by Alan Cook
Chapter 25
The next day we raced the sun back to Los Angeles
and arrived only two hours after we started, local
time. The route took us over the whiteness of
Iceland and Greenland. Mini-icebergs floated in the
bays and snow covered the land, with no relief from
the starkness and cold.
In spite of being punchy after a ten-hour flight I
was determined to call James Buchanan as soon
as I got home. I had to come up with the money
for the baseball card, but I couldn't afford to be
obligated to him, especially since he was the enemy.
Maybe he would just take the card, himself, and
resell it. He could probably make a quick profit and
he was, after all, in the business of making money.
I clung to that hope as the airport shuttle deposited
me at the gate of the castle.
Before I called James I went to check on my father.
He was dressed and sitting downstairs, reading some
reports. He looked fairly good, except for a few
new wrinkles and more gray hair. He also looked
as if he had shrunk. The bones in his face were
more prominent and I was sure he had lost weight.
I didn't tell him any specifics about our trip; Arrow
would be coming tomorrow to give him a briefing.
I considered asking him to lend me $380,000, but
rejected the idea. Whatever credibility I had gained
with him during the last two weeks would be
lost--and more.
Enough stalling; I had to make the call before the
business day ended. A young man answered the
phone, as I expected. He said Mr. Buchanan was
out of town. Damn! This couldn't wait. Every day
I delayed in sending the check lowered my credit
rating with the buyer-and everybody else because
he would share his dissatisfaction with the Internet.
"Is Stan there?" I asked.
"One moment, please."
A lot of moments passed.
"Stan here."
"Hi Stan, it's Karl Patterson."
"Hey, Karl, how they hangin'?"
"Uh, fine. Listen, Stan, I need some help. I talked
to James a few days ago about a very rare
baseball card that was up for auction, and he
said to go ahead and bid on it."
"A Honus Wagner, right?"
"You know about it then."
"James filled me in. He said you might be calling.
Did you get the card?"
"Yes. I..."
"Okay, give me the amount and the name and
address to send the check to."
I gave Stan the information, but I had the distinct
impression that I was sliding down one of those
Arctic icebergs with nothing to stop me until I hit
the freezing water.
"Shall I have the card sent to you?" I asked.
"No; you're the owner of the card. We don't know
anything about baseball cards here. You have a
safe deposit box, don't you?"
"Yes. But what I was thinking is that since I can't
really afford the card at this time you might want
to turn around and resell it for a quick profit."
"Any profit on resale goes to you, since you're the
owner. The most we'd do is charge you nominal
interest. However, I don't see reselling it, Karl.
Owning a rare card like the Wagner is a dream come
true for a collector, such as yourself.
"I suggest that you get your ass up here on Monday,
when James will be back in town, and work out a
deal with him to pay for the card. You know that
James is a reasonable man."
As reasonable as a king cobra. What could I do for
James that was worth $380,000? I didn't want to
think about it.
# # # #
"I'm not surprised that James would do something
like that," my father said the next morning after
Arrow and I filled him in on our adventures. "He
still tramples on people."
That didn't make me feel good. We had made light
of our two fights, the only visible evidence of which
was the bruise on my cheek and a Band-Aid on
Arrow's chin. We had presented all the evidence,
including the contradictory stories told by Michael
and Seamus.
When I mentioned the email link between Michael
and James, my father said, "James has
connections all over the world. It makes sense
that he would have one where he grew up.
Michael probably didn't admit to you that he
had contact with James because he was
suspicious of you. Then, after your meeting
they exchanged emails. If Michael is in the pay
of James he isn't going to say bad things about
him."
And he might have hired the thug in London to
scare Seamus away from us.
Arrow was going to talk to Elma that afternoon. We
agreed that Arrow would tell her the Seamus
version of events, but not the Michael version.
Three reasons. There was no sense bad-mouthing
Ned to Elma, especially since he was dead. There
was no sense bad-mouthing Elma to herself by
implying that something torrid had happened
between her and Dickie Stewart. The third reason,
of course, was that the Seamus version suited our
purposes. We needed Elma's shares to keep James
from taking over Dionysus.
When we had finished our discussion my father
indicated that he had something to say. He
cleared his throat and looked uncharacteristically
uncomfortable. He said, "You two did a good
job-certainly beyond the requirements of your
job, Arrow--and Karl, you're not even an
employee. You're just trying to help your old
man, which I appreciate."
No wonder he was uncomfortable. He had never
spoken to me like this before.
"I don't ask anybody to do anything I wouldn't do,"
he continued, "especially if it places them in
physical danger. With that in mind, I'm telling both
of you to stay away from James. From now on I
will fight him from behind a phalanx of lawyers.
They get paid to do that sort of thing."
I escorted Arrow out to her car, wishing that I
could indeed stay away from James. As she
prepared to get in she said, "In spite of our
personal differences and the problems we ran
into, I really enjoyed the trip."
"Me too," I said.
"I just wanted you to know that because I don't
suppose we'll be seeing each other again soon."
"We'll always have Wick," I said, and immediately
regretted speaking so glibly.
"I think I'd rather forget Wick."
Arrow looked into my eyes for a long count, during
which I had a compulsion to spout some inanity
just to break the silence, but I restrained myself.
Then she hugged me, a hard, committed hug. I
hugged her back. She got into her car, started
the engine and drove away without looking back.
I walked back into the castle to speak to Luz. I
hadn't talked to her since before the trip. Jacie
intercepted me in the living room, which looks
out onto the street.
"Arrow really likes you," she said, and I knew she'd
been watching us. "It's too bad you are...the way
you are. You would make a nice couple."
Was Jacie trying to protect her turf by matching up
Arrow? Or was she being sincere. I wasn't sure, but
Jacie had changed. For one thing, she had never
been so cordial to me before.
I decided to go to Emerge that afternoon. It wasn't
Tuesday, my usual day, but I had missed Tuesday.
And they could use the help any day and every day.
Besides, I wanted to see Esther. Maybe seeing her
would help me clear my head.
Aces and Knaves copyright ©2002 Alan L. Cook
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