Suspended Sentences

King’s X

“King’s X” grew out of a rumor that had wide circulation several years ago. According to the rumor — a sort of alligators-in-the-sewer-system allegation, presented as absolute documented fact — the con depicted in “King’s X” was successfully employed half a century ago by a veteran trickster to fleece Tiffany’s (some say Cartier) out of an enormous sum. It’s not a terribly elaborate scam, but there is appeal in its simplicity and daring, and satisfaction in the sting, and I hadn’t seen it elsewhere in fiction.

She found Breck on the garage floor, lying on his back with his knees up and his face hidden under the car. His striped coveralls were filthy. There was a dreadful din: he was banging on something with a tool. When there was a pause in the racket she said, “You look like a convict.”

“Not this year.” He slid out from under the car and blinked up at her. He looked as if he’d camouflaged his face for night maneuvers in a hostile jungle. He didn’t seem surprised to see her. All he said was, “You look better than I do.”

“Is that supposed to be some sort of compliment?”

“My dear, you look adorable. Beautiful. Magnificent. Ravishing.” He smiled; evidently he had no idea what effect the action had on his appearance. “That better?”

“I wasn’t fishing for reassurance. I need to talk to you.”

He sat up. The smile crumbled; he said, “If it’s anything like the last little talk we had, I’d just as soon—”

“I haven’t forgotten the things we said to each other. But today’s a truce. Time out, okay? King’s X?”

“I’m a little busy right now, Vicky. I’ve got to get this car ready.”

“It’s important. It’s serious.”

“In the cosmic scheme of things how do you know it’s any more important or serious than the exhaust system I’m fixing?”

She said, “It’s Daddy. They’ve ruined him.” She put her back to him and walked toward the sun. “Wash and come outside and talk. I can’t stand the smell of grease.”

The dusty yard was littered with odd-looking cars in varied conditions of disassembly. Some had numbers painted on their doors, and decal ads for automotive products. The garage was a cruddy cube of white stucco, uncompromisingly ugly.

Feeling the heat but not really minding it, she propped the rump of her jeans against the streetlight post and squinted into the California sunlight, watching pickups rattle past until Breck came out with half the oil smeared off his face. He was six four and hadn’t gained an ounce since she’d last seen him three years ago: an endless long rail of a man with an angular El Greco face and bright brittle wedges of sky-blue glass for eyes.

“Shouldn’t spend so much time in the sun,” he said. “You’ll get wrinkles.”

“It’s very kind of you to be concerned about my health.”

“Anybody tell you lately how smashing you look?”

“Is that your devious way of asking if I’m going with someone?”

“Forget it,” he said. “What do you want, then?”

“Daddy’s lost everything he had. He was going to retire on his savings and the pension — now he’s probably going to have to file bankruptcy. You know what that’ll do to him. His pride — his blood pressure. I’m afraid he might have another stroke.”

He didn’t speak; he only looked at her. The sun was in her eyes and she couldn’t make out his expression. Stirred by unease she blurted: “Hey — Breck, I’m not asking for myself.”

“How much does he need?”

“I don’t know. To pay the lawyers and get back on his feet? I don’t know. Maybe seventy-five thousand dollars.”

He said, “That’s a little bit of money.”

“Is it,” she said drily.

“I might have been more sympathetic once. But that would’ve been before your alimony lawyer got after me.”

“You always loved Daddy. I’m asking you to help him. Not me. Him.”

“What happened?”

“He was carrying diamonds and they arrested him. It was all set up. He was framed by his own boss: He’s sure it was an insurance scam. We can’t prove anything but we know. We just know.”

“Where is he?”

“Now? Here in town, at his place. The same old apartment.”

“Why don’t you give him the money yourself?”

“I could, of course. But then I’d just have to get it back from you, wouldn’t I?”

“You mean you haven’t got that much left? What did you spend it on — aircraft carriers?”

“You have an inflated opinion of your own generosity, Breck.”

She smiled prettily.

He said, “I can’t promise anything. But I’ll talk to him. I’ll finish up here about five. Tell him I’ll drop by.”

The old man blew his top. “I’m not some kind of charity case. I’ve been looking after myself for seventy-two years. Women. Can’t even trust my own daughter to keep her nose out of my business. Breck, listen to me because I mean it now. I appreciate your intentions. I’m glad you came — always glad to see you. But I won’t take a cent from you. Now that’s all I’ve got to say on the subject. Finish your drink and let’s talk about something less unpleasant.”

The old man didn’t look good. Sallow and dewlappy. His big hard voice was still vigorous but the shoulders drooped and there were sagging folds of flesh around his jaw. It had been what, two years since Breck had seen him? The old man looked a decade older. He’d always been blustery and stubborn but you could see now by the evasiveness in his eyes that his heart wasn’t in it.

Breck said, “I’m not offering you money out of my pocket. Maybe I can come up with an idea. Tell me about the man you think set you up. What’s his name? Cushing?”

“Cushman. Henry Cushman.”

“If he framed you for stealing the money, that suggests he’s the one who actually got the money.”

“Aagh,” the old man said in disgust, dismissing it.

“Come on,” Breck said. “Tell me about it.”

“Nothing to tell. Listen — it was going to be my last run. I was going to retire. Got myself a condo picked out right on the beach down at Huntington. Buy my own little twenty-two-foot inboard, play bridge, catch fish, behave like a normal human being my age instead of flying all over the airline route maps. I wanted a home to settle down in. What’ve I got? You see this place? Mortgage up to here and they’re going to take it away from me in six weeks if I can’t make the payments.”

“Come on,” Breck said. “Tell me about it.”

“I worked courier for that whole group of diamond merchants. I had a gun and a permit, all that stuff. No more. They took it all away. They never proved a damn thing against me but they took it all away. I carried stones for forty years and never lost a one. Not even a chip. Forty years!”

Breck coaxed him: “What happened?”

“Hell. I picked up the stones in Amsterdam. I counted them in the broker’s presence. They weren’t anything special. Half-karat, one-karat, some chips. Three or four bigger stones but nothing spectacular. You know. Neighborhood jewelry store stuff. The amount of hijacking and armed robbery lately, they don’t like to load up a courier with too much value on a single trip.”

“How much were the stones worth altogether?”

“Not much. Four hundred thousand, give or take.”

“To some people that’s a lot.”

The old man said, “It’s an unattainable dream to me right now but hell, there was a time I used to carry five million at a crack. You know how much five million in really good diamonds weighs? You could get it in your hip pocket.”

“Go on.”

“Amsterdam, okay, the last trip. We wrapped them and packed them in the case — it’s the same armored steel attaché case, the one I’ve carried for fifteen years. I’ve still got it for all the good it does. The inside’s divided into small compartments lined with felt, so things don’t rattle around in there. I had it made to my own design fifteen years ago. Cost me twelve hundred dollars.”

“Amsterdam,” Breck said gently.

“Okay, okay. We locked the case — three witnesses in the room — and we handcuffed it to my wrist and I took the noon flight over the Pole to Los Angeles. Slept part of the way. Went through Customs, showed them the stones, did all the formalities. Everything routine, everything up-and-up. Met Vicky at LAX for dinner, took the night flight to Honolulu. In the morning I delivered the shipment to Cushman. Unlocked the handcuffs, unlocked the attaché case, took the packets out and put them on his desk. He unwrapped one or two of them, looked at the stones, counted the rest of the packets, said everything was fine, said thank you very much, never looked me in the eye, signed the receipt.”

“And then?”

“Nothing. I went. Next thing I know the cops are banging on my door at the hotel. Seems Cushman swore out a warrant. He said he’d taken a closer look at the stones that morning and they were no good. He claimed I’d substituted paste stones. He said the whole shipment was fakes. Said I’d stolen four hundred thousand dollars’ worth of diamonds. The cops put an inquiry through Interpol and they got depositions and affidavits and God knows what-all from the brokers in Amsterdam, attesting the stones they’d give me were genuine.”

Breck said, “Let me ask you a straight question then.”

“No, God help me, I did not steal the damn stones.”

“That’s not the question.”

“Then what is?”

“How come you’re not in jail?”

“They couldn’t prove it. It was my word against Cushman’s. I said I’d delivered the proper goods. He said I delivered fakes. He had the fakes to show for it, but he couldn’t prove they hadn’t been substituted by himself or somebody working for him.”

“Did they investigate Cushman and his employees?”

“Sure. I don’t think they did an enthusiastic job of it. They figured they already knew who the culprit was, so why waste energy? They went through the motions. They didn’t find anything. Cushman stuck to his story. Far as I can tell, none of his employees had access to the stones during the period of time between when I delivered them and when Cushman showed the paste fakes to the cops. So I figure it must have been Cushman.”

“Did the insurance pay off?”

“They had to. They couldn’t prove he’d defrauded them. Their investigator offered me a hundred thousand dollars and no questions asked if I’d turn in the stones I stole. I told him he had five seconds to get out the door before I punched him in the nose. I was an amateur light heavyweight just out of high school, you know. Nineteen thirty-one. I can handle myself.”

Right now, Breck thought, he didn’t look as if he could hold his own against a five-year-old in a playpen. But what he said was, “What else do you know about Cushman?”

“Snob. I don’t know where he hails from but he affects that clenched-teeth North Shore of Long Island society drawl. Mingles with the million-dollar Waikiki condominium set. I guess they’re his best customers for baubles.”

“What’d they do to you?”

“Revoked my bond. I can’t work without it. I tried to sue for defamation, this and that, but you know how these lawyers are. The case is still pending. Could be years before it’s settled. The other side knows how old I am — they know all they have to do is wait a few years.”

Breck said, “Maybe I’ll have a talk with this Cushman.”

“What’s the point?”

“Maybe I can persuade him to give you back what he owes you. Don’t get your hopes up. He’s never going to admit he framed you — he’d go to jail himself if he did that. The best you can hope for is to get enough money out of him to pay off your debts and set you up in that retirement you talked about. The condo, the boat, the bridge game. That much I may be able to persuade him he owes you.”

“Aagh.”

The shop was a pricey-looking storefront at 11858 Kalakaua Avenue; the sign beside the door was discreetly engraved on a small brass plaque: CUSHMAN INTERNATIONAL DIAMOND CO.

Inside, every inch a gent in nautical whites, Breck stood looking down at several enormous diamond rings spread across a velvet background.

“My fifth wedding anniversary. I want to give my wife the most beautiful present I can find. You were recommended — they told me they were sure you’d have what I’m looking for.”

The man across the counter was bald and amiable. He looked fit, as if he worked out regularly. He wore a dark suit and he’d had a manicure. “Thank you, sir. You’re very kind.”

“Are you Henry Cushman?”

“That’s correct. May I ask who recommended me?”

“A couple of people at a party for the governor. Let me have a look at that one, will you? The emerald cut.”

Cushman picked up the third ring. Breck gave him the benediction of his best smile. “Mind if I borrow your loupe?”

Clearly a trifle surprised, Cushman offered him the small magnifying glass. Screwing it into his eye Breck examined the stone. “Very nice,” he opined.

Cushman said softly, “It’s flawless, sir. Excellent color. And there’s not another one like it.”

“How much?”

“Four hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Breck examined the ring even more closely. Finally he said, “Make it four twenty.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be at liberty to go that low, sir.” The bald fellow was very smooth. “You see, diamonds at the moment—”

“Four thirty-five and that’s it.”

There was a considered pause before Cushman murmured, “I think I could accept that.”

“I thought you could.” Breck smiled again. And then, a bit amused by his own air of tremendous confidence, he went around to the proprietor’s desk and took a checkbook and a gold pen from his pockets and began to write out a check. “I want it gift-wrapped — and I’ll need it delivered to my suite at the Kahala Towers no later than seven o’clock tonight.”

He beamed when he stood up and handed over the check, accompanied by a driver’s license and a gold credit card; Cushman scribbled lengthy numbers across the top of the check and Breck didn’t give the jeweler a chance to get a word in edgewise. “Of course my wife’ll have to approve it, you understand. I don’t want to spend this sort of money on a gift she doesn’t really like. You know how women can be. But I don’t really think it’ll be a problem. She’s a connoisseur of good stones.” Then he was gone — right out the door.

He went two blocks to the beach and shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned at the ocean.

Henry Cushman stood momentarily immobilized before he came to his senses and reached for the telephone. The bank’s telephone number was on the check in his hand but he didn’t trust anything about that check and he looked up the bank in the directory. The telephone number was the same. He dialed it.

It was a frustrating conversation. A bank holiday, this particular Friday. “I know you’re closed to the public but I’ve got to talk with an officer. It’s important.”

“I’m sorry, sir. This is the answering service. There’s no one in the bank except security personnel.”

Cushman hung up the phone and made a face and wasn’t quite sure what to do. He paced the office for a moment, alternately pleased to have made the sale but disturbed by suspicion. Finally he picked up the telephone again.

The lobby bustled: people checking in, checking out — business people and tourists in flamboyant island colors. In this class of hotel in this high season you could estimate the fifty people in the lobby were worth approximately $20 million on the hoof. Mr. Fowler watched with satisfaction until the intercom interrupted. “Yes?”

“It’s Mr. Henry Cushman, sir.”

“Put him on.”

“Jim?”

“How’re you, Henry?”

“Puzzled. I’ve got a little problem.”

Jim Fowler laughed. “I told you not to bet on the Lakers. Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“It’s serious, Jim. Listen. I’ve just sold a very expensive diamond ring to...a Mr. F. Breckenridge Baldwin. I understand he’s staying at your hotel.”

“Baldwin? Yes, sure he’s staying here.” And by the sheerest of meaningless coincidences Fowler at that moment saw the extraordinarily tall F. Breckenridge Baldwin enter through the main entrance and stride across the vast marble foyer. In turn Baldwin recognized Fowler and waved to him and Fowler waved back as Baldwin entered an elevator.

“What’s that, Henry? Hell, sure, he’s reputable. He and his wife have been here three weeks now. Royal Suite. They’ve entertained two bishops and a Rockefeller.”

“How long are they staying?”

“They’ll be with us at least another week. She likes the beach. I gather he has business deals in progress.”

“What do you know about him? Any trouble?”

“Trouble? Absolutely not. In fact he’s compulsive about keeping his account paid up.”

“He gave me a damn big check on the Sugar Merchants Bank.”

“If you’re worried about it why don’t you call Bill Yeager? He’s on the board of the bank.”

“Good idea. I’ll do that. Thanks, Jim.”

“That’s all right. You’re certainly welcome.”

It took Henry Cushman twenty minutes and as many phone calls to find Bill Yeager. In the end he tracked him down at the Nineteenth Hole Clubhouse. There was quite a bit of background racket: a ball game of some kind on the projection TV, men’s voices shouting encouragement from the bar. Yeager’s voice blatted out of the phone: “You’ll have to talk louder, Henry.”

“Baldwin,” he shouted, “F. Breckenridge Baldwin.”

“Is that the big tall character, looks like Gary Cooper?”

“That’s him.”

“Met him the other night at a luau they threw for the senator. Nice fellow, I thought. What about him?”

“What does he do?”

“Investments, I think. Real estate mostly.”

“Does he have an account with Sugar Merchants?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“You’re on the board of directors, aren’t you?”

“Henry, for Pete’s sake, I’m not some kind of bank teller.”

“It’s important, Bill. I’m sorry to bother you but I really need to find out. Can you give me a home number — somebody from the bank? Somebody who might know?”

“Let me think a minute...”

“That’s right, Mr. Cushman. He’s got an account with us. Opened it several weeks ago.”

“What’s the balance?”

“I can’t give out that kind of information on the telephone, sir.”

“Let me put it this way, then. He’s given me a check for four hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars. I need to know if it’s good.”

“I see. Then you certainly have a legitimate interest...If Mr. Yeager gave you my name...Well, all right. Based on my knowledge of that account from a few days ago, I’d say the check should be perfectly good, sir. It’s an interest-bearing account, money-market rate. He’s been carrying a rather large balance — it would be more than adequate to cover a four hundred and thirty-five thousand dollar check.”

“Thank you very much indeed.” Hanging up the phone, Henry Cushman was perspiring a bit but exhaustedly relieved. It looked as if he’d made a good sale after all.

Breck’s hand placed the immaculate ring onto the woman’s slender finger. Vicky admired it, turning it this way and that to catch the light, enraptured.

“It’s the loveliest present of all. My darling Breck — I worship you.”

He gave her a sharp look — she was laying it on a bit thick — but she moved quickly into his embrace and kissed him, at length. There was nothing he could do but go along with it. Over her shoulder he glimpsed Henry Cushman, beaming rather like a clergyman at a wedding.

Politely, Cushman averted his glance and pretended interest in the decor of the Royal Suite. If you looked down from the twelfth-story window you could see guests splashing around the enormous pool, seals performing in the man-made pond beside it, lovers walking slowly along the beach, gentle white-caps catching the Hawaiian moonlight.

Finally she drew away and Breck turned to the room-service table; he reached for the iced champagne bottle and gestured toward Henry Cushman. “Like a drink before you go?”

“Oh no. I’ll leave you alone to enjoy your evening together. It’s been a pleasure, sir. I hope we meet again.”

As if at court the jeweler backed toward the door, then turned and left. Breck and Vicky stood smiling until he closed it. Then the smile disappeared from Breck’s face and he walked away from her. He jerked his tie loose and flung off the evening jacket.

She said, “You might at least make an effort to be nice to me.”

“Fire that alimony lawyer and let me have my money back and I’ll be as nice as—”

“Your money? Breck, you’re the most unrealistic stubborn stupid...”

He lifted the bottle out of the ice bucket and poured. “We’re almost home with this thing. I’ll keep the truce if you will. Time out? King’s X?”

She lifted her champagne in a toast: “King’s X. To Daddy.”

He drank to that. “Your turn tomorrow, ducks:”

“And then what?”

“Just think about doing your job right now.”

AVAKIAN JEWELRY — BY APPOINTMENT ONLY.

It was upstairs in an old building in Waikiki village. Patina of luxury; the carpet was thick and discreet. Past the desk and through the window you could see straight down the narrow street to a segment of beach and the Pacific beyond.

There were no display cases; it wasn’t that sort of place. Just an office. Somewhere in another room there would be a massive safe.

The man’s name was Clayton; he’d introduced himself on the telephone when she’d made the appointment. His voice on the phone was thin and asthmatically reedy; it had led her to expect a hollow-chested cadaverous man but Clayton in person was ruddy-cheeked and thirty pounds overweight and perspiring in a three-piece seersucker suit under the slowly turning overhead fan. He was the manager. She gathered from something he said that the owner had several shops in major cities around the world and rarely set foot in any of them.

Clayton was examining the ring. “Normally I don’t come in on Saturdays.” He’d already told her that on the phone; she’d dropped her voice half an octave and given him the pitch about how there was quite a bit of money involved.

He turned the ring in his hand, inspecting it under the high-intensity lamp. “I suppose it’s a bit cool for the beach today anyhow.” His talk was the sort that suggested he was afraid of silences: he had to keep filling them with unnecessary sounds. “Raining like the devil over on the windward side of the island today, did you know that?” It made her recall how one of the things she’d always admired about Breck was his comfort with silences. Sometimes his presence was a warmth in itself; sometimes when she caught his eye the glance was as good as a kiss.

But that was long ago, as he kept reminding her.

Presently Clayton took down the loupe and glanced furtively in her direction. “It’s a beautiful stone..shame you have to part with it... How much did you have in mind?”

“I want a quick sale. And I need cash. A hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

He gave her a sharp look. He knew damn well it was worth more than that. He picked up the satin-lined little box. “Why don’t you take it back to Henry Cushman? They’d probably give you more.”

“That’s my business, isn’t it?”

“I may not have that much cash on the premises.”

She reached for the box. “If you don’t want the ring, never mind—”

He said, “No, no,” accepting the rebuff. “Of course it’s your business. I’m sorry.” He got to his feet. “I’ll see what I’ve got in the safe. If you’ll excuse me a moment?”

She gave him her sweetest smile and settled into a leather armchair while the man slipped out of the office. He left the ring and the box on the desk as if to show how trustworthy he was.

She knew where he was going: a telephone somewhere. She could imagine the conversation. She wished she could see Henry Cushman’s face. “That’s my ring all right. What’s the woman look like?”

And the manager Clayton describing her: this tall elegant auburn-haired woman who looked like Morristown gentry from the horsey fox-hunting set. In her fantasy she could hear Cushman’s pretentious lockjaw drawl: “That’s the woman. I saw him put the ring on her finger. That’s her. Wait — let me think this out...”

She waited on. Patient, ever patient, and Joy shall be thy share.

Henry Cushman would be working it out in his mind — suspicion first, then certainty: by now he’d be realizing he’d been had. “They set it up. They’ve stuck me with a bum check.”

She pictured his alarm — a deep red flush suffusing his bald head. “They must have emptied out his bank account Thursday evening just before the bank closed. They knew I’d inquire about the account. But the check’s no good, don’t you see? I’ve given them one of the best stones in the islands and they’ve got to get rid of it before the bank opens. If you let her get away... by Monday morning they’ll be in Hong Kong or Caracas, setting up the same scam all over again. For God’s sake stall her. Just hold her right there.”

She smiled when Clayton returned.

He said in an avuncular wheeze, “I’m afraid this is going to take a few minutes, madame.”

“Take your time. I don’t mind.”

Breck sat in the back seat of a parked taxi, watching the building. He saw the police car draw up.

Two uniformed officers got out of the car. They went to the glass door of the building and pressed a button. After a moment the door was unlocked to permit them to enter.

After that it took not more than five or six minutes before Breck saw Vicky emerge from the shop, escorted by a cop on either side of her. She was shouting at them, struggling, forcing them to manhandle her. With effort the cops hustled her into the police car. It drove off.

In the taxi, Breck settled back. “We can go now.”

Henry Cushman looked up at him. Cushman’s eyes were a little wild. The smooth surface of his head glistened with sweat.

“A terrible blunder, Mr. Baldwin, and I can only offer my most humble apologies. I’m so awfully embarrassed...”

On the desk were the diamond ring and Breck’s check.

Breck impaled him on his icy stare. With virulent sarcasm he mimicked Cushman’s phony accent:

“Your awful embarrassment, Mr. Cushman, hardly compensates for the insult and injury you’ve done to my wife and myself.”

The quiet calm of his voice seemed nearly to shatter Cushman; the man seemed barely able to reply. Finally he managed to whisper:

“Quite right, sir.”

Breck stood in front of the desk, leaning forward, the heels of both hands against its edge; from his great height he loomed over the jeweler.

“Now let’s get this straight. You called the bank this morning...”

“Yes sir.”

“And you found out my check’s good.” He pointed to it. “Isn’t it? The money’s in the bank to cover it.”

Henry Cushman all but cringed. “Yes sir.”

“But because of your impulsive stupidity, my wife was arrested... Do you have any idea what it’s like for a woman of Mrs. Baldwin’s breeding to spend a whole night locked up in whatever you call your local louse-infested women’s house of detention?”

Cushman, squirming, was speechless.

Breck was very calm and serious. “I guess we haven’t got anything more to say to each other, Mr. Cushman.” He wheeled slowly and with dignity toward the door. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.”

“Please... please, Mr. Baldwin.”

He stopped with his back to the jeweler, waiting.

“Mr. Baldwin, let’s not be hasty. I feel sure we can find a solution to this without the expense of public litigation...”

With visible reluctance Breck turned to face him. Very cold now: “What do you suggest?”

“No, sir. What do you suggest?”

Breck gave it a great deal of visible thought. He regarded the check, then the ring. Finally he picked up the ring and squinted at it.

“For openers — this belongs to me.”

He saw the Adam’s apple go up and down inside Cushman’s shirt collar. Cushman said, “Yes sir.”

“And I can see you haven’t deposited my check yet. So here’s my suggestion. You listening?”

“Yes sir.”

“I keep the ring — and you tear up that check.”

Cushman stared at him. Breck loomed. “It’s little enough for the insults we’ve had to suffer.”

In acute and obvious discomfort, Cushman struggled but finally accepted defeat. Slowly, with a sickly smile, he tore up the check.

It earned the approval of Breck’s cool smile. “You’ve made a sensible decision. Saved yourself a lot of trouble. Consider yourself lucky.”

And he went.

She said, “Don’t you think we make a good team?” She said it wistfully, with moonlight in her eyes and Remy Martin on her breath. “Don’t you remember the time we sold the same Rembrandt three times for a million and a half each? I remember the Texan and the Iranian in Switzerland, but who was the third one?”

“Watanabe in Kyoto.”

“Oh, yes. How could I have forgotten. The one with all the airplanes around the pagoda in his yard.”

A breeze rattled the palm fronds overhead. He looked down into her upturned face. “I’ve got a race next week in Palm Springs, which means I’ve only got a few days to get the car in shape. Besides, you still need to learn a man doesn’t like paying alimony. It feels like buying gas for a junked car.”

“Don’t talk to me about that. Talk to my lawyer,” she said. “Are you going to kiss me or something?”

“I don’t know. I seem to remember I tried that once. As I recall it didn’t work out too well. Turned out kind of costly.” He began to walk away.

“Hey. Breck.”

Her voice pulled him around.

She said, “King’s X?”

He threw up both arms: his eyes rolled upward as if seeking inspiration from the sky. And shaking his head like a man who ought to know better, he began to laugh.