Chocolate Chocolate Moons (10 page)

Soon thereafter, Rocket lured Craig into an illegal game that used hallucinogenic drugs called glass beads, run by a former classmate whose real name was Sondra Audrey Goldwyn but changed to Scheherazade to annoy and end-run her parents, who wanted her to marry a proctologist. Scheherazade had been kicked out of school for selling what she insisted were strands from a shroud from Titan but were really cut-up sweaty towels stolen from the girls’ locker room. The game was held in the back of the home economics lab, where the hypnotic smell of freshly baked garlic bread and one too many gin-soaked matzo balls gave Craig Cashew misplaced confidence.

Craig took a big hit. To erase his debt, he agreed to help Rocket and Scheherazade transport a shipment of glass beads off-planet. Craig overheard Rocket say to Scheherazade, “Don’t worry; I took my own ‘insurance policy’ out on Craig Cashew,” meaning Rocket kept proof of this transaction and could use it in the future to blackmail him.

When Scheherazade made enough money from the bead game, she reinvented herself as a high-class art dealer selling to many of her former glass bead clients. She bought land between New Chicago and Pharaoh City, where she built the Ali Baba Caves, a vast underground complex that housed her apartment, offices, art factory, and a storage facility promptly filled with acquisitions from a disproportionate number of people named Anonymous.

Scheherazade sits on a rose-and-cream-striped Viennese Biedermeier sofa in her large living area that was copied from a design Brunelleschi used for the Pazzi Chapel in Florence. She extends her pinky as she raises a Wedgwood blue cup of mint tea to her red lips. Her eyes wander over the mosaics that rival those in Ravenna, Italy, that cover the floor. Then she admires a large copy of Giovanni Bellini’s
St. Francis in Ecstasy
that hangs from one wall and a copy of Botticelli’s
Birth of Venus
that hangs from another.

Her craftsmen have placed six copies of Rodin’s sculpture of Balzac recently made in her art factory to the side of the room. Three are larger than the original and come in fluorescent red, yellow, or blue; and three are smaller in Scottish plaids—all best sellers to those living in McMansions on McSatellites.

No sooner does she put her tea down than her palm signals a call from Rocket.

“What can I do for you, Rocket? Want another Andy Warhol?” “I want a copy of the Giacometti that Drew Barron got at Park Bengay.”

“Giacometti. No problem. Can I interest you in a pair? Two for the price of one, this week only. I also have three
Davids
by Michael and Angelo in tall, grande, and vente. You might want to know that Park Bengay just reserved the grande.”

“Hmmm,” Rocket says to show that he is listening.

“Or a sculpture of Mozart the Fortieth, a brave man of La Mancha, standing near a gang of wolves. Lenny Bernstein’s barbershop quartet just confirmed that the flute that he is holding is magic.”

“No thanks. I bought a Mozart last year when it was rated A-sharp and I ended up selling it in D-flat. No need for another Mozart’s requiem. Just make it one Giacometti.”

Rocket calls Drew.

The moment Drew answers, two women Rocket previously made an appointment with arrive earlier than expected. He clicks off the visual, because they are putting him in a compromising position. Then he hears Drew say, “You must want something important, Rocket, or you wouldn’t be calling.”

“I’ll be at the St. Trophy Bar next week. I want to stop up and see that Giacometti sculpture again.”

Drew is suspicious. “Again? Why do you want to see it again?”

Rocket doesn’t answer. Drew hears several soft
oohs
followed by several louder
ahhs.
“Rocket, are you all right?”

Drew hears him clear his throat. “Just having my windows washed. They’re using new equipment that does a lot of deep, heavy blowing. What’s a good time?”

“Okay, Tuesday noon solar time.”

Drew opens the door. A gray antigravity case floats next to Rocket. Drew points to the case. “What’s that?”

“A little surprise. But first I wanna tell you how brilliant you were on the Katy Racket show. Also, I got you and Kandy a reservation for the Nirgal Palace next weekend. It’s that new luxury hotel that circles Mars on its own space station.

“That’s very nice of you. Every time I call, they say they only have a small inner ring room or they’re booked.”

“You gotta know someone. And lucky for you, you know me. I’ll be there for business, but I’ll make time for a drink. Love to be seen with Kandy.”

They walk over to the sofa next to the picture window. Rocket sits, takes off his electric-blue-striped jacket, and places it next to him.

“Beautiful view, Drew. Gotta hand it to you. You really know how to live. But I’ve told you that before, haven’t I? Hope you haven’t spent all the money I gave you after the market did its little dance. It’s nice to be even so we can start all over. It’s not too late to place a bet on a weightless pie-eating contest on Uranus.”

“Not interested, Rocket.”

“Not classy enough for your tastes? Doesn’t have the cache of the races at Epsom Salts?”

This is true, but Drew says nothing.

Rocket takes out a piece of gum that has the letters
VV
on it, pops it into his mouth, and starts to chew. He holds out the box and offers Drew a piece.

“What does the
VV
mean?”

“Very vitamin,” Rocket answers.

Drew shakes his head. “Still taking all that stuff?”

Rocket frowns. “It’s good for ya. It’s a health food. Better than most of those Congress Drug food supplements that you take. It’s amazing how much people will pay to eat nothing.”

“You’ve mentioned that. So, why are you here?”

“I want another sample of that stuff you got me from Congress Drugs.”

“No can do. After the poisoning of the Chocolate Moons, Congress Drugs as well as every other drug Company, is super careful and weighs every gram of its products daily. Everyone is making sure that nothing is out of order. These investigations are making everyone in the drug business edgy. Until they find out what made the Chocolate Moons poisonous, everyone’s under suspicion.”

“Which means no one is under suspicion. Look, why don’t you just replace the missing grams with something else? You’re a clever guy. Plenty of things look like an innocent white powder and weigh the same.” Rocket cracks his knuckles.

Drew stands and looks down at him. “Do you have to do that? I hate that sound.”

Rocket takes out a large white handkerchief with the initials
RP
and blows his nose. He reaches out and puts his arm on Drew, who yanks away.

“Now, ready to hear my punch line?” Rocket returns the handkerchief to his pocket.

Drew sighs. “Didn’t I just hear it?”

“It’s about an opportunity to get in on the ground floor of a big one.”

“A big one?”

“Titan Labs is a new freelance drug company not far from my apartment on Titan.” Rocket points his thumb at himself and says, “Yours truly has just bought it. I want to develop my own generic brand of the anti-flavonoid and my own product to compete with Freedom Plan foods. That’s why I’m asking you to get me another sample. I promise Titan Labs won’t produce any of the anti-flavonoid for two years. That way people will think everything was developed independently. No one would be able to link you to this, except me, of course.”

Rocket takes out his handkerchief and blows his nose again. He looks up. “What are those little colored dots on the ceiling? Some kind of new artwork?”

Drew looks. “What little dots?” He squints for better focus. “I can hardly see them, Rocket. I can assure you, it’s nothing.”

“I hope they’re not some kind of listening device. You better be right, because you don’t live long in my business if you’re wrong.” Rocket narrows his eyes. “Look, we could use an experienced CEO like you at Titan Drugs. I’ll double your current salary. You’ll only be young for another fifty or sixty years. Think of your future.”

Rocket stands. He raises his hand, and the antigravity case rises too. He heads toward the table where the Giacometti sits. Drew is close behind. Then he slides the case on the table next to the Giacometti and pops the lid. Drew looks and gasps. Another Giacometti, identical to his, is inside. Rocket reaches in and places it next to Drew’s. Then he puts a hand on each one, and, like a professional three-card Monte player who always wins, rapidly crosses them several times.

“Stop!” Drew shrieks, waving his arms. “Stop!”

Rocket grabs one of the statues and tosses it into the case. A DNA-coded bolt sounds, and Drew knows that only Rocket can open it.

“How do I know which one is mine?”

“You don’t. That’s the point. But I’m not going anywhere soon, and you know where to find me.” Rocket puts out his hand, and the case rises next to him. He walks to the door then turns back to Drew. “Did I mention that the four-flame Bunsen Burner prize-winning scientist Decibel Point, who invented the formula used in Freedom Plan foods, and I used to be partners? We had a falling-out many years ago, but if I give him his own lab at Titan Drugs, maybe he’ll join my team.”

“Decibel Point? I see him all the time at Congress Drugs. He’s easy to spot because he’s so fat. Didn’t know he invented the Freedom Plan foods!”

“Sandy Andreas does everything he can to hide that information. Business could suffer if people knew that a fat guy who never eats any Freedom Plan foods himself invented the stuff.”

The next morning Drew takes the Giacometti that Rocket switched to Smart Art Appraisers.

“You are wise to have this independently appraised, Mr. Barron. Theft and counterfeiting is big business.” The appraiser inserts a small needle into the statue’s foot and extracts some material. He squeezes a liquid on it and inserts it into a microscope. Drew taps his fingers on the counter and waits. When the appraiser finally looks up, he says, “Sorry, Mr. Barron, feet of clay.”

14

L
UNCH TIME.
M
Y
favorite time. Jersey and I walk through a long, high hall that leads to the Quantum Corner Café. Fragrant spices hang from twisted vines that dangle from ceiling to floor. And although Jersey’s implants give her extraordinary vision, she has a poor sense of smell. Every day she watches me inhale the delicious aromas that waft through the halls, and every day she is amazed.

Wine racks designed by Beowulf and Grendel Associates hang in grids. We know, as insiders, that the Dewey Decimal System and the Code of Hammurabi have been woven into an intricate, unique pricing system that only the top brass can understand so they can justify charging astronomical prices.

The flower of the week, the fuchsia, heart-shaped Rosa-Parks, stands in a large green-and-yellow paisley vase in the front of the the room, while smaller matching vases sit on tables. I pass three glass cases that hold rows of pastries and crusty breads that I can practically taste just by looking at them. I smile at the clerk behind the counter. She waves and returns my smile.

Jersey looks neither right nor left and marches straight to our table, where she begins her table ritual. First she taps each corner of the table twice to make sure it is steady. Then she realigns every knife with the glasses and measures the distance between the forks and the spoons before straightening the rest.

“There is no problem with the table,” I say. You find something wrong with the setting every time we’re about to sit down. Stop it. I can’t relax.”

“Well, I can’t relax and eat when it is so unbalanced.”

“Just sit. You’re embarrassing me.”

Jersey sits. A waiter carefully places a roll on her plate. She picks it up and crumbles a piece. I know she does it to look like she is eating, but the food never goes near her mouth. It is something I’ve seen Flo and her friends do whenever anything with more than ten calories gets near them. Jersey orders a raspberry quince iced tea that I know she could make last all day and a leafy green salad with no oil and balsamic vinegar on the side.

I butter my roll and pop it into my mouth. I order a double cheeseburger with fries. The fries are made from potatoes that are long and thin like bananas because Mars’s lower gravity makes all produce elongate. The twins won’t eat any round foods from Earth because they say those foods must have more calories. Jersey says the hypothesis is reasonable.