Conspircaies

But he wanted to. Jack was getting worried about Abe. An overweight, sedentary, Type-A personality, he was a heart attack waiting to happen. Jack couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to Abe. He loved this man. The decades that separated their birthdays hadn't kept them from becoming the closest of friends. Abe was the only human being besides Gia Jack could talk to—really talk to. Together they had solved the world's problems many times over. He could not imagine day-to-day life without Abe Grossman.

So Jack had cut back on the goodies he traditionally brought whenever he stopped by, or now if he did bring something, he'd sworn it would be low cal or low fat—preferably both.

'Anyway, I should be worried about weight? If I want to lose some, I can do it anytime. When I'm ready, I'll go to Egypt and eat from street carts for two weeks. You'll see. Dysentery does wonders for the waistline. Richard Simmons should be so effective.'

'Im-Ho-Tep's revenge, ay?' Jack said, keeping it light. He didn't want to be a complete pain in the ass. 'When do you leave?'

'I have a call in to my travel agent now. I'm not sure when she'll get back to me. Maybe next year. But what about you? Why are you so careful with your foods? A guy in your line of work should worry about cholesterol?'

'I'm an optimist.'

'You're too healthy is what's wrong with you. If you don't get shot or stabbed or clubbed to death by one of the many people you've royally pissed off in your life, what can you die from?'

'I'm doing research. I'll find something interesting, I hope.'

'Nothing you'll die of! And how will that look on your death certificate? 'Cause of death: Nothing.' Won't you feel foolish? Such an embarrassment. It will have to be a closed- coffin service to hide your red face. And really, how could I come to your funeral knowing you died of nothing?'

'Maybe I'll just die of shame.'

'At least it's something. But before you pass on, let me tell you a little something about conspiracies.'

'Figured you have something to say on the subject.'

'Indeed I do. Remember that global economic holocaust I used to warn you about?'

For years Abe had gone on and on about the impending collapse of the global economy. He still maintained a mountain retreat upstate, stocked with gold coins and freeze-dried food.

'The one that didn't happen?'

'The reason it didn't happen is that they didn't want it to happen.'

'Who's 'they'?'

'The cabal of international bankers that manipulates the global currency markets, of course.'

'Of course.'

Here we go, Jack thought. This ought to be good.

''Of course,' he says,' Abe said, speaking to Parabellum. 'Skepticalman Jack thinks his old friend is meshugge.' He turned back to Jack. 'Remember when the Asian and Russian markets went into free fall awhile back?'

'Vaguely.'

''Vaguely,' he says.'

'You know I don't follow the markets.' Since he didn't own stocks, Jack pretty much ignored Wall Street.

'Then I'll refresh your memory. The fall of 1997: the bottoms fell out of all the Asian markets. Less than a year later, the same thing in Russia, making rubles good only for toilet paper. People were losing their shirts and their pants, banks and brokerage houses were failing, Asian brokers were hanging themselves or jumping out windows. Do you think that just happened? No. It was planned, It was orchestrated, and certain people made money that should be measured in cosmological terms.'

'What people?'

'The members of the cabal. They're drawn from the old royal families and international banking families of Europe along with descendants of our own robber barons. Most of their influence is concentrated in the West, and they were probably miffed at being left out of all the emerging economies booming in Asia. So they invited themselves in. They manipulated Asian currencies, inflated the markets, then pulled the plug.'

Jack had to ask: 'How does that help them?'

'Simple: They sell short before the crash. When prices have bottomed out—and they know when that is because they and their buddies are pulling the strings—they cover their short positions. But that's only half of the equation. They don't stop there. They use their stupendous short profits to buy up damaged properties and companies at fire sale prices.'

'So now they've got a piece of the action.'

'And no small piece. After the crash, enormous amounts of Thai and Indonesian stock and property were bought up at five cents on the dollar by shadow corporations. And since the lion's share of profits from those upstart countries will now be flowing into the cabal's coffers, those economies will be allowed to improve.'

'Okay,' Jack said. 'But who are they? What are their names? Where do they live?'

'Names? You want I should give you names? How about their addresses too? What's Repairman Jack going to do? Pay them a little visit?'

'Well, no. I just—'

'If I knew their names, I'd probably be dead. I don't want to know their names. Someone else should know their names and stop them. They've been pulling the world's economic strings for centuries but no one ever does anything. No one hunts them down and calls them to account. Why is that, Jack? Tell me: Is it ignorance or apathy?'

'I don't know and couldn't care less,' Jack said with a shrug.

Abe opened his mouth, then closed it and stared at him.

Jack fought the grin that threatened to break free. Goading Abe was precious fun.

Finally Abe turned to Parabellum. 'You see what I put up with from this man? I try to enlighten him as to the true nature of things, and what does he do? Wise he cracks.'

'As if you really believe all that,' Jack said, grinning.

Abe stared at him, saying nothing.

Jack felt his smile fading. 'You don't really believe in an international financial cabal, do you?'

'I should tell you? But one thing you should know is that a good conspiracy theory is a mechaieh. And also great fun. But this group you mentioned, this Bouillabaisse—'

'SESOUP.'

'Whatever. I'll bet it's not fun for them. I'll bet it's very serious business for them: UFOs and other stuff far from the mainstream.'

'UFOs are mainstream?'

'They've been mainstreamed. That's why sightings are up: believing is seeing, if you should get my drift. But when you start talking with members of Zuppa De Peche—'

'SESOUP.'

'Whatever—I bet you'll run into meshuggeners so far from the mainstream they're not even wet.'

'I can hardly wait.' Jack glanced at his watch. 'Look, I've got to be heading out to the Island. Can I borrow your truck?'

'What's the matter with Ralph?'

'Sold him.'

'No!' Abe seemed genuinely shocked. 'But you loved that car.'

'I know.' Jack had hated parting with his 1963 white Corvair convertible. 'But I didn't have much choice. Ralph's become a real collector's item. Everywhere I took him people stopped and asked me about him, wanted to buy him. Don't need that kind of attention.'

'Too bad. All right, since you're in mourning, take the truck, but remember: she only likes high test.'

'That old V6?'

Abe shrugged. 'I shouldn't spoil my women?' He extracted the truck keys from his pocket and handed them to