The Texas Twist (29 page)

Woody tapped her on her head and of course nothing happened. He rapped the chopstick against the flat of his hand. “Dead batteries?” he asked. Then he just kind of stared at the stick and said, “I don't even know why I'm holding this.” With that he opened his hand and let it drop onto the conference table, where it clattered and bounced and rolled to a stop. He sagged into a seat beside it, visibly
distressed. “I wanted to be Neville Chamberlain, you know. One of the genuine great fools of history. But try finding a Neville Chamberlain costume these days. No, I had to be Bumblebore or whatever he's called.”

“You're fine,” said Sarah, moved by this naked show of shame. “You'll be fine. Would you like something to drink?”

Wellinov scooped up his non-magic wand and touched Sarah again. “Ye will bring me a sparkling water,” he intoned. Sarah giggled and went to fetch a bottle from the conference room's mini-fridge. While she was doing this, Radar and Vic came in. Kadyn slipped in behind them and quietly occupied a place beside the door, which she kept open a crack.

Sarah looked up from the fridge. “Where's Allie?” she asked.

Radar shrugged. “Bride stuff,” he said.

This seemed to vaguely trouble Ames. He grumbled but pushed past it. “Let's get started,” he said. “Who goes first?”

“Oh, I will,” said Radar. “That's no problem at all.” He took off his tuxedo jacket, revealing one of Kadyn's money vests underneath.

“Ooh,” said Sarah, “striptease.” She clapped her hands like a little girl. “I like this show already.”

Radar removed the vest and tossed it on the table. It landed with a considerable thump. Another thump followed, equally considerable, and that was Vic's vest, its harlequin colors a stark contrast to Radar's solemn black affair.

“What's that?” asked Ames.

“The rest of my money,” said Radar. “We split the load. It was too heavy for one.”

“Oh, not for me,” said Wellinov brightly.

“Well, we're wimps,” Mirplo assured him.

Ames waved away the nonsense. “Come on,” he said, “let's see the green.” He nodded to Sarah, who picked up Radar's vest and opened the first pocket she came to.

She turned to Adam, her eyes shining bright, and she whispered quite reverently, “Jackpot.”

S
arah checked out the rest of the vest, opening each pocket with the avidity of a child opening windows in an Advent calendar. Just the same, though, she examined all the contents with a critical eye, and Radar knew that she was hunting for grifter fill, the renegade fives or tens that pad a grifter's roll to make not much money look like lots. He also knew she wouldn't find any—the count was kosher. Finally Sarah handed the vest back to Radar and told Adam, “Fifty grand, I think.”

“Well, do you think or are you sure?”

Sarah reacted petulantly to his tone of voice. “I'm sure,” she said, and stuck out her tongue for good measure.

“Good.” Ames turned to Vic. “Shall we have a look at yours now,
Doctor
Mirplo?” Radar and Vic both heard it. With a word, Ames acknowledged the mockery they had occasioned to make at his expense; acknowledged it and telegraphed his festering resentment on that score. To Radar
it was an unforced error. A great grifter would never have let such animosity show, no matter how deeply felt.

Vic picked up his vest, flashing its impressive hand-painted harlequin lining. He held it out to Sarah, but before she could take it, Kadyn, who'd been keeping lookout by the door, suddenly hissed, “Someone's coming.”

She opened the door wider and peeked out. “It's okay,” she said. “It's only Allie.”

Said Sarah, “I thought she was doing bride stuff.”

“So did I,” said Radar. There was an edge of displeasure in his voice—not much, but enough to draw Adam's and Sarah's eyes to the door in anticipation of conflict to come. Into that modest moment of distraction, Radar and Vic inserted several actions. Radar flipped his vest inside out and deftly stripped off a tear-away sheath of black fabric, revealing a harlequin lining that was a twin to Vic's in every respect. Mirplo took the black fabric and Velcroed it into place over his harlequin handiwork. They exchanged vests and then Radar pushed between Ames and Sarah, striding to the door to confront his bride-to-be as she walked in.

“What are you doing here?” Radar demanded.

“Nothing,” she said lightly. “Just joining the fun.”

“There's no fun here,” he said. “This is business.” Everyone could hear the steely tone in his voice. “Business we agreed would happen without you.”

“You agreed,” she said. “I never did.” She patted his cheek. “Happy wife, happy life, darling. Get used to it.” Then, unexpectedly, she went to Ames and took both his hands in hers. “Adam,” she said, “Radar thinks we should keep this affair strictly on the money tip. He thinks that if you're not
going to address your—” she made a mockery of the next two words “—dark subtext, then neither should we.”

Radar growled a warning, “Allie…” which she ignored.

“I don't agree. I think we should acknowledge our history.” She touched his chest. It was an intimate gesture. “And have a clear understanding that when this business ends favorably…” she turned to Radar and damn near stuck out her tongue, “… on the money tip, then that history ends, too.”

Now it was Radar's turn to mock. “What are you, trying to buy him off ? Bribe the bogeyman? Honey, you might as well just light our cash on fire.”

“Radar, please,” said Allie. “It's better this way. Cleaner.” She turned back to Ames. “Don't you see it that way?”

Ames stared at her and said levelly, “I do.”

Allie came back to Radar and stood by his side. “There, you see, bub? Water under the bridge.”

“Fine, whatever,” said Radar, seemingly defeated. He nodded to Vic, who handed the vest in his hand to Sarah.

She took it from him and, ignoring the loud lining, began inspecting its pockets. When he was done, she reported, “All here, Adam. Another fifty.”

“Good.” He turned to Radar and said, with surprising sincerity, “Thank you, Radar.”

“What for?”

“For playing this thing straight. I thought you might try some shenanigans with the…‘green,' as you call it. That would have put me in a tough spot with Jessup. Tougher than you know.” Ames turned to Wellinov. “Now you, sir.”

“Well,” said Henry, “this will take some doing. I'm afraid it never occurred to me that I would have to disrobe.” He
removed his ratty velvet vestment, revealing knobby knees, a pair of boxer shorts with Valentine hearts and, over a sleeveless undershirt, a money vest that matched the others, down to the retrofitted black sheath. He tossed it on the table and quickly slipped his wizarding gear back on.

Sarah picked up the vest, surprised by the weight of it. “It's heavy,” she said.

“That's what I'm talking about,” said Mirplo. “A hundred grand ain't a pack of matches.”

Sarah attacked the first pocket with the same kid-on-Christmas glee she'd evinced before. But her face darkened to a scowl as she pulled out its contents. “What are these?”

“Specifically?” asked Wellinov cheerfully. “Bank deposit slips. They fill the pockets nicely, don't you think?”

Ames blinked twice. “Where is your money?”

“Why, in the bank, of course. Where it belongs.” He reacted to Ames's gape. “You didn't really think I was going to bring it here, did you? It's a party, for goodness sake. I may go home drunk.” He winked at Kadyn. “I might not go home alone.”

“Wh—” Ames started. He stopped, then started again, saying in a low, stern voice, “You made a commitment, sir.”

“True,” said Wellinov. “But then I thought, well, since there'd probably be plenty of cash to go around without mine…” He made a wandy gesture with his chopstick. “I made it disappear.”

“Dude, you're a fruitcake,” said Vic. “What if we hadn't brought ours?”

Said Wellinov solemnly, “Ah. Well, that would've been a blow to everyone's credibility.” He paused, then added, “But
you did—good lads—so it all worked out. We'll announce the donations, solicit generous pledges, and then have a wonderful—dare I say magical?—evening.” He turned to Kadyn. “My dear, I understand that you are technically Mr. Jessup's escort, but I do hope you'll save me at least a dance. My sambas have been known to seduce.”

Kadyn said nothing, but she did place her hand on his forearm.

“You're still planning to donate, aren't you?” asked a visibly shaken Ames.

“But of course. By wire transfer, first thing in the morning.” He patted Kadyn's hand and grinned wolfishly. “Perhaps second.”

Kadyn smiled prettily, took his hand and held it.

“Oh, for God's sake,” muttered Vic.

Kadyn shot daggers at him with her eyes. “Now what?”

“No, I just want to know: Are you going to hit on every old fogey in sight tonight?”

“God,” said Kadyn, dropping Henry's hand. “I thought we had this sorted out.” She went to Mirplo and stood toe-to-toe with him, a smoky, surly look in her eye. “Look, let's get this straight once and for all. Vic, you're a nice guy and a funny guy but you don't call my shots. Who I choose to be with and how I choose to be with them is my affair, and the next time you try to make it yours I will hurt you some. Do you not think I can?” Vic said nothing. Kadyn repeated,
“Do you not think I can?”

Sarah gawped and said, “But I thought he was her sweet dummy.” Even Ames seemed enthralled by the sudden soap opera.

Which is why neither of them noticed Radar and Henry switching vests.

Vic held Kadyn's gaze for a long moment, then collapsed under it. “Sorry,” he said, “I'm sorry. I'm not the boss of you.”

“You're damn right you're not.” Kadyn shook her head in evident disgust. She turned back to Wellinov. “You know what, Henry?” she said. “Show me that damn samba.” Kadyn practically shoved Henry out the door. Affecting a look of great surprise—and no small impish delight—he allowed himself to be led away as he clutched his vest—well,
a
vest—to his chest.

Vic aimed an impotent kick after them as the door slammed shut.

“Wow,” said Sarah, breathlessly. “What was all that about?”

“Didn't you hear her?” muttered Vic. “I'm not the boss of her.” He slumped against the closed door, seemingly lost in self-pity.

Radar regarded his friend sadly and said without conviction, “She'll get over it.” Then he turned to face Ames. “Okay, Adam,” he said. “Let's see your green and get this tired gymkhana over with.” Adam's face stayed blank long enough and expressively enough for Radar to read it. “Oh, shit,” he said.

“What?” asked Allie.

“Ask him,” said Radar. “Ask Mr. Water under the Bridge. No, don't bother. I'll tell you: He stiffed us. He doesn't have his share.”

“I have it. It's in the building. It's just not on me now. You have to admit, that's just prudent. A layer of protection. In case you decided to.…”

“What? Get frisky with your money?”

“It could happen. Admit it, Radar, you're not the most reputable of characters. You could say it's because I respect you that I'm not holding cash.”

“You can't imagine how honored that makes me feel. So if it's not here, where is it?”

“Two big men have it. They'll be there when we meet Jessup.”

“Two big men,” repeated Radar, shaking his head. It was laughable, but he didn't laugh. Instead he said, “What makes you think Jessup will hold up his end?”

“Of course he will. Why wouldn't he?”

“Because he's a con artist and you're his mark.”

“Oh, God, Radar, not that old song.”

“Yes, that old song. By process of elimination. Either he's scamming you or you're scamming me. Now which is it?”