Card Sharks

pain was clarifying my thinking; this time I'd been pushed past my limits. And I knew what to do.

'I want the phone and address of your cousin Franklin. And I want your promise to say nothing about this, to anyone.'

She didn't answer, merely looked distressed.

'Please promise me,' I repeated.

'Franky doesn't do divorce investigations. He's not much more than a document hound for city councillors' aides.'

'I want someone I can trust not to talk to Brand. Someone not connected in any way to Douglas, Mannerly.'

'You're making a mistake.'

'I'll call you when I get home. Have the information ready, all right?'

She bit her lip, looking forlorn. 'I can't. George will kill me if he finds out I helped you find a PI to incriminate Brandon.'

I shook my head. 'Your name need never come into this. I'll tell Brand I had the information from the Yellow Pages, or something. In fact, if you won't help me I'll get the information that way anyhow, so you might as well help me. I promise I'll never tell.'

'Promise?'

'Promise.'

She sighed, and lifted her eyebrows in a shrug. 'I still say you're making a big mistake. But OK.'

I got the number, all right. I must have dialled it six times over the next day. And hung up before the first ring, each time.

Brand got home after eleven, smelling of perfume and sweat. We barely spoke a word to each other. Wednesday morning I feigned a headache to escape an excruciating breakfast.

That night he came home at his usual time, and after dinner he played with Clara for a while. Then he retreated to his office.

The photographs from his party had arrived in the mail that day. Clara had been pestering me for a snapshot of Papa for her scrap book; I had promised Clara a photo of Brand from his promotion party. But when I went through them after dinner, most of the ones with recognizable shots of Brand had Marilyn in them as well.

Seeing them made me behave rather terribly to Clara. I shut the photos up in the rolltop desk, snapped at her when she asked for her photo, and put her to bed without a story. Which made Clara cry, which made Brandon spank her. Poor little dear.

So I sneaked in and rocked her till she stopped crying and promised her a better photo of Papa than those nasty old photos from the party. We'd take a snapshot of him for Father's Day in a couple of weeks. She seemed comforted; she stuck her thumb into her mouth and fell asleep in my arms.

Then I listened in on Brand's phone calls from the bedroom extension.

'Brandy.' I'd have recognized the voice anywhere; I'd heard it in dozens of movies. 'I've missed you terribly today.'

'My darling.' His voice quavered, for heaven's sake. I thought I'd be sick.

'Can you get away tonight?'

'No. She's getting suspicious.'

'Poor woman. I feel bad for her.'

'Don't bother. She's a bitch. Shallow and stupid.'

'I wish you wouldn't talk that way about her, dearest. It makes me feel bad.'

'Believe me, she won't care about us. All she cares about is whether I have enough money and power to keep her in designer clothes and the right social circles.'

'Do you — really — think she knows?'

'Mmmmm. Don't know. It may just be a snit, but I'd best spend the evening here. And I have a business call at ten.'

'I see.' A pause. 'Tomorrow, then. At Cafe Reggio, at four?'

'At the Reggio at four.'

Another long pause.

'I love you,' he said.

'Sweet Brandy. Not being able to hold you is torment.'

I'll give you torment, I thought. Slut.

But she hadn't said she loved him. He'd said 'I love you' and she hadn't said it back. She's using you, Brand. She's using you.

'Tomorrow,' he whispered. I slid the receiver back onto its hook.

'He's perfect for our needs,' Dr. Rudo was saying. Brand's 'business call.' I scribbled furious notes at my bedside. 'One of our inside people at the Jokertown Clinic tagged him immediately as a Man with a Mission. Seems he's into mind control, and hunted up Tachyon to see if he'd teach him some mentat tricks. Tachyon turned him away, of course, so he turned to the Rosicrucians.'

'He sounds like a certified loon.'

'By no means. I've had my people do a thorough check. He's intelligent, well-educated, dedicated, and has contacts in the Middle East — which should muddy the investigative waters nicely. He also has his own good reasons for volunteering, so no one is likely to come looking for us, if he talks.'

'I don't like this. How can we trust him?'

'We don't have to trust him. How can he hurt us? Once you give him the schedule and hotel layout, pay him off, and turn him loose, all he'll know is that some man in a parking lot gave him money to do something he wants to do anyway. That's all he'll ever know.'

'I still don't like it. He might be able to finger me later. We could use an underling just as easily.'

'It's quite simple,' Rudo replied. 'You want to move into the upper tier. We need proof that you're willing to risk all before we allow that. Your reputation. Even your life. Consider this a rite of passage.'

A pause. 'If you insist on this, I suppose I'll have to do it. But if I go down, you'd better make sure of this: I'm taking you and a lot of other people with me.'

'Look. It's up to you. You can do the payoff and come play with the big boys. Or you can refuse and stay right where you are, in the cozy middle of the organization, with the little boys.

'Don't worry; it's in our best interests to keep our people happy. The risks are minimal. And we'll protect you if anything goes wrong. But for now, it's your turn to prove yourself.'

A longer pause. Brand sighed again. 'When and where?'

'I'll give you the details tomorrow at lunch.'

Thursday morning at breakfast, while Clara played with her oatmeal and blueberries and Brand read the New York Times Business section, I cupped my coffee mug in both hands and sipped at it, stared with burning, red-rimmed eyes out the window.

The housekeeper had put fresh-cut tulips in glass vases on the end tables in the living room, straightened up a bit, and opened the windows. Fresh air and sunlight streamed in through the picture window; the hyacinths and lilies-of-the-valley in the flower box outside were in full, fragrant bloom.

Too beautiful a spring morning can amplify one's misery.

Clara tugged at Brandon's arm and stepped on Frou Frou's, our Llasa Apso's, tail, as he was lapping up the last of the oatmeal she'd dropped on the floor for him. Frou Frou retreated under the table, yelping.

'Papa, will you take me to the zoo on Saturday?'

Brandon didn't answer right away. Clara tried to scramble up into his lap, and in so doing tore a page of the Business section. Brandon scowled and started to chide her, but caught my warning glance. To assuage my own