Warren Murphy: Coin of the Realm

"How? It is so big."

"We have passed it because it is no more," answered the Master of Sinanju. "Now, quickly, bring your vessels about before Sinanju is no more as well."

And the Master Mangko, third in the history of the House of Sinanju, settled at the tiller of his boat. Hard times lay ahead for his village. But a more terrible fate had befallen those who had summoned him.

The greatest client state in the history of Sinanju had been swept from the sea's frigid face. The Master of Sinanju would have wept, but he knew he would need all his tears for his own people....

Chapter 1

The sound of the morning newspaper hitting the flagstone walk awoke Shane Billiken.

His close-set black eyes snapped open instantly. Sunlight streamed in through the glass doors of his bedroom. The pounding of the surf was close. He reached for the nightstand, knocking over a copy of The Cornpleat Shirley MacLaine, and pulled a pair of oversize sunglasses to his eyes.

"It's here," he said hoarsely, sleep clogging his throat.

"Mummuph?" The sleepy girlish voice barely penetrated the silk covers.

"I said it's here," Shane Billiken repeated. He elbowed the sleeping figure.

"Owww!" Bedsheets were clawed off an angry blond head. "Did you have to hit me?"

"The paper. I heard it arrive."

"I'll bet you did. Every morning you hear it. Through twelve rooms and ten doors, you hear it."

''My senses are attuned to the physical universe," Shane Billiken said. "I hear the tread of ants and the whisper of a spider slipping down its web. Now, be a good girl, Glinda, and go fetch."

Glinda shook her blond hair into place. She eased over to the side of the bed. She had the body of a teenager, tanned and fit and unblemished.

"You know it's probably not going to be in there," she said.

"I made a positive affirmation last night. My stars are exceptional. Today will be the start of my new career."

"I want to know what's wrong with the old. You make enough. "

"Don't whine. It's negative. You know negativity affects my biorhythms. And don't forget I found you pushing drinks. If you don't like it, I can find another Princess Shastra. "

"Not after the Donahue show. We're famous now."

"Just get the paper, okay?"

Glinda pulled on a purple nightgown. She rummaged through a nightstand drawer.

"What are you waiting for?" Shane demanded.

"I gotta find my crystal pouch. You know what my horoscope said. You cast it yourself 'Don't go anywhere without your crystal.' "

"I meant trips. Not walking to the damned front door."

"You said anywhere. Getting the paper is anywhere. Ah, here it is."

Glinda tied a green Nepalese pouch around her neck with a rawhide thong. She fingered open the drawstring mouth to make sure the crystal was safely inside.

"Come on, come on. I can feel my positive energies fading. "

"The ink isn't going to vanish because you can't hold on to your biorhythms, you know."

"Just get it."

Glinda passed out of the room, her gown trailing like a cape. She hadn't bothered to close the front.

She returned a moment later, the pouch nestled between full breasts that bore the unmistakable rigidity of silicone implants.

"Here," she said, tossing a folded newspaper onto Shane Billiken's hairy exposed chest. Glinda folded her hands over her breasts, feeling their hardness, and tapped a bare foot while Shane Billiken rummaged for the obituary section. His fleshy face was a mask as he read.

"O'Brien ... Oliver ... Olney ... Ott. Damn! It's not here."

"Try page one. After all, he is famous."

"Good thought." Shane Billiken tore the scattered newsprint apart until he found page one. It wasn't on page one. Nor on page two. The entertainment section was no different.

"See?" Glinda said.

"Quiet, I am making a positive affirmation. Okay, the obit wasn't published today. That means he's going to die today. It'll be in tonight's paper. Tomorrow morning at the latest. I can feel it in my bones, Glinda."

"Sure, sure, Shane."

"Hey, how many times have I told you-"

" 'It's magic, and you don't fuck with magic.' I know, I know. I'll meditate on it in the shower, okay?"

"Take off the pouch first."

"No chance. I don't want to fall and crack my neck."

"It'll shrink in the shower."

"I'll take the crystal out and hold it between my legs. Do me a favor, Shane? Put some Kitaro on the CD player." As the sound of showering penetrated the bedroom, Shane Billiken rolled out of bed. He walked over to his bedroom mirror; examining his square face in the mirror. With a jade comb he straightened his bangs.

"Lookin' good," he murmured. Then he noticed a slight hollow effect when he moved his head from side to side. He would have to eat more ice cream or something. He mustn't lose that face. No one would ever accept him as his idol if the resemblance slipped.

As he walked into his private dressing room, he started to hum an old rock song.

"Only the lonely, dum dum dum dum dee dee dah." he sang.

In his dressing room, he flipped on the CD, grimaced as synthesizer music droned from ceiling speakers, and lifted the Pyrex cover of a cheese container. He broke off a handful of Brie and started nibbling on it. Pieces fell at his feet.

The shower sounds cut off and Glinda's voice penetrated the walls.

"You know, sometimes I think you don't love me."

"I love you," he said, putting on white linen pants. He selected a golden silk shirt, not bothering to button the top three turquoise buttons after he drew it on. He selected a mood charm in the shape of the astrological sign of Taurus and dropped it over his neck. When the charm touched his bare chest, the bull turned blue.

Shane Billiken smiled. Blue was a good augury.

"You didn't say it as if you meant it," Glinda complained.

"I'm a fully Evolved Being. I don't have to sound like I meant it. I exist in a state of perpetual sincerity."

"Say it again."

"I love you." Under his breath he added, "You nimnoid."

"Sometimes I think you just love me for my body."

"No," said Shane Billiken. And this time he really sounded sincere. "I love you for the money you make for me," he whispered.

"Or because I'm the psychic conduit through which Princess Shastra, High Priestess of Atlantis, has chosen to speak. "

"You're very special," Shane Billiken said, taking a hit of rhubarb wine from a green glass jug.

"You know, I was reading that Shirley MacLaine book last night, and it got me thinking."

"With what?" Shane Billiken asked his image in the mirror as he primped his hair.

"I mean, what if I'm channeling so good because, like, I really am the reincarnation of an Atlantean girl? I don't mean a priestess or princess, but I could have been a lady-in-waiting or something. Or maybe an Atlantean atomic scientist. Oh, yuk!"

"What?"

"I just found this really gnarly pimple on my tush." Shane Billiken rolled his eyes behind his impenetrable sunglasses. He would have preferred mirror shades, but Roy never wore mirror shades. Maybe he should send the guy an anonymous note suggesting that wearing mirror shades would be a boost for his image.

"Yeeowch!"

"What now?" Shane sighed.

"I squeezed the pimple and got blood. It's, like, all over my legs. What do I do?"

"Think coagulation," said Shane Billiken, opening the sliding glass doors and stepping onto the redwood sundeck. He closed the doors on that sissy mood music. That was the one drawback to this business, he thought. The music sucked.

The sunlight danced on the Pacific. Shane Billiken eased into a deck chair. He flipped through his appointment book. At two o'clock Mrs. Paris was due in for her monthly Aura Replenishment. Better make sure the ultraviolet lamps were working. At three the McBain twins were due to be Rolfed. Shane smiled. Rolfing them wasn't exactly what he had in mind. Maybe he could send Glinda off on an errand before they arrived. Then that yuppie stockbroker, what's-his-name, was coming in to talk about opening a major-city chain of biocrystal generating stations.