Michael Laser - Cheater

Here’s one way to measure Blaine’s charm: he has just admitted that he wants to exploit Karl someday, and how does Karl react? His insides are all warm and tickly, he loves Blaine like a brother.

As they pull up behind the unfamiliar white Volvo in front of Karl’s house, Blaine says, “So what do you think? Can we keep our successful partnership-”

“Hey!” Karl shouts, rudely interrupting-because, inside his garage, Samantha Abrabarba has pulled the sheet off his project, and she’s running her hand over the slick stainless steel dome, which shines blindingly as the afternoon sun angles in.

“Karl?” Blaine asks. “Why are you building a giant metal tortoise?”

Karl runs out of the car, grabs the sheet, and draws it over the shining dome.

“Very interesting,” Samantha says. She’s all in white today, slacks, blouse, and belt: a fashion statement in a language Karl doesn’t understand. “So smooth and tightly welded. Does it fly?”

“You can’t come in here and poke around in my stuff. That’s trespassing!”

“No it’s not. I’m your friend. Only strangers can trespass.”

Is that true? The confusion delays him for a moment-but only for a moment. “You shouldn’t be in here. You have to leave.”

“Why? Is it a surprise for me?”

It sounds just like something Cara would say, teasingly. But Samantha is serious.

“Maybe. I’m not sure. Depends on how it turns out.”

“That would be so amazing, if you dedicated an invention to me!”

Blaine has followed Karl in. He’s smirking.

“Hey, Karl. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Samantha studies Blaine as if he were a museum exhibit. “You’re a friend of Karl’s?”

“You look surprised.”

“Karl doesn’t seem like he would have a friend who stepped out of GQ.”

“Actually, we make a good pair, Karl and me. GQ and IQ.”

Putting Samantha and Blaine together in the same room (or garage) is like tossing lit matches around at an oil refinery. The faster Karl can get rid of her, the better.

“I’m kind of busy,” he tells Samantha. “Could I call you later?”

“You could if you had my phone number, but you still haven’t asked for it.”

“Could you write it down for me?” he asks, blushing because of the audience.

“My things are in the car. Got a pen and paper?”

He tears a flap off the top of an empty carton and digs an old carpenter’s pencil out of his father’s never-used toolbox. The pencil wears a coating of fine gray grime.

As she writes, she asks, “Have you two been friends a long time? Or is this something recent? Something sudden?”

She winks at Karl, but he refuses to receive the signal.

“We grew up together,” he says. “Cub Scouts.”

“Hm.” Samantha hands Karl her phone number, written in large, bold numbers. “On a different subject-does either of you know how to reach Cara Nzada? I can’t find her address or phone number anywhere.”

GQ and IQ zip their lips.

“One of you has to have it. You’ve spent enough time hovering around her.”

“Why do you want to talk to her?” Karl asks.

She gives him an exasperated scowl, as in, Are you totally stupid? This is a secret investigation, remember? “No particular reason. Just to chat.”

Karl imagines Samantha grilling Cara in her apartment. Who helped you cheat? You might as well tell me, I’ll find out anyway.

“Sorry,” he says, “I don’t know how to reach her.”

Blaine, incredibly, shows no anxiety whatsoever. “She just moved. She hasn’t given me her new info yet. Guess she didn’t give it to you either, huh, Karl?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“How about the old ‘info,’ then? There’s probably a recording on the line.”

“Nope. I tried. It just says the number’s been disconnected. Sorry.”

“Seems like you two would rather not have me talk to her.” Samantha wags the dirty pencil at Karl. “What does Cara know about you that you don’t want anybody finding out?”

Blaine guffaws. Following his lead, Karl chuckles.

“Okay,” Blaine says, “you nailed us. We’re smuggling ice cubes out of Canada. Too bad, now you know too much, we can’t let you live.”

“You’re so useless.” Samantha sighs. She taps the piece of cardboard in Karl’s hand. “Call me tonight. We can talk about your new friends. Don’t be shy-I’ll be waiting, Karl.”

She hands him back the pencil and walks out to the white Volvo with a weirdly jaunty stride.

“Lover boy,” Blaine says as Samantha’s car swings around in the cul-de-sac.

“I didn’t do anything to encourage her.”

“You don’t have to. You’ve got that brainy charisma thing going on.”

Alone with Blaine again, Karl remembers what they were saying before Samantha interrupted. Having to say no to Blaine is like wearing a lead cape over his shoulders. He wishes he could erase everything from the moment he joined the Confederacy until now.

“Just so I can sleep tonight-you’re not going to tell Flight Attendant Barbie our secrets, are you?”

Karl scowls at him, offended.

“Sorry. I just had to make sure.”

“Why don’t you think about stopping, Blaine? Instead of trying to change my mind, why don’t you change yours? Before Samantha catches you.”

“I’d like to make you happy, Karl-but your cult of honesty is too weird for me. Besides, I can’t stop, or my grades would drop off the edge of the world. The teachers would send me to the guidance counselor, and she’d ask if there’s any trouble at home, and then she’d call my parents. It’s like dominos-one false move and everything collapses.”

Karl straightens his spine- Stand up to him , he tells himself-and discovers that he’s an inch taller than Blaine.

“I’m not going to help you anymore,” he says. “If you want to be my friend, you have to respect my decision.”

Blaine’s calm turns out to be a mere shell. Through it bursts a thunderbolt of panic. “You’re screwing us!”

The explosion means that Karl has finally broken free-or so he thinks. Exhilarated, he plans his future: as soon as Blaine leaves, he’ll call Lizette.

“You’re forcing me to go a way I really don’t want to go,” Blaine says, shaking his head mournfully.

Karl reads this as a bluff and stands firm.

Blaine opens his cell phone and speed-dials.

“Who are you calling?”

Blaine exhales grimly, as if deeply regretting the piano he’s about to drop on Karl’s head. So far, it still looks like a fake-out.

“Hi, it’s Blaine. Listen, I’m with Karl, at his house, and he says he refuses to help us anymore. I tried to change his mind, but he won’t listen. What do you want me to do?… I’ve tried, believe me… Okay, but how, exactly?” A look of alarm. An uncomfortable glance at Karl. “You’re sure you want me to do that?” He turns his back to Karl. “But- No, but- No, I don’t. Okay, all right, I understand… I’ll tell him… Bye.”

If not for the buzzing voice on the other end, Karl wouldn’t have believed this: somewhere out there, a mysterious Mr. Big controls Blaine like a puppet.

“Who was that?” he asks.

“Can’t tell you.”

“What’s the message you’re supposed to deliver?”

“I’m sorry about this, Karl. You know I like you.”

“Stop saying you like me.”

“This isn’t how I prefer to deal with people.”

Karl gives him an impatient glare.

“Okay, here’s what he said. You can’t quit now, or someone will set your old friends up so it looks like they cheated, and report them to Klimchock.”

“What old friends do you mean?”