Joe Gores - Cons, Scams, and Grifts

“DKA can’t look for her anymore. The San Francisco cops issued a Murder One warrant for her,” said Staley. “Turns out she murdered two old men up here besides Ephrem down inL.A.”

All three men crossed themselves. Willem recovered first.

“Well, DKA has served its purpose. And I have important news. Robin Brantley in Hong Kong betrayed me — he told Marr that I am planning an assault on Xanadu. Marr hired a German expert for advice on further security measures.” An expression that could almost have been a smile played around Willem’s lips. “I have it on good authority that this German told Marr his security at Xanadu was deplorable, and that Marr rejected that conclusion.”

They drank coffee and looked at one another with veiled, knowing Gypsy eyes. Staley said, “So you will be busy.”

Lulu burst through the door from the kitchen.

“What is this I heard you say? That Yana has killed two old men besides poor Ephrem? What if she—”

Staley chuckled. “I got you to protect me, Lulu.”

“This is no joke! You got her declared marime , she’s got the second sight — that jookli is dangerous in every way!”

Staley heaved himself to his feet to go help his wife put away the groceries.

“She’s on the run, she ain’t got time to worry about us.”

At seven that evening Geraldine puffed her way up the long climb to her tiny apartment. After losing nearly twenty pounds to her five flights of stairs, she was almost getting a waist.

A thick savory stew bubbled in her only saucepan on the single-burner hotplate. The table was set with two plates, both soup bowls, and both sets of her Kmart cutlery.

“I’m home,” Geraldine called softly. “Alone.” Yasmine Vlanko came out from behind the curtain hung at an angle across one corner of the room to form a tiny closet. Geraldine added, “Just as you said, Larry Ballard took me to lunch!”

The stew was subtly flavored with herbs unknown in Dubuque. As Geraldine talked with her soup spoon, Yasmine hung on every word, interjecting little exclamations and clicks of the tongue. Geraldine felt more important than she had ever felt in her life.

“And he gave you no hint of what his information might be?”

Yasmine asked it urgently. Geraldine felt a twinge of quickly suppressed jealousy. Yasmine was so darkly beautiful and Ballard was so blondly handsome: they would make a striking couple. It was comforting to remember that Yasmine, to preserve her powers, slept with no one on earth.

“He just said it was really important.”

“The forces of darkness are closing in,” Yasmine said almost to herself. She chanted in a low voice:

Geraldine trembled at Yasmine’s unknown words.

“What does it mean?” she asked timidly.

Geraldine squealed her chair back, terrified. Yasmine put a quickly comforting hand on her arm.

“Not you, Geraldine! And not Larry Ballard, either. He is not evil. He does what a man must do. The curse is for those who accuse me of evil.”

“What must I do?” asked Geraldine.

“You must carry a very special message to a certain person. She must know nothing of where I am or who you are.”

“You want me to ask her what Ballard was talking about?”

“You have much to learn, Geraldine. Ask, and you learn nothing. You must make them eager to tell you.”

“I... I’m not very good at lying or fooling people,” said Geraldine miserably, her mission a failure before it had begun.

Yasmine made a dismissive gesture. “I will prepare you.”

It was just past midnight, black and still and, up here in the mountains, clear and brisk with a billion stars. No moon. The Xanadu gate was safely closed and locked and the uniformed guard was bored and half-asleep. He yawned. Charon and Hecate, lying beside him on their leashes, yawned also.

Far away behind the building was the soft loamy sound of a trenching tool sinking into rich soil. The hole under the electrified perimeter fence got just big enough for a man to crawl through. Dragging a curiously lively stuff-bag behind him, the digger slithered on his back under the high-voltage wire.

Bushes moved on the edge of the cleared perimeter area at the right rear corner of the building. Big gloved hands took a squirming grey squirrel out of the stuff-bag to toss it into the no-man’s-land covered by the movement and heat sensors.

Lights flashed, sirens screamed, whistles shrilled.

The black-clad intruder jogged back past his entry point toward the left rear corner of the building. Here he stooped to release a second squirrel, then melted again into the bushes.

More lights flashed, sirens screamed, whistles shrilled.

A quartet of armed guards led by R.K. Robinson rushed down the front steps and turned right toward the first set of alarms. A few moments later, five more guards burst forth to turn left toward the second set of alarms.

The intruder, dressed all in black and wearing a black ski mask, raced up the deserted front steps and into the building. He took the stairs to the second floor two at a time, ignoring the glaring eyes of the security cameras.

A dozen feet beyond the locked-down solid steel door of the Security Control Center, the door to the Observation Room was invitingly ajar. The intruder plunged through the interlocking invisible light beams, crossed the pressure-sensitive floor plates to the observation window. Sirens. Whistles.

Inside the Security Control Center one of a pair of side-by-side monitor screens showed Freddie’s room. The other showed the adjacent Observation Room.

Freddie was sitting on the floor of his partitioned-off living area, playing rather disconsolately with one of his toys. His computer was dark and silent. In the Observation Room, a black-clad figure rapped sharply on the window glass.

The duty officer spoke into his mike in an excited voice.

“This is Rose Bush. Intruder in Observation Room, signaling to Freddie. Repeat, this is Rose Bush—”

Through his earphones came R.K. Robinson’s bull-like voice.

“This is Faded Rose Petal. On my way, over.”

Freddie, leaping up and down with excitement, paused to assimilate the words being signed by the man in the Observation Room: COME BACK FOR FREDDIE SOON.

The hallway door burst open and R.K. Robinson sprang into the room with a loud cry of triumph. He was jerking his gun from its holster as he came. The intruder hurled himself backward right through the pane of the outside window. R.K. Robinson fired at the same moment. The upper edge of the window frame splintered as his shot went high.

R.K. rushed to the window and leaned out. Nothing.

What in Christ’s name was Victor Marr going to say when he learned of this night’s fiasco?

Very little, to R.K. Robinson’s relief the next morning. Marr spoke on the secure line with a shrug in his voice.

“Freddie was unharmed?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, Mr. Marr. The guy only got into the Observation Room. He never laid a glove on the ape.”

“Line the bottom of the perimeter fence with steel baffles so no one can dig under it again,” said Marr.

“We caught the squirrels,” said R.K. proudly. “They made great target practice. Blew ’em all to hell with our AK-47s.”

Marr sighed. No way now to learn where the squirrels had been purchased. Was the man a moron?