from tempestuous to a benignity so tranquil you kind of forget that it’s there. But it’s never very far away, thank God. Wasn’t there a European king, heavens preserve us, done for fiddling his investments the year before last? See what I mean?
Fraud is the daughter of greed.
Going, that second day in Louisiana, to the house of the famous collector Mr D. Hirschman, it seemed to me that I hadn’t needed to be lucky so far. In each case the marks’ greed had bolstered my endeavours. Their greed had made them overreach — Mortdex’s man Verbane was hiving off a share of the Mortdex millions for himself, so couldn’t afford a whiff of scandal. Annalou, bless her, had succumbed to that greediest of impulses, the craving for me. She’d believed that her obvious charms would seduce me into helping her and Prez to cull still more ancient religious relics to drag in more susceptibles to the fold. Prez’s greed had been more direct—let’s shut this bum up, in a manner beneficial to all.
I defy anybody to answer this next question with a resounding negative: Have you ever been a fraud?
Think a moment before answering. That hair tint? That little white lie about being only twenty-four? Your height? Weight? Telling the doctor you honestly stuck to his rotten diet? And saying yes, you really stayed home every night your partner was away in Boston…? Fraud. The Church is at it, governments, the UN, Inland Revenue, emperors and monarchs. But there’s some kind of cons that are morally permitted, it seems. Like spying, like in wartime, like when Scotland Yard does a drugs stake-out and captures dope smugglers.
Fraud is a necessary part of our personality. No good complaining. We’re all born con artists.
I would have had great hopes for Zole, if it hadn’t been for that damned dog.
“WHY did you let him buy that mongrel, you silly cow?”
“He’s a kid. It didn’t cost. Where’s the harm?”
“Whose was it?” I grabbed Zole by the throat. The dog growled threateningly so I let him go.
It was early evening. We were in a street filled with sound and ironmongery, scrolled iron balconies and music bands milling away in every doorway. I was having to shout to make myself heard.
“You little sod, you thieved it.”
The dog Sherman was a small white Scotch terrier thing that had seen better days. It kept grinning at me, coming close, wanting an orgy of affection. It forgave easily.
“Lovejoy. That business at the Deus Deistic Theme Park. Did it work out okay?”
“It was worth more’n what you gave, Lovejoy,” Zole claimed, cocky little swine. Just how much he’d been worth for a few seconds while holding the porcelain figure, he’d never know.
“Magda.” I addressed myself to her, forgetting the little psycho with the pooch. “I have an important visit to make. Did you find out about the Benidormo?”
She told me what she’d learned from the papers—I hadn’t wanted to be seen by Tye et al. feverishly hunting through the dailies for evidence of a bomb outrage in my cooling bed. Unexplained, it seems. Arson, possibly some insurance scam, was being mooted. Ho hum.
“How long will this last, Lovejoy?”
My last phone talk with Gina had been that the California Game would be at Revere Mount, five days hence. I’d wired fascimiles of the two Sherlock pages, posted them express, revealed they were fakes, told her what to look for as proof. She’d seemed pleased. So the Hawkins connection was broken, and Sophie Brandau would be as pleased as I. I still had the rest of the places to hack, then the Manhattan Big Two auctioneers, the hairiest problem of all. After that, I might be able to take it on the lam while they went to play their neffie game.
“Week, give or take, love.”
“Then?” I went uncomfortable. “Happiness with that Annalou whore?”
“I dunno what. I can’t plan.”
Zole’s dog peed on a lamp post. Nice that New Orleans still had lamp posts, though. Zole admired its effort.
“And us?”
Meaning her and Zole but excluding me, I hoped.
“I’ll think of something, Magda. One thing.” I hesitated, took advantage of Zole’s preoccupation with Sherman. “You don’t phone Tye any longer, do you?”
I shifted from foot to foot while she composed herself.
“Once, since we started out, Lovejoy.” She added quickly, “I didn’t tell him about the envelope, though.”
“What’s Tye promised you?”
She looked into the distance. Some parade was forming up, bands tuning up, people with banners and flowers. Everybody seemed to carry cornets and trombones. Coloured dresses, floral scarves, a couple of floats surmounted by pretty lasses under arches of blossoms.
“He’s said we might, well, get together.” She looked at me, shrugged. “Some time, y’know how it is.”
Smooth old Tye. I felt my loyalty evaporate, quick as sweat on a stone. I’d practically saved him on board the
“You still going to phone him?”
“No. Course not.”
I’d got rid of Tye by being so docile while waiting for Mr Hirschman to fit me into his busy schedule, that Tye’d readily agreed to let me go alone to the collector’s home. He was busy making arrangements with Prunella I’d asked for in New York. For a second I thought to question Magda further, but gave in. She could tell me whatever
