The Texas Twist (25 page)

Radar squinted at the artifact and muttered, “Wish I had a loupe.”

“I'm sorry,” said Ames, “I didn't think to bring one.”

“Understandable.” Radar examined the ring at length, then said, “Well, that's a Savransky cut. Beautiful stone.” He looked up. “What's it, from the 1880s?” Ames just shrugged. Radar returned his attention to the ring. “Russian design,” he said, “but executed in Britain.” He held it up to the sun, intently studying the refraction pattern. “Yep. South African stones, original De Beers Pipe.”

Ames allowed himself a smile. “Somehow,” he said, “I knew you'd know about diamonds.”

“Yeah,” said Radar noncommittally. “This the duchess
heirloom?”

Ames nodded. “What do you think it's worth?”

“Shit, who can say? Half a million?” Adam's eyes gleamed until Radar added, “If it's real.”

“You don't think it's real?”

“Can't tell from here.”

“Then keep it,” said Ames.

“What?”

“Take it home. Give it a closer look. Test it. Do whatever you like. Radar, I trust you.” He added emphatically, “and I need you to trust me. Bring your money to the ball. I promise it will be safe, and that ring is my guarantee.”

“I'll check it out,” said Radar, pocketing the ring. “I'm surprised you never gave it to some girl.” The word
girl
drew Adam's eye to Allie. Radar watched her stare him down for a moment and then, abruptly, turn and march away to the car. Radar followed her with his eyes. “I know that look,” he said.

“What look?” asked Adam.

“She knows you from somewhere.” He turned to Adam. “She know you from somewhere?”

“No, not that I…no.”

Radar absorbed his reaction. “Weird. I thought I knew her looks.”

A few minutes later, the silent Subdominant was cruising up County Line Road, back to the highway. “Well, that was a joke,” said Radar. “Pure amateur hour. He handed over the ring like he knew it was fake. Gave himself completely away.”

“Yet here we are,” said Allie, “holding collateral glass. What did he do when you pinged him about me?”

“I would say he went opaque. There's something there,
but he's not letting it out.” They drove on in silence. “Well, it solves one problem at least,” said Radar at last.

“What's that?” asked Allie.

He patted her knee. “Where to get your wedding ring.”

A
llie went shopping for a gown, which was tricky because was it a costume doubling as a wedding dress or the other way around? Radar had a tux, and it worked but it wasn't special. Allie wanted something special. So she borrowed Vic's truck, took Boy for a romp along the river, then trekked down South Lamar to the ghetto of funky consignment shops and secondhand stores clustered around the Alamo Drafthouse Cinema. But the trip was a bust; among the cast-off cotillion gear and self-conscious country-club chiffons she found nothing she could stand to wear.

She was coming out of Gertie's Goodies when, for the first time, she felt her cargo shift. It wasn't movement exactly, more like something tickling her innards. Still, it caused her to think
Whoa, girl, this is really happening,
and the thought made her feel quite good.

Then the scent of char-grilled hamburger drifting down from the Drafthouse made her feel quite sick.

She had noted with some irony that her stubbornly lingering morning sickness seemed not at all constrained to constrain itself to morning. She got that this was her body's way of standing sentry against toxins that might hurt the baby, and she admired the strategy's endocrine elegance. Still, not a party with candles and cake for mom. She vectored upwind of the Drafthouse and made her way to the truck. She had some soda crackers in there. She'd feel better soon.

As she approached the black behemoth, she got the sense that there was someone behind it, which was odd because she'd left Boy in the truck bed, and he'd be raising a ruckus against some kind of stranger. Peeking around the cab she saw Adam Ames stroking Boy's head. He gave her a smile: his bright, guileless one. “Allie? Hi!” He nodded toward the cinema. “I'm just going to a show. I was passing by the truck and I saw Boy. I couldn't believe it. What a coincidence, huh?”

“A coincidence and a half,” said Allie. “Some would say three quarters.”

“We can't think of costumes,” said Adam at his sheepish best. “Sarah and me.” He nodded toward the cinema and Allie read the marquee.

“Monty Python marathon?”

“We hope to be inspired.”

“Where's Sarah?”

“Oh, she's already inside.”

“Getting popcorn?”

“I suppose.”

“That's good,” said Allie. “You kids have fun.” Allie opened her door and said to Boy, “Saddle up.” Boy bounded
down from the cargo bed and jumped into the cab.

“That's a smart dog,” said Adam.

His voice couldn't have been more temperate, yet it triggered something in Allie, perhaps something from her homeless teenage time when she defended herself with nothing but bravado against the pimps, thugs, junkies, muggers, and maulers who would otherwise see her as bait fish. Which may be why she said, “He's no Adam Ames,” as she climbed up into the driver's seat.

“That sounds like it means something,” said Ames. “If I didn't know better, I'd say it's meant as an insult.”

“You don't know better. It's not.”

“Allie, do you not like me? Did I wrong you somehow? Radar thinks I know you, but if I do I don't know it.”

“Is that right?”

Ames let his frustration show. “You're just like him, you know? You never give anything away.”

“Is that right?”

“Look, I know: Why don't we sit down together, you and I, see if we can figure it all out?”

“Tell each other our stories? Find our connection?”

“If there is one.”

“That sounds good,” said Allie, thinking it sounded exceedingly not. “We'll set that up.” She went to close the door. “I have to go.”

He slid his knee between the door and the frame and leaned in close. “Your boyfriend is a very strange character,” he said. “So mistrustful. But it's rubbed off on me and now I'm mistrustful, too. Well, why wouldn't I be? I've fallen in with con people, you clan of liars.” Adam's tone became
flinty. He said, “You think I'm a pushover but I'm not. I will defend my interest.” It was an odd turn of phrase, and odder still for the way the tone carried past the words to a deeper meaning that unmistakably resonated of threat. And when she raised her eyes, she saw anger in his: anger and history; a clear, unspoken declaration that whatever Adam claimed to have forgotten, he certainly had not.

In the next moment he papered the whole thing over with a forced and frozen smile. “I'd better go,” he said. “I don't want to keep Sarah waiting.” He closed Allie's door and walked off.

Allie sat alone in the truck for a few minutes, eating crackers and then getting the shakes. Ames had rattled her, not just by the threat but by the whole encounter, and by the fact that he'd obviously followed her and lain in wait. Despite her display of brittle attitude, he had owned the moment—and momentarily owned her. At last she took some deep breaths and headed up north on South Lamar to meet Vic and Radar downtown.

Though they'd deemed their apartment to be bug free, snuke hygiene still required that they not talk shop at home, so they'd established the habit of a happy-hour confab in a back booth at a 6th Street watering hole, Santa Margarita. There Allie found Mirplo plugged into his Rabota, listening with half an ear. Radar sat across from him, lost in thought. Allie slid into the booth beside Radar and quickly unbundled her tale. She took a sip of Radar's beer to calm her nerves and hoped it wouldn't make the baby a monster. Radar and Vic agreed with Allie's assessment, that Ames had confronted her for the purpose of running a certain script. When Radar
asked her to level Adam's performance, she described it as genuine yet tactical, authentic but deliberate.

“That's a lot of strands,” said Radar. “What does your gut say he was up to?”

“Showing me a card,” said Allie, “and saying, ‘Don't make me play this.'”

“Do we play back?” asked Vic.

“Not quite yet,” said Radar. “It sounds like Adam kept a lid on. Didn't say anything he couldn't walk back, right?”

“Right,” said Allie.

“So he wants it to be a card he can still unplay. We'll leave him that option for now.” But even as he spoke, Radar was aware of a seismic shift, for when the threat of violence, even its veiled version, entered the game, the game changed. The snuke world was unique in how it conducted—and how well it concluded—its business without resorting to force. To some grifters it was an absolute point of pride: If you couldn't give the mark a satisfying reacharound, you didn't deserve the get. So no, it wasn't a strong-arm community. But that didn't say strong arms never entered in.

However, his confidence buoyed Allie, who sipped a soda and began to relax. “Monty Python,” she said, chuckling. “I can't believe he tried to sell that past me.”

“Sarah for sure wasn't there,” said Vic. He tapped the Rabota. “She's been home all afternoon, loudly mangling the lyrics of pop songs. Did you know there's fifty ways to leap your lover?”

Radar, as was his habit, had been scanning the crowded bar. This was, again, simple grift hygiene. You kept your eyes peeled, always. Now, abruptly, he leaned across the table,
drawing Mirplo close. “Hey, Vic,” he whispered, “does your girlfriend know that we meet here?”

“My whatever,” corrected Vic. “But whatever. No, I don't think so. Why?”

“She just showed up with Jessup is all.”

“What?” Vic started to turn and look, but Radar held his shoulder. “Be cool,” he said. “They haven't seen us. You sure she doesn't know?”

Radar looked down at his Rabota. “Maybe she gaffed my tablet,” he said. “I wouldn't put it past her.” By now Vic had resigned himself to having Kadyn play her own role in the endgame, and intellectually he understood its purpose. Nevertheless, she had maintained a strict radio silence between them—apart from what their coetaneous party prep required—which never sits well with the seriously love struck. Now, seeing her actually out and about with Jessup, well, it made Vic's heart break a little. And this was news to a Mirplo. He didn't know his heart could do that.

Allie asked, “What do you suppose she's trying to tell us by showing up here?”

“That I can go screw,” said Vic, ruefully.

“Vic,” said Radar, “you know it's more textured than that.” He turned to Allie. “And I wouldn't be surprised if you, doll, had to go to the bathroom.”

“You know,” she said, “I do believe I do.” Allie got up and headed down the back hall to the door marked
Señoritas
. Shortly thereafter, Kadyn passed by, pointedly not looking at them. Radar kept an eye on Jessup, who seemed satisfied to focus his attention on the basketball game on the bar TV. Hook 'em Horns.

Mirplo moped. Radar tried to jolly him out of his funk. “Come on, man,” he said with a grin, “appreciate the moment. This is fun. We're watching a rookie phenom.”

“
My
rookie phenom, don't forget.”

Now Radar's grin became sly. “Not yet she's not. But she can be. You've got to win her.” His eyebrows bounced. “That's fun, too.”

“Radar, I don't know what you're impuning.…”

Radar laughed. “I'm not impuning, friend. I'm just saying you're in love and it tickles me. Seriously, have fun. Love is fun. It's worth the ride.” He saw Allie returning and whispered jovially, “But don't say I said so. Women have too much power as it is.”

“Including super hearing,” said Allie as she sat down. She patted Radar's hand. “You boys. Where did you ever get the idea that you call the shots?”