Vic Mirplo. The original blunt instrument.

Time to sharpen it up.

Allie and I stepped outside the restaurant and prepared to part company. She had to see Hines, to warn him off Scovil, and I had to go prep the world's worst liar to sell a lie, which I could only do by making him think it was truth. And yes, that meant lying to Vic, whom hadn't I brought into my confidence? But this I figured to be a necessary evil, as I rated myself more likely to lie convincingly to Vic than Vic likely to lie convincingly to a grade-schooler or a corpse. Anyway, it was for his own good. If I managed to finesse my way out of this bind, I'd be taking him with me.

Of course, that was still a fairly jumbo-size if. Well, one thing at a time. Next on the agenda was kissing Allie good-bye.

That makes it sound premeditated, but it wasn't. I just knew that the deal needed sealing. If nothing else, it would confirm that we could kiss as two (reasonably) honest people. I guess Allie had arrived at the same unpremeditated meditation, for I found her lips waiting for mine.

Kissing Allie this time was a totally different experience. Gone was the fierce erotica, replaced by the sacred grace of her chrismal tongue. Residual maple syrup lent a tacky, sweet overtone, but we really didn't need it. We kissed like a movie kiss, and like a movie kiss, it was utterly authentic because we willingly suspended our disbelief. We kissed like bubble gum, like prom night, like the top of a Ferris wheel. We kissed for the benefit of the sad commuters who pa.s.sed us by in their hapless transits from heavily mortgaged homes to soul-killing dead-end jobs. We kissed for our freedom. We kissed for our lives. And by the time we were done kissing, I was about 75 percent in love.

value town.

I t no longer served my purpose to work on a compromised computer, so I drove over to Value Town, a pirate electronics store that operates out of the back of a boba tea shop in Monterey Park. Value Town carries a line of goods you're not likely to find at Best Buy, such as weapons-grade tasers, DV descramblers, and the thing I was after, an aftermarket laptop tricked out with the latest anonymizers, cookie crunchers, RPGs (random pa.s.sword generators), and ISP baffles. I selected a hardware platform, then chose from a tasty menu of options, including something I'd never seen before, a fail-safe fingerprint sensor that would wipe the hard drive if it detected the wrong hands on the keyboard. Wow. The owner of Value Town was a sunny Thai illegal named Charoenrasamee-Chuck to her friends. As she spooled up the operating system on my new laptop, my thoughts turned back to the odd USB plug-in I'd seen at Allie's "apartment." I asked Chuck about it. At first it rang no bell, but when I described its size, shape, and functionality (according to Hines, it could do everything but slice bread), her eyes lit up and she said, "Ah, you mean Hackmaster 6000!" t no longer served my purpose to work on a compromised computer, so I drove over to Value Town, a pirate electronics store that operates out of the back of a boba tea shop in Monterey Park. Value Town carries a line of goods you're not likely to find at Best Buy, such as weapons-grade tasers, DV descramblers, and the thing I was after, an aftermarket laptop tricked out with the latest anonymizers, cookie crunchers, RPGs (random pa.s.sword generators), and ISP baffles. I selected a hardware platform, then chose from a tasty menu of options, including something I'd never seen before, a fail-safe fingerprint sensor that would wipe the hard drive if it detected the wrong hands on the keyboard. Wow. The owner of Value Town was a sunny Thai illegal named Charoenrasamee-Chuck to her friends. As she spooled up the operating system on my new laptop, my thoughts turned back to the odd USB plug-in I'd seen at Allie's "apartment." I asked Chuck about it. At first it rang no bell, but when I described its size, shape, and functionality (according to Hines, it could do everything but slice bread), her eyes lit up and she said, "Ah, you mean Hackmaster 6000!"

"Of course I do," I said. "What else would I mean?"

The Hackmaster 6000 turned out to be a daughter-of-necessity invention first thought up in some federal spook shop in the ugly early days after 9/11, but not actually brought online until late last year. Sort of the Swiss Army knife of wireless cards, it linked to the internet via proprietary government broadband frequencies and featured a most impressive array of AI spiders, pa.s.sword mimes, active and pa.s.sive data traps, and inbound and outbound GPS. In the time it takes to call the play, the Hackmaster 6000 could search, cull, harvest, and rationalize every available bit or byte about you, from your high school test scores to that speeding ticket you got in Reno that time, and even the name of the hooker in the car with you when you got popped.

The government, of course, didn't call it the Hackmaster 6000. That was its street name, for no sooner had it gone into production than clones started turning up as curios in places like Value Town. It was a tough tool to use well, Chuck told me, because for all its advanced stealth technology, it left a detectable trail of electronic breadcrumbs. If you a.s.sumed that someone was watching (and it's always healthy to a.s.sume that someone is), it was likely only a matter of time before the fact of your fact-finding mission would surface somewhere. For someone on the inside, like Hines, that wouldn't matter, but for me it made the Hackmaster only a hit-and-run tool at best.

Still, a tool is a tool. "You don't happen to have one?" I asked.

"I have!" said Chuck. "This Valu' Town!"

She reached under the counter and pulled out a plastic bag containing a matte black cartridge similar to the one Hines had had-except that this one bore the logo of a smiling, dancing tiger.

"What's with the cat?" I asked.

"Private brand," she said. "Valu' Town special. It do tricks!"

"What kind of tricks?"

"You read manual." She opened the bag and took out a hand-Xeroxed, -folded, and -stapled instruction manual written in charmingly fractured English. I read the first sentence-"Hackmaster 6000 are first name on digital survalence, not for childrens"-and decided to save it for later. Chuck tapped the Hackmaster with her purple lacquered fingernail. "Last one," she said brightly. "Bargain price."

Chuck's idea of a bargain price could have kept her extended family in boba tea for a year, but she bundled it together with the new computer, rounded the whole thing up to an extravagant number, then discounted it back down to a reasonable sum, and sold me the whole package for that. This was how Chuck did business. She haggled with herself, and seemed to enjoy both sides of the negotiation. "Thank you for shopping Valu' Town," she intoned in her delightful singsong as I left. "Tell your friends." This This, I thought, is what makes America great is what makes America great.

I didn't go home. I needed to work awhile without interruption, and considering all the people who had lately made my joint their crossroads, I thought a Java Man would serve me better, so I selected the one closest to Value Town (a mere stone's throw, like they all are) and set up shop there. It took me some time to get used to the new laptop. Though sleeker and faster than my old box, it lacked my familiar shortcuts, and I really didn't feel comfortable until I had those all dialed in.

After that, I checked on how the Merlin Game was paying off, and was gratified to see returns running ahead of projection, both in absolute numbers and average handle. To tell the truth, not having run a Merlin Game in a few years, I wasn't altogether sure how it would play out. The pick trick brings them in, of course, but in the end, it's all about the bafflegab, and you like to think your pitch is still sharp, even after a long layoff. Seeing the mooks rise so avidly to the bait gave me some confidence as I looked ahead to the Penny Skim, because there the sell would be a good deal harder. It's not that you have to convince people to be greedy. The greedy ones are greedy by nature and need no convincing, and the others never even notice you, so it's kind of self-selecting. Nor was it the prospect of working in Mandarin (not my strongest language, but I muddle through, ni hao) ni hao). The thing is, my targets would be newbies, virgins, innocent to the grift, for IT professionals high up in the Chinese central banking system had likely never been approached by a Western-style scam artist before. And while you might think this would make them soft targets, in fact the opposite was true. They wouldn't naturally recognize the benefits being offered to them, and they'd need spoon-fed a.s.surances that the yak was plausible, profitable, doable, and safe. They'd have to learn to believe in the magic of something for nothing.

I'd have to get my teaching chops on. In Mandarin, no less.

It occurred to me that Billy might have Mandarin (though this was by no means given-who knows what immigrants teach their kids at home?), and I shot him a quick IM to find out. I used one of our agreed-upon ghost accounts, but got no response, which was odd, because I knew he'd slaved his IM to his new cash-and-carry cell phone, and we'd kind of agreed to keep those phones always on. I tried him again a little while later, but still nothing, so I dialed him up.

The phone rang about five times before Billy answered. "p.r.o.nto "p.r.o.nto," he said-and I nearly sprained a finger stabbing end call end call, because p.r.o.nto p.r.o.nto, while it's how they answer a call in Italy or in certain pretentious circles of Eurotrash wannabes, was also one of our predetermined code words. In this case, the code meant can't talk now-compromised situation can't talk now-compromised situation.

After a moment, my phone lit up, signaling an incoming call. Caller ID told me it was Billy calling back. Some instinct told me to just listen, and I did. Good thing, because Billy had surrept.i.tiously managed to open the line, so that I could hear the conversation he was having. The voices were m.u.f.fled-probably the phone was in his pocket-but I could easily make out the speakers. One was obviously Billy.

The other?

Sigh.

Hines.

"Are you certain you haven't seen him?" asked Hines.

"Not for a couple of days," answered Billy, in a tone of such sincere helpfulness that even I bought it-for a moment I thought I was wrong about the guy. But then he added, "I'm sorry I can't be more help, Mr. Thurston."

Mr. Thurston? Ah-ha! Ah-ha! Hines was representing himself to Billy as Chad Thurston's dad, and why not? I'd told Hines about the picture of filial conflict I'd painted for Yuan. No doubt he was playing the aggrieved father come to town in search of his wayward son. Billy, of course, knew there was no Chad Thurston III. Did he know this was Hines? Probably he could guess, but in any case he'd do nothing but play it safe and play along. Hines was representing himself to Billy as Chad Thurston's dad, and why not? I'd told Hines about the picture of filial conflict I'd painted for Yuan. No doubt he was playing the aggrieved father come to town in search of his wayward son. Billy, of course, knew there was no Chad Thurston III. Did he know this was Hines? Probably he could guess, but in any case he'd do nothing but play it safe and play along.

"Give me your number," said Billy. "I'll call you if he gets in touch."

"You do that," said Hines. Then I heard him jack up the tenor of threat in his voice as he added, "Listen carefully, young man. My son is very impressionable, and p.r.o.ne to bad decisions. Under no circ.u.mstances are you to accept money from him, do you understand?"

"Why would he give me money?" asked Billy.

Hines must have realized he'd overplayed his hand. He backed and filled quickly. "He's ... the boy's deranged," he stammered. "He likes to give money away."

I chuckled silently. What a lame cover. It showed that Hines wasn't thinking things through. Indeed, I thought, Hines's whole line of play was weak here, ill considered and rushed. How he'd managed to track down Yuan I don't know, but he did have a Hackmaster, and he also had Allie, who couldn't reasonably deny him information about Yuan without tipping her loyalty shift. Nor could I guess why Hines had decided to go this route in the first place. Did he see some hidden advantage in introducing Chad Thurston pere into the mix, or was he just losing the plot? Either way, I knew I'd have to meet with him right away and chill him out. I didn't want his anger peaking too soon. He was liable to just start busting people (or heads) and queer the deal for everyone.

So I disconnected Billy's call, grabbed my other phone and punched up Hines's cell. He didn't answer-I hadn't expected him to-and the call went to voice mail. I left a message about a hiccup with the Merlin Game, something that would make it seem like the money had not gone where the money was supposed to go. I a.s.sured him that this was an accident, easily fixed, but that we should get together right away and discuss the ramifications.

Next I phoned Mirplo and fed him the mislead that Hines wasn't a bent cop after all. Rather, he was working an internal-affairs investigation on his own bureau, trying to uncover cops who were were bent. I told Vic to contact Scovil and alert her to this. He didn't ask why, which was good, because there was no way I could make the logic of that disinformation stand up. But that's the beauty of a Mirplo: they act first and forget to ask questions later. As for Scovil, I doubted she'd fully take Mirplo's word for this, but it might cause her to break stride, which was the best I could manage for now. At a certain point in the con, your lies are like ball bearings. You just throw them all out across the floor and hope that someone slips on something. bent. I told Vic to contact Scovil and alert her to this. He didn't ask why, which was good, because there was no way I could make the logic of that disinformation stand up. But that's the beauty of a Mirplo: they act first and forget to ask questions later. As for Scovil, I doubted she'd fully take Mirplo's word for this, but it might cause her to break stride, which was the best I could manage for now. At a certain point in the con, your lies are like ball bearings. You just throw them all out across the floor and hope that someone slips on something.

Hines was waiting for me when I got home. I had a feeling he would be. I didn't expect him to be in exactly a Little Mary Sunshine frame of mind, nor did he disappoint. While I calmly washed, changed clothes, and fixed myself a grilled cheese sandwich, he raged around my apartment calling me unspeakable names. But I thought his rage seemed a little theatrical. He must have realized that I had (A) his money, and (2) therefore him over a certain barrel. I tried to see myself from Hines's point of view. Here was a con artist he thought he'd cowed and corralled, only to face some bulls.h.i.t story about the money "accidentally" going astray. He didn't buy it but probably wondered what he could do about it. Turning up the bl.u.s.ter wasn't the only move that came to his mind, no doubt. He may have considered arresting me, shooting me, or just kicking my a.s.s. But he had to save those moves for later. For now, he'd try to do the least he could do to regain control of the situation. Which meant hissing and posturing like a puff adder.

I must admit it felt good watching him go all Sturm und Drang around my apartment. What had he expected from me? Fair play? Come on-is it not my job to outthink guys like Hines? Should he not have realized that I'd have never caught his eye in the first place if I weren't d.a.m.n good at what I do? In other words, the mere fact that he knew of me meant he shouldn't underestimate me.

Yeah, but that's the ego talking, isn't it? I paused to remind myself (as I flipped the grilled cheese sandwich over in the pan) that this wasn't in any sense a d.i.c.k-measuring contest between us. After all, what good would it do to send him down in flames if his last, vengeful act was to take me down, too? Of this he was certainly capable, and I'd do well not to underestimate him. A puff adder might be a vicious, stupid, cowardly snake, but it's a snake just the same.

And what do you do with a snake?

Charm it.

"Grilled cheese?" I asked. Hines looked at me like I'd just landed from Mars. "Come on," I encouraged. "A man's got to eat, right?"

"f.u.c.k food," he said. "Just tell me where's my money."

"Ah, that," I said. I didn't see any point in bothering with an "I know you don't trust me" preamble, and so instead launched straight into the bafflegab. "You understand that I couldn't send the money straight to Liechtenstein, right?"

"Why the h.e.l.l not?"

"Paper trail," I said. "Think about the high rollers we're dealing with here. You think none of them have been scammed before?" Judging by Hines's reaction, I knew I'd pinged a true target-that he had, in fact, gathered his candidate list for the Merlin Game from prior victims of cons, perhaps even some of mine. "And some of those scams were likely tax dodges, no?" I could see Hines repress a nod. "Which puts at least some of our marks on IRS radar, who will then surely have sentinels monitoring their outbound transactions." I had no idea if that was true, but it sounded good. "Well, look, the bank you gave me is a known offsh.o.r.e larder." Again, pure fabricat, but I figured that Hines must've learned about that bank somewhere, and government lists of black banks seemed as likely a somewhere as any. "If I'd sent the money there," I continued, "it would've rung alarm bells in half a dozen watchdog agencies, not just the IRS but the SEC and your friends at Hometown Buffet Security. Is that what you wanted?"

I could see that this put him back on his heels, so I pushed ahead. Once you get going on a good run of bafflegab, you just let momentum take over. "So I washed the money some. First I sent it to a folksy little ma-and-pa bank in Altoona. I've worked with them before. They have close ties to big mutual funds, so major money flowing through them doesn't raise eyebrows." Hines gave me this "go on" glare, and I knew he was on the hook for believing me. Which is remarkable because I was literally making this up as I went along. As I said, I like to improvise. "I let the money rest there for a day-that's why you didn't hear from me-then I cut it up into parcels."

"Why?"

"To chop the trail." I raised an eyebrow. "You never heard of trail chopping?" Not likely, since I'd just that instant invented it. "Next I bounced the parcels around. They pa.s.sed through a Delaware sh.e.l.l corporation I own." Well, in my imagination I do. "And then to a Texas credit union with a sister bank in Mexico. So ... over the border, down to Costa Rica, then across the South Atlantic to Zimbabwe. Now the beauty of Zimbabwe is their inflation rate is so high that the banks-"

"Just cut to the f.u.c.king chase, Hoverlander. Where did my money get lost?"

"Ah. Well, that would be France. In the end it was a language problem."

"Language?"

"Yeah, I wrote all the transaction orders in English, and apparently in France these days that's a no-go. They did the same thing with Google. French only, some bulls.h.i.t. So now all the funds are in impound while I get a language waiver, whatever that is." I let disgust leak into my voice. "The f.u.c.king French, right? Anyway, it shouldn't be more than a day or two. France is the final rinse. Next stop Liechtenstein, and your money, all five hundred grand of it, will be nice and clean and fresh."

"Half a million?"

"Yeah, we did a little better than expected." Hines looked pleased at this. In his mind, his runaway retirement just got a little more comfy. Maybe ... comfy enough for two?

A chill ran down my spine I don't know how I knew, I just knew. Maybe the faraway look in his eye suggested a picture where he wasn't alone. Or maybe it was just the final cylinder of a complex lock clicking into place in my head. Whatever. In that instant, I flashed on all the times I'd seen Hines with Allie, how he'd deferred to her. I'd thought it was part of their snuke, but suddenly I knew different. He had a crush on her, and his endgame for all this involved Allie running away with him, if not for affection then as a lesser-of-evils alternative to prison. Or death.

A whole different kind of chill ran down my spine. Man, I wanted to run just then. Just ... drop everything, grab Allie, and run. But I knew that was a fool's paradigm. Hines, I now saw, was the whole lethal package: a bent cop trying to shade and fade; plus a vengeful f.u.c.k who wanted to put the hurt on poor Radar; plus, worst, a middle-aged horndog. He wouldn't let go. He'd scorch the earth before he let go. No, the only way out of this thing for me was through it. Spang-blam straight through the middle.

I have to admit that at that moment my confidence wobbled. Since meeting Billy, I had allowed myself to believe that with the prospect of robbing China I could easily lead Hines around by the greed-shaped ring in his nose. Now I wasn't sure. Suppose he just wasn't interested. After all, half a million should be enough to meet any crooked Jake's needs, right? Suppose he gave me forty-eight hours to get my so-called language waiver and then after that, called in his markers? If I gave him the money, he'd kill me to keep me quiet. If I didn't give him the money, he'd just kill me for spite. In his panic, he'd probably kill Allie, too, and anyone else he could think of. I couldn't have that. It was too messy an endgame. Plus too lethal.

So, okay, that meant I had to chum the waters and hope he liked the taste. Really, what else could I do? Time to put Chad Thurston to rest and reveal the formidable tag-team alliance of Billy Yuan and Radar Hoverlander.

"Listen," I said, "there's something else I want to talk to you about."

I slid the grilled cheese sandwich onto a plate and handed it to Hines.

After a moment, he took it.

moire or less.

S omewhere in the bowels of the information technology department of the People's Bank of China, IT manager Zhao Guixian had just received an e-mail. The wording and syntax, plus some esoteric insider's slang, would seek to convince Zhao that the e-mail came from his opposite number in Taiwan's Central Bank of China. In fact, it came from my laptop, but a powerful address emulator (Chuck was right-the Hackmaster did omewhere in the bowels of the information technology department of the People's Bank of China, IT manager Zhao Guixian had just received an e-mail. The wording and syntax, plus some esoteric insider's slang, would seek to convince Zhao that the e-mail came from his opposite number in Taiwan's Central Bank of China. In fact, it came from my laptop, but a powerful address emulator (Chuck was right-the Hackmaster did tricks!) tricks!) said otherwise. The e-mail took pains to couch its intent in circ.u.mlocution, but the gist was this: that certain code cowboys in the Central Bank's IT section had written some skim software, "just for fun." Now they were thinking about moving it out of the fun stage and into implementation, but the regulatory atmosphere in Taipei was not conducive (i.e., too nosy), and would Mr. Zhao be interested in speaking to the regulatory atmosphere in Beijing? said otherwise. The e-mail took pains to couch its intent in circ.u.mlocution, but the gist was this: that certain code cowboys in the Central Bank's IT section had written some skim software, "just for fun." Now they were thinking about moving it out of the fun stage and into implementation, but the regulatory atmosphere in Taipei was not conducive (i.e., too nosy), and would Mr. Zhao be interested in speaking to the regulatory atmosphere in Beijing?

Billy and I had worked on the pitch day and night for a week. That is, I had worked on the pitch while Billy backstopped my language choices (it turned out that, yes, he was fluent in Mandarin) and also refined the relevant software, which intended to exploit certain bookkeeping lags and inefficiencies-friction, if you will-to grift the smallest fraction from any transaction. Though the amount of each skim was negligible, when you multiplied it by billions of transactions, the sum of the get would be exactly, uhm ... a b.u.t.tload. I, meanwhile, built a moire effect into my pitch. In graphic design, a moire effect is created by two sets of lines or dots imperfectly aligned so that other patterns emerge. Such patterns can be beguiling or distressing, but mostly what they do is occlude: They make things fuzzy. In the grift, a moire effect is a sorting device that presents a pitch to prospective marks in terms that can be interpreted as an offer or a threat, depending on the mark's proclivities and point of view. It's self-selecting in the sense that those who consider it an offer come after it, and those who see it as a threat (those cowering cowards we don't want anyhow) just blow it off. Naturally, I wasn't putting all my eggs in one Zhao-shaped basket. Like every other grift, you separate the qualified leads from the chaff-but you don't want the chaff going around making noise. The moire effect, with its veiled you might be blamed for this you might be blamed for this warning, a.s.sures that relevant whistles go unblown. warning, a.s.sures that relevant whistles go unblown.

If Zhao doesn't respond, then, someone else will. Even a centralized system like a big bank has redundancies, and like every other part of China's bloated bureaucracy, the People's Bank IT department (in both the central branch and its many lucrative regional offices) was top-heavy with earnest wage earners desperate to stay ahead of the nation's rapidly steepening prosperity curve. For some, this meant keeping up with the Jianses in the rush for more appliances, better mopeds, and-G.o.d love them that they dare to dream-two-bedroom apartments. For others, it was the pressure of grease from above. When every palm must be crossed with silver, lest hopes for advancement be dashed, silver is a never-ending need. Now here comes an offer to partake in the nation's national pastime-corruption-cottage-industry style. Accept or decline the offer, that's moire or less up to you. But be sure that if you don't, your brother will, and there's no point in ratting him out because then you'll just be pa.s.sing the benefit up the food chain to someone who, let's face it, is already sucking at the public t.i.t too much as it is.

Thus I put my prospectus out to every midlevel brain boy with access to the big bank's mainframe. Given the size of my target market, I projected that we'd get dozens of positive responses. More than enough for our purpose.

It was Sunday evening-Monday morning in Asia. We had just unleashed the pitch on China and were kicking back, congratulating ourselves on the completion of phase one. Allie had come over to my place, where, for convenience, Billy and I had set up shop. She'd brought Chinese food, which I thought was cliched, but she offered it with ironic intent. Allie, Billy, and I had pa.s.sed pretty quickly through the whole "I know you like me, but I'm dating him now" thing. To his credit, Billy had taken it in stride, and I thought I understood why, for there's nothing like an involving snuke to take your mind off your thwarted heart.

Mirplo was there, too, trying to interest everyone in a game of shenanigans, which is not the board game you may be thinking of, or the alb.u.m by Green Day, but the grifters' version, where a gang of you invade a public place and at the drop of the code word-"Shenanigans!"-all start acting in some chaotic, random fashion. This can be just for fun or to create a diversion for other endeavors, like shoplifting. Vic wanted to hit the Glendale Galleria, open late for holiday shopping, but I vetoed. Last thing we needed in the middle of a major grift was a misdemeanor theft arrest.

I figured that Hines was watching the house, or having it watched, in which case he'd know that we four were hanging out. Was he cool with that? Hard to say. Having shed the Chad Thurston ident.i.ty, I was now working in diligent open partnership with Yuan, and Hines wouldn't mind that. But what about Allie? If he saw us together, would he a.s.sume she was still playing me, still easing me in? I decided not to give a rat's a.s.s. Allie was with me now for the duration-even if that duration turned out to be only the last ten minutes before police battering rams arrived.

And Detective Constable Scovil? MIA. Completely. Which I found a tad distressing. In terms of personal appearances, this staunch Sheila was 0-for-December-odd for someone who'd previously come on so strong. What gave? Had she bought my mislead so completely that she'd had to bank her fires while confirming up her chain of command that she wasn't inadvertently stepping on another undercover operative's toes? Had she, in short, believed Vic? Impossible. Who believes a Mirplo? But if she'd doubted him, why had she not confronted me? I was still her b.i.t.c.h, right? Or was I? Had she changed the parameters without telling me? While I would feel affronted by such duplicity (what, she didn't trust her b.i.t.c.h to stay b.i.t.c.hed?) I could certainly understand it. She'd want to keep me guessing.

I asked Vic if she'd given him any hint about how she took his news. "She told me to go f.u.c.k myself," he said, "if that's any help."

It wasn't, not really.

She was a worry, though. All week long, she'd been like a seed stuck in my tooth. What was she up to? Was she really content to let me work without her supervision? Did she really trust me that much? Unlikely.

So then, she was giving me leash, and a whole d.a.m.n lot of it, too.

Why?

Well, on one level you could say that while she didn't trust me, she still might have confidence in me: confidence that, via either the Penny Skim or the Merlin Game, I'd reel in Hines, the fish she wanted to land. But wait a minute, whose word did I have that he was, really, her intended catch?

Hers. Only hers.

I cast my mind back to my first encounter with Scovil, how we'd instantly rubbed each other the wrong way. I hadn't really disliked her, I recalled-just responded to the vibe she'd given off. But where did that vibe come from? Why did she loathe me so? She didn't even know me.

Did she?

Well, did she?

"Hey, Billy," I asked. "How far back do you and Scovil go?"

"Years, mate. She recruited me out of prison for her training program."

"Yeah, that's what she told me," I mused. "That was a rather profound act of trust."

"She said she had my measure. Knew my type. Said if I so much as thought an evil thought, she'd know it."

"Knew your type, huh? I wonder how."

"Ah, well, as to that, she's had long experience with the art of the con."

"As a pract.i.tioner?"

"Nah, mate. Victim."

My ears p.r.i.c.ked up. "Go on," I said.

"Right, well," said Billy, "you have to know she was drunk when she told me this, so it could either be true truth or only pub truth, yeh?"

"Understood."

"It was the night my training program finished."

"You'd already figured out you were going after the Reserve Bank?"