'But in your case you got the best of all the pieces. I have never seen a more becoming lass. I always thought red hair and freckles were over-rated.'
Arrow basked in Mr. Zeebarth’s words. I told him the major points, including what Michael had said about Ned and Dickie and the cliff. He listened, intently, without interrupting.
When I finished he said, 'Michael has it all wrong. That must be why he didn't want me to speak to you. James always kept him in his hip pocket. It sounds as if he is still there.
'I remember that particular incident very well because it led to Dickie's death. Dickie was not a great scholar; in fact, he was failing some of his courses at school. His da beat him when he received a bad report. Dickie came to James for help because James had the brains in our group. He received top grades without much effort.
'The arrangement was that James would write some papers for Dickie and otherwise help him with his studies. Of course, Dickie had to play The Game first. He lost, but it was James who insisted he go through with his penalty on a stormy day, not Ned. In defense of James, he always kept his promises and he expected others to do the same.'
Mr. Zeebarth paused, took a long drink of beer and said, almost as an afterthought, 'It amused James to play games with other peoples' lives.'
We chatted some more about James and Ned and the others, but Mr. Zeebarth didn't say anything else that was earthshaking.
When I suggested another round of drinks, he looked at his watch and said, 'Not for me. I have to be at work in something over an hour, in a reasonably sober state since I work in a hospital. But we have time for a game of darts.'
'I've never played darts,' Arrow said.
'It should be an easy game for a lass as coordinated as you,' Mr. Zeebarth said. 'I'll show you.'
I had never played darts, either, but it was obvious I wasn't going to receive individual instruction like Arrow. Mr. Zeebarth very carefully helped position her body and then showed her how to hold the dart lightly between thumb and forefinger and guide it with her third finger. He pulled her arm back to her ear, and told her how to aim and release the dart in an economical overhand throw for maximum accuracy.
He was so solicitous of her that it made me want to barf. And she soaked it up. Everybody was getting along better with Arrow than I was.
Naturally, she beat me.
While we played, the talk turned to the Internet. Mr. Zeebarth said that the owner of the pub had Internet access. Half-jokingly, I wondered aloud whether he would let me check my email. Mr. Zeebarth asked him and next thing I knew I was sitting in his office in front of a monitor.
I read several routine messages. Then came the shocker: a message from eBay to the effect that I was the winner of the T-206 Wagner baseball card, with a bid of just over $380,000. I hadn't thought about that card since leaving the US. Now what should I do?
I read the next message. It was from the seller of the card, congratulating me, telling me the amount of the postage and where to send a check. I had to stall him. I quickly typed a response to the effect that I was out of the country and would mail him a check in a few days.
If I reneged, that information would be all over the Internet and my baseball card business would go down the tubes. Nobody would deal with me again.
My face gave me away when I returned to the darts game. Arrow asked me if I had a problem. 'Not if you happen to have several hundred thousand dollars you can lend me,' I said.
Chapter 25 WINNER
The next day we raced the sun back to Los Angeles and arrived only two hours after we started, local time. The route took us over the whiteness of Iceland and Greenland. Mini-icebergs floated in the bays and snow covered the land, with no relief from the starkness and cold.
In spite of being punchy after a ten-hour flight I was determined to call James Buchanan as soon as I got home. I had to come up with the money for the baseball card, but I couldn't afford to be obligated to him, especially since he was the enemy. Maybe he would just take the card, himself, and resell it. He could probably make a quick profit and he was, after all, in the business of making money. I clung to that hope as the airport shuttle deposited me at the gate of the castle.
Before I called James I went to check on my father. He was dressed and sitting downstairs, reading some reports. He looked fairly good, except for a few new wrinkles and more gray hair. He also looked as if he had shrunk. The bones in his face were more prominent and I was sure he had lost weight.
I didn't tell him any specifics about our trip; Arrow would be coming tomorrow to give him a briefing. I considered asking him to lend me $380,000, but rejected the idea. Whatever credibility I had gained with him during the last two weeks would be lost-and more.
Enough stalling; I had to make the call before the business day ended. A young man answered the phone, as I expected. He said Mr. Buchanan was out of town. Damn! This couldn't wait. Every day I delayed in sending the check lowered my credit rating with the buyer-and everybody else because he would share his dissatisfaction with the Internet.
'Is Stan there?' I asked.
'One moment, please.'
A lot of moments passed.
'Stan here.'
'Hi Stan, it's Karl Patterson.'
'Hey, Karl, how they hangin'?'
'Uh, fine. Listen, Stan, I need some help. I talked to James a few days ago about a very rare baseball card that was up for auction, and he said to go ahead and bid on it.'
'A Honus Wagner, right?'
'You know about it then.'
'James filled me in. He said you might be calling. Did you get the card?'
'Yes. I…'
'Okay, give me the amount and the name and address to send the check to.'
I gave Stan the information, but I had the distinct impression that I was sliding down one of those Arctic icebergs with nothing to stop me until I hit the freezing water.
'Shall I have the card sent to you?' I asked.
'No; you're the owner of the card. We don't know anything about baseball cards here. You have a safe deposit box, don't you?'
'Yes. But what I was thinking is that since I can't really afford the card at this time you might want to turn around and resell it for a quick profit.'
'Any profit on resale goes to you, since you're the owner. The most we'd do is charge you nominal interest. However, I don't see reselling it, Karl. Owning a rare card like the Wagner is a dream come true for a collector, such as yourself.
'I suggest that you get your ass up here on Monday, when James will be back in town, and work out a deal with him to pay for the card. You know that James is a reasonable man.'
As reasonable as a king cobra. What could I do for James that was worth $380,000? I didn't want to think about it.
'I'm not surprised that James would do something like that,' my father said the next morning after Arrow and I filled him in on our adventures. 'He still tramples on people.'
That didn't make me feel good. We had made light of our two fights, the only visible evidence of which was
