hold my hands in her grasp. She ground them into the wall, I think as sort of a consolation prize to herself for not getting to kill me and such. In any event, it was clear I wasn’t going anywhere until I convinced her I had religion.
Let’s be clear about one thing: I’m not a coward, but I am a practical man. I’m able to discern an empty threat from a genuine one, and there was no doubt in my mind that Scovil’s was the real deal. Moreover, the puzzle of her personality was clicking into place for me. She’d rubbed me the wrong way from the moment we met. Why? Because she rubs everyone the wrong way. It’s what she likes to do: to define herself in enmity. In that sense, she was like the antigrifter. Where a grifter is all verbal prostate massage, she was a shaft up the ass. And, I feared, not just in a metaphorical sense.
So I caved. I caved completely and sincerely and, I confess, a bit cravenly. Not my finest hour, but what are you going to do? I had no intention of being collateral damage to a grudge match between a bent fibbie and a self-righteous Aussie cop with blood lust. And if it cost me a little pride, a little dignity, I figured that was a better deal than the whole ectoplasmic package that was Radar Hoverlander.
Which I basically conveyed to Scovil in the vernacular of “You say jump, me say how high?” Problem was, the abject capitulation of a con man gets taken with the same giant lump of salt as everything else he says. How could I convince Scovil that she did, in fact, have a broken Radar on her hands? By playing the only card in my deck with any texture, my doubts about Billy Yuan.
I told Scovil how I’d eased myself into Yuan’s acquaintance. “He’s playing me for a mark,” I said, “but I’m not sure he buys it.”
“Why, Radar,” she offered sardonically, “you’re not smart enough to play dumb?”
“I can play dumb,” I said. “I can play anything.” Man, she raised my hackles. “But there’s a certain balance of power at work here. As a top grifter, I can convince him of anything, but as a top grifter, too, he’s probably not convinced.”
“Clash of the bloody titans,” she said. And then slapped me.
Slapped me!
Sheesh, what’d I do?
“Right,” she continued, “here’s what you’ll do. First, obviously, you will keep this conversation to yourself.”
“Obviously.”
“You’ll continue to work Yuan. Don’t admit anything. You’re selling a fiction; so is he. That can be useful. Meantime, you report to Hines that the meeting went well, no problems.” She grabbed my cheeks and chin, and squeezed hard. “You’re on probation, mate. You keep your nose clean, do exactly as I tell you, and never so much as shade the truth to me, then Bob’s your uncle. But if anything goes wrong, whether it’s your fault or not, I will end you. Understand?” I nodded to the extent that my squeezed cheeks would allow. Scovil seemed satisfied. She got up off me and, without ceremony, left my place.
As I rubbed blood back into my hands, I wondered why, and by whose authority, an Australian copper was after a bent Yank fibbie. But it was one of those “Reply hazy, ask again later” questions, so I stashed it for future contemplation. Meanwhile, I couldn’t help noting how my earlier existential crisis had been overtaken—swamped, really—by events. No time for existential crises now. At some point in the future, I might decide that grifting for money wasn’t where I wanted to be, but just then I was grifting for my life, and while I’d always managed a success rate that anyone might envy, in this case I simply couldn’t afford to fail. I’d need all my judgment, guile, and skill just to tap dance through.
Plus a healthy dose of think-on-your-feet.
Starting, as it happens, almost at once.
Because fifteen minutes after Scovil left, Hines showed up.
Not in what you’d call a perky mood.
* * *
*Some people know what all this means; I personally do not.
* * *
17.
name that religion
T he trouble with having a Mirplo for a chaperone is he’s such a fucking blabbermouth. I should have known he would report back to Hines about my hookup with Yuan—did know it, in fact, but figured he’d be his usual slack self about checking in. But that was before I learned Hines was dirty. Or rather, alleged to