evaluations.”
I picked up the wallet and gave serious thought to peeling off my glove and getting all the info I wanted and then some, but I had the feeling he’d make a grab for it if I did. And “Harry Bear” would change from pretend attack dog to the real thing. He, Abby, and I were family. We watched one another’s backs. Sighing, I decided to escape an assault charge and do things the hard way. I opened the wallet and examined the contents. “So you’re a professor?” I asked absently as I pulled a university ID free. Maybe he was and maybe he was something more. I wasn’t forgetting that tinfoil bite to him.
“Not anymore. I’ve moved to the private sector, but I am still affiliated with the school. I do quite a few research projects with them. It keeps me in touch with the scholastic world. The freedom of thought, pushing the boundaries of accepted theories…” His lips curved with dark humor. “The academic backstabbing. How could I give all that up completely?”
“Fascinating,” I said blandly. The rest of his wallet was the usual: driver’s license, credit card, auto card, all reading John Chang-curious. Curious but getting boring. There was also the picture of a laughing woman. It was an older picture, from the late sixties or early seventies judging by the dated clothing. She had purely Asian features, probably Japanese or Japanese-American judging by the delicacy of her bone structure. “John Chang” assumed I couldn’t tell the difference between someone of Chinese and Japanese heritage. Careless.
The woman wasn’t beautiful, but she was pretty, with a glow that would have drawn people to her without effort. “Your mama.” My drawl became a little thicker despite myself. “She’s been gone for a while.” I didn’t need to be psychic on that one. He would’ve had an updated picture if one had been available. Not waiting for a comment, I returned the wallet to him. “No video card? Where do you get your pornos?”
“I’ll look into getting one,” he said in a distinctly humoring tone. “Have I passed inspection? Do you believe I am who I say I am?”
“No one is who they say they are. Even if they don’t know it.” I laid a hand on a sleek black back and gave Houdini a subtle down signal. “I’m still waiting to hear what you want. Not,” I added instantly, “that you’re going to get it. Keep that in mind.”
Deciding to ignore my automatic rejection, he replaced the wallet and rested his hands on his knees. “I want you, along with many of your fellow psychics, to participate in a study. The usual, really, trying to measure psychic activity. But our controls will be very strict. We’ll also be testing psychics with every known variety of talent.”
“Are you sure it won’t be like the movie? Where you zap us with electricity if we answer wrong?” I scoffed lightly.
He obviously had no idea what I was talking about, pop culture, Dr. Venkman, and great movies apparently not his thing, but was able to tell that I wasn’t serious. “The university couldn’t afford that kind of utility bill,” he said with a gravity that was betrayed by the glitter in his eyes.
Despite myself, I smothered a grin. Maybe he wasn’t a complete doubting Thomas, but he did have some common sense about him. That would be nice to know-if I had any plans on knowing him at all. I didn’t. “Yeah, lights would dim all over the state with what you’ll dredge up.” I checked my watch. “Sorry, Doc. Like I said, no poking or prodding for me. I don’t like it, and I don’t see any profit in it.”
“You don’t have any interest in furthering the understanding of the paranormal field?”
None whatsoever. I couldn’t be less interested if it did involve electricity with a proctologist and an IRS audit as a cherry on top. Besides a near-pathological love of my privacy, just the thought of yukking it up with my so- called colleagues gave me a headache. If I wanted to rub elbows with that many nuts, I’d hit the peanut butter factory over in Macon.
And all of that wasn’t counting what the contents of his wallet meant, and they meant a great deal.
“We’ll make a psychic of you yet.” I grunted, tapped the face of my watch, and stood. “Time’s up. It was nice shooting the breeze with you. Tuesdays are two-for-one readings. Tell all your friends.”
“You won’t even think about it?” He seemed disappointed. “I have to say you seemed one of the more promising candidates. I talked to the woman who left just as I arrived. If it hadn’t been so ungodly hot standing there on the sidewalk, I think she would’ve gone on for hours praising your work… and other attributes.” He quirked another half smile at that, then came to an inner decision. “It shouldn’t take more than a day, and we would pay you.”
“Pay?” I still wasn’t wild about the idea of being put under a microscope. Wasn’t wild meaning that my spine twitched uncontrollably at the thought, but my traitor palm itched almost as much. I ignored it.
“You couldn’t mention it to the other subjects. They’re doing it for the academic good,” he pointed out with a slightly critical air.
“Doing it for the publicity, you mean.” Naivete, thy name is Chang, except it wasn’t… on so many fronts. And whatever was lurking behind those pale eyes had not even a passing acquaintance with gullibility.
“There won’t be any publicity. This is a serious study. It will be years before anyone besides other researchers see it.” He stood, too, although he was obviously reluctant to leave, while I couldn’t wait to see him go. I thought I might treat myself to that beer after all in celebration.
“Do my fellow psychics know that?”
“Ah… no,” he commented blandly. “Not exactly.”
“Yeah, thought so.” I indicated the door with one dark gloved finger. “You can ponder the selfless quality of human nature on your way out, Dr. Chang. And if that gets you too down, Luther makes a killer apple pie at the coffee joint three doors over. Best you’ll ever have. It’ll fix you up, right as rain.” I changed my mind about hearing the exact cash offer. It would only tempt me in a stupid, stupid direction.
He could’ve been a professor with nothing more than knowledge as his goal. Could’ve been, but he wasn’t. It wouldn’t have mattered either way. I wasn’t a rat in a maze; I wasn’t a subject. And I wasn’t going to be under anyone’s thumb again, no matter for how short a period of time. Look at this, show me that. No, thanks.
“You get a percentage there, don’t you?” he said without surprise. “For every slice of pie sold, I’d guess.”
“You know it.” It was free meals, actually, but I didn’t mind some shining of my reputation. “Watch the door, Doc.” I didn’t mention the glass. “The spring’s loose. Wouldn’t want it to hit you in your academic ass, now, would we?”
He left. He didn’t want to. I expected him to argue further, but he didn’t. He either read my set expression correctly, or it was the saliva dripping from Houdini’s muzzle as it edged out from under the desk and around the corner to flash bared teeth. One of the two did the trick.
The rest of the day was spent doing what I liked best: making money. And I made it with no one looking over my shoulder, no one telling or even suggesting to me what to do. I made it without owing anyone or depending on anyone for anything.
Just the way I liked it.
5
Home.
If you’d asked me when I was fourteen what my perfect home would be, it wouldn’t have been this. And I’d thought about it then-a lot. A mansion with a manicured lawn pampered against the heavy-handed Georgia summer. Not that I would do the pampering. I’d leave that to the professionals. After all, didn’t they come with the big house? People to take care of the outside, people to clean the inside. Surely they were part and parcel when the bank handed over the keys. The neighborhood would be as fancy as they came, with towering gates, paved roads, and not a single kid selling half-fermented berries from a four-board stand. The dreams of a fourteen-year-old. A place like that would’ve driven me nuts. Associations, rules, fees for anything and everything… hell, they probably even had one against scratching your ass after ten P.M. No, once I grew up, that dream wasn’t for me.
My reality now was better than that. Worlds better. My house was average-sized but paid for and was outside of town, north. It sat directly on the Chattahoochee River. The road was paved, barely, but my neighbors were out of sight around a bend in the shoreline. I saw them only rarely. Most likely they rented their cabin out to tourists the majority of the year. Many river folk did. It was all right. I valued my solitude. After delving into the private lives of people all day, every day, the quiet, the stillness, was welcome. Sitting on my deck with a frosty
