He guided Martha onto the leather sofa. The third one they’d had in the room as the other two were “giving her negative energy”.
“I know, Martha, I know. It is so tough. That’s why I want you to sit back and relax. Take the day to recharge your batteries. Your people will start arriving tomorrow, and I know how thrilled they will be to see you. They want to hear your message of hope and love, which humanity needs now more than ever. Just think, soon we will break ground on our very own state-of-the-art research and meditation facility. Somewhere where the worthy will find peace and we can wait for the divine to come to us. The Martha Lefebvre centre.”
Freddie felt her perk up. He’d been holding that back. Sure, why not name it after her? He didn’t care. It wasn’t like the place was ever going to actually exist. It’d be worth it if it kept the crazy at bay for even a day.
“Imagine, breaking ground and then looking out at that sea of excited faces. True believers. Who all appreciate the wonderful work you’ve done. God’s work.”
Freddie used to feel weird saying this kind of stuff but he soon realised Martha un-ironically ate the whole thing up.
Martha hugged him. “Thank you, Freddie. You are the only one who truly understands me.”
“I just feel blessed to be in your presence, as always, Martha.”
She smiled at him, her mascara still running down her face. “Do you want to fuck?”
“Ah,” he said, smiling. “It’s a sweet offer, and I’d love to, but I have so much to organise.”
He got to his feet quickly. The woman could move deceptively fast. It had been an ongoing thing. She was old enough to be his mother, for God’s sake – it was obscene. Alright, the age gap between them was technically about the same as that between Freddie and the girl he was seeing, but that was different.
She made a grab at his crotch. “Come on. Just a quick one.”
Freddie smiled again. God forbid she ever saw how much the idea repulsed him. “I can’t just now. I’ll get Walter for you.”
“Oh, you know he means nothing to me, Freddie. You’re the one I want.”
“I am honoured, my queen. But I want it to be special. How about Saturday night, after your big address?”
Her eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” said Freddie. “I can think of no better way to consummate the moment.”
Martha clapped her hands together giddily. “Oh, goodie.”
“But first, I must dash.”
He turned and allowed himself the release of pulling a retching face.
“Until Saturday, lover boy.”
He turned and blew her a kiss as he made his exit. He had made up his mind in the elevator on the way here. The key to any good con was timing. He’d had ideas of milking this thing for decades, but frankly, it was all starting to feel too much like a job. Besides, Dionne was out there, and he had to have a grudging respect for what she could do. No, his mind was made up. Remember the first rule – know when to fold ’em.
Nobody else knew it, but the circus was leaving town.
Chapter Twenty
Bunny almost made it back to his cell, but Cuts headed him off on the landing.
“Inside. I need to talk to you.”
Bunny considered telling him that they’d chat later. He was tired, beat up, and he’d just been informed that while he was in the infirmary, and then talking to his lawyer and the voices in his head, he’d missed lunch. The way things were going, he was accidentally going to end up on hunger strike. On the upside, given he had five days before Whiteside got out of solitary and all hell broke loose, he’d probably just lose a couple of pounds and look a bit svelter in the coffin.
With a sigh, he walked into Cuts’s cell and sat down on the bed. “And what can I help you with?”
“Help me with?” said Cuts, sounding irritated. “Man, I’m trying to teach you how to stay alive, but you are the world’s worst student.”
“I’ve managed to stay alive this far,” said Bunny.
“Not to undercut your sense of achievement there, cowboy, but you’ve been here less than a day and already some skinny-assed white boy has tried to kill you. What the hell happened?”
Bunny shrugged. “I dunno. The lad seemed a tad unhinged. He might end up living on this landing eventually.”
“So now you’re beefing with the Aryan Brotherhood?”
“I’m not beefing with anybody, although it has to be said, I’m not a big fan of their work. For a start, what do they play at the Christmas party? I mean, I like an ABBA medley as much as the next man, but you can’t have it for four hours solid.”
“You got to take this seriously!”
“I am.”
Cuts bit his lip and sat down beside Bunny. He lowered his voice. “Don’t you get it? This whole prison – it’s full of gangs. Wah Ching, Vatos Locos, Azura 13, Bloods, Crips, Aryan Brotherhood, Norteños. You name it.”
“Are the Bloods and the Crips still a thing?” asked Bunny.
“What? Yes, of course they are.”
“Right. Jesus, I remember seeing a thing about them on the telly decades ago. ’Tis amazing they’re still going. What about the Sharks and the Jets?”
“See,” said Cuts. “This right here. This is what’ll get you killed.”
“Ara, calm down. I was only pulling your leg.”
“Exactly. How this floor works is we keep a real low profile. We leave the rest of the world alone, and as long as we stay well out of the way we get
