (as if shot), and howled b.l.o.o.d.y murder (as if-well, you get the gist).

Hines labored up the hillside to finish me off. He grunted as he neared, losing his traction in the softening earth. I rose up with a feral roar and hurled myself at him. He outweighed me by a fair amount, but I had elevation on my side, and my momentum toppled us both into the mud. Then gravity (”not just a good idea, it's the law”) took over and sent us both rolling and tumbling down the hillside, clawing and kicking and punching at each other as our bodies slammed against roots and rocks and wet nasty p.r.i.c.ker bushes. Somewhere along the way we hit something big, started cartwheeling, and didn't stop until we slammed into the back wall of the Java Man.

My head hit cinderblock with a thud that I'll just go ahead and describe as sickening. Man Man, I thought as consciousness swam, twice in one day. That is just not fair twice in one day. That is just not fair. But then I looked left and saw Hines crumpled at the base of the wall with his head more or less at right angles to his neck, and I thought, Well, things could be worse Well, things could be worse.

The Java Man's manager came running out. ”What the f.u.c.k?” he asked, more or less rhetorically.

I tried to answer. Instead, I took a nap.

I woke in a hospital. A doctor stood over me, peering into my eyes. He asked me to follow his finger, which I did, and this pleased him, I thought, a good deal more than it should. He turned to the primly dressed woman standing nearby. ”He's going to be fine, Mrs....” He paused to consult his chart. ”... Rook. Your husband, Geen ...” He did a double take. ”Is that correct? Geen?” woke in a hospital. A doctor stood over me, peering into my eyes. He asked me to follow his finger, which I did, and this pleased him, I thought, a good deal more than it should. He turned to the primly dressed woman standing nearby. ”He's going to be fine, Mrs....” He paused to consult his chart. ”... Rook. Your husband, Geen ...” He did a double take. ”Is that correct? Geen?”

”Yes,” answered Allie in a perfect South African accent. ”Geen Rook. It's Afrikaans.” * *

”Very well,” said the doc. ”He should be clear in a day or two. In the meantime, he'll be well cared for here. He has excellent health insurance.” Of course I do. That's what the Geen Rook ident.i.ty is for. Clever of Allie to dig it out of my files, and bonus points for dealing herself in as my wife. Maybe she'd like some cosmetic surgery while she waits.

No, you know what? She's perfect how she is.

Two days later, I left the hospital with the whole welcoming committee there to greet me: Allie, Billy, and Vic. They were well, despite having spent eighteen rough hours in the elements until some hikers found them the next day. I was so happy to see them. My team ... my friends ... they'd executed the gaff perfectly, mooking Hines into thinking that they'd all betrayed me and, especially, staying with it when I got whacked on the head and forgot that Allie was in on the twist. Solid performers. Even Vic.

At that, I confess, I was a little surprised to see them walking around so ... free to be walking around. Hadn't the cops asked embarra.s.sing questions about the whole chained-to-a-tree situation?

”What cops?” asked Allie.

”Well, I mean, didn't the hikers notify someone? That was a pretty funky state you were in.”

”Too right, mate,” said Billy. ”So we told them it was a bondage game gone wrong, and they cleared out fast.” Ah. Couldn't blame them for that. I would, too.

But what about Scovil?

Apparently, she'd come to before dawn, aching and angry, but a lot less rattled in her cage than I'd been. Her first thought had been to blow a big whistle, bust Hines, me, them, and anyone else she could think of.

They had many hours to persuade her otherwise. All it took was a little attentive listening and a whole big pile of cash.

As it turned out, Scovil's family had had been taken in by my tropical island scam, and pretty well wrecked on it, too. This had propelled Scovil into a law enforcement career, with a particular ax to grind for the grift. But a fascination, too, the way anti-gay crusaders are sometimes the ones who end up in the men's room stalls. So she'd always had a love/hate relations.h.i.+p with Billy and, by distant extension, me. been taken in by my tropical island scam, and pretty well wrecked on it, too. This had propelled Scovil into a law enforcement career, with a particular ax to grind for the grift. But a fascination, too, the way anti-gay crusaders are sometimes the ones who end up in the men's room stalls. So she'd always had a love/hate relations.h.i.+p with Billy and, by distant extension, me.

Poor Scovil, so deeply conflicted. Was she a contrite law officer trying to unflaw her flawed judgment by bringing Billy to justice? The aggrieved daughter of swindled victims on a revenge tip against me? Or a formerly straight cop trying to become bent and get what the other half has? In the end, I don't think even she knew, and that's what made her play so erratic. Try to have your cake and eat it, too, you often just drop it on the floor.

But she came to see that it would do her no good to dob us in. She'd been tarred with Hines's brush. It would be a lot simpler for her to pretend that America never happened than to explain what really went on. Especially with the proceeds of the Merlin Game to help grease the skids. That was a high price to pay for our freedom, but Allie paid without a second thought, and I stand by her choice; it's hard to spend money in jail. Certain that the Penny Skim was bafflegab, Scovil had the satisfaction of taking, she supposed, pretty much everything we had.

So she took the money and ran ... where? Back to Australia? Off to a fresh start? Or up some mountain to figure her s.h.i.+t out? I didn't know and didn't much care. As I'd told Hines, it's a big world. No reason why our paths should cross.

She has a quality, that one. Some day she might even make a part of a good grift team. Its muscle at least.

With Scovil sorted, it became much easier for me to deal with my own Jake issues, for now I could leave Allie, Vic, and Billy out of the equation altogether. All I had to do was backpredict a series of events that plausibly led to Hines dead at the hands of a Java Man wall. My story went something like this: First, I admitted to a certain loose relations.h.i.+p with legal commerce; no secret there, just take a look at my rap sheet. This, according to my narrative, Hines had done, and decided that I'd paid sufficient debt neither to society nor to him. Then comes blackmail, my wet attempt at a payoff, and an unhappy accident at the bottom of a hill. Simple, clean, direct. Pure woffle, as Scovil would put it, but more than adequate to satisfy the LAPD, who could hardly charge me with a.s.sault with a deadly Java Man, and were warned off a wider investigation by the FBI.

As for the interrogators the fibbies sent around, I think they didn't buy my story, but didn't much care, for by dying, Hines had done them a tremendous administrative favor. Now all they had to do was keep a lid on the scandal. Did they have access to his dossier on me? If they did, they never said. I think you'll find it under the same rug where the rest of this mess got swept.

Get this: They even paid me. For my trouble? Or my silence? You make the call. They offered ten grand. I negotiated up to twenty-five. Never leave money lying on the table.

Not that twenty-five grand was anything more than a drop in the bucket (and the Merlin Game only a slightly larger drop) compared to the Penny Skim, which (A) was not the woffle Scovil supposed it to be and (2) made us all stupid rich.

The Chinese caught on quicker than I thought they would, but still we netted something like three quarters of a million each before they shut us down. I toyed briefly with the idea of not awarding Mirplo a full share, but then I thought, What the h.e.l.l What the h.e.l.l. He may not have contributed the most in terms of brains or sweat equity, but he did share the danger.

Billy took his cut and got in the wind. I told him to shout me up if he ever thought of doing something fun, like robbing Fort Knox. Allie and I, meanwhile, gathered what keepsakes we favored and headed south to a suitably banana republic. Vic rolled with; you don't like to leave the kids at home unsupervised.

The experience had greened our little Mirplo. For the first time in his life, he carried himself with the swaggering confidence of a winner. I had no idea how long the transformation would last, but for the moment at least, you could look at Vic and say, ”There goes a grifter.” Not the world's best, perhaps, but not a complete, well, Mirplo in the end.

As for Allie and me, we were in love, that mushy, kissy-faced ardor that everyone except a grifter knows well, but that hit two new-minted innocents with the force of revelation. And it might even last. Or maybe, like Vic's confidence, it will waft away one day on a tropical breeze, as our bedrock grifter natures rea.s.sert themselves. Well, that's for tomorrow. Tonight, we're lolling in a hot tub, beneath the swaying palm trees of a posh resort in San Somethingdor.

Allie turns and looks at me.

”What?” I ask.

”Nothing,” she says. ”It's just ... I have a question to ask.”

”Ask away.”

”Yeah, before I do, I'm designating this here ...” She indicates the Jacuzzi, ”... the Hot Tub of Truth, okay?”

”Okay,”

”And you understand that when you're in the Hot Tub of Truth, you absolutely cannot lie.”

”Of course,” I nod. ”How else could it be?”

”Okay, then. Now, tell me: What is your real name?”

”Radar Hoverlander.”

”Really?”

”Really, really.”

But it's not. Not really. Even in the Hot Tub of Truth, you have to hold some things back.

*For ”No Smoking.”

Acknowledgments.

T he author wishes to thank the two new women in his life, Betsy Amster and Sarah Knight. I never got why writers lavish such praise upon their agents and editors, but with the faith these worthies showed in this book and the care they took to make it ever better, I now understand. I also want to thank Maxx Duffy, my wife and inspiration, who tolerates my every ”Listen to this” and ”What do you think about that?” and keeps me tethered when I'm threatened with wafting away. Thanks to the real Radar Hoverlander. You know who you are. I also want to thank the internet for knowing everything. See you next book, everyone! he author wishes to thank the two new women in his life, Betsy Amster and Sarah Knight. I never got why writers lavish such praise upon their agents and editors, but with the faith these worthies showed in this book and the care they took to make it ever better, I now understand. I also want to thank Maxx Duffy, my wife and inspiration, who tolerates my every ”Listen to this” and ”What do you think about that?” and keeps me tethered when I'm threatened with wafting away. Thanks to the real Radar Hoverlander. You know who you are. I also want to thank the internet for knowing everything. See you next book, everyone!

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