The Bad Beat

11

The first kamikazes, the first fighters willing to commit suicide in order to defeat their opponents, are generally thought to have been the Jewish Sicarii and the Islamic Assassins. Unlike modern-day suicide bombers, the Sicarii and the Assassins weren’t required to die in order to do their jobs, but if that was what happened, so be it. Undertaking a suicide mission requires a different psychological makeup than merely putting yourself in a position where you might die as a result of your actions.

With someone like Big Lumpy, however, where his death was already foretold, taking a risk like presenting himself to Yuri Drubich in order to defraud him was an entirely different beast. He could die in the process, but maybe it would be a less painful way to go than via whatever was eating him from the inside out. No matter how this all played out, Big Lumpy was a dead man. And in the end, if he went for it, Brent’s father’s debts would be gone, he’d be able to get the help he needed, and Brent would have choices about how to use his talents. Or at least he’d have the financial security to make choices. I couldn’t imagine what Big Lumpy’s provisos would be, as he said, but they’d hardly be enforceable with violence after he was dead.

“What sort of person goes by Big Lumpy?” my mother asked.

It was the next morning and I’d just finished explaining to Brent (and a befuddled Sugar… and my chain-smoking mother) the deal Big Lumpy was offering him, right down to the potential for millions of dollars. We were sitting at the same kitchen table where I’d had eight thousand conversations with my own mother and father about how crime doesn’t pay. The same table where Fiona and Sam-who were on their way over to take Brent to school-and I had planned more than one enterprise that might normally be considered criminal if we weren’t such good law-abiding citizens… or, well, at least Sam and I were, in any case.

I hadn’t mentioned to my mother that Nate was being threatened in all of this, figuring that all things being equal, she really didn’t need to know that Nate was also into a psychopath-or a former psychopath, as it were-for some marginal sum of money. Parents really don’t need to know everything about their children.

“It’s a nickname,” I said. “Because of his huge brain.”

“What about you, Sugar?” my mother asked. “Why do people call you that?”

“I’m sweet, Mrs. Westen,” he said.

“Isn’t that nice,” she said. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Brent tells me you used to live under Michael’s place. Isn’t that a coincidence?”

“It’s a small world,” he said.

“So you’re the drug dealer, then, that he had to shoot?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You know. We all got checkered pasts, right, Mike?”

“You don’t have a checkered past,” I said. “You have a checkered present. You really do need to consider another line of work, Sugar. Eventually someone is going to have better aim and will get you in the head.”

“I was thinking maybe I’d go back to school. Hit up twelfth grade again at night school and then just bounce once I get my paper. You know, but I gotta get mine until then. I’m going to get up out of that game when I can, Mike, on the real. Soon as I get a new ride.”

“I’m sorry,” my mother said, “but I have no idea what you just said. Could you interpret into English for me, Michael?”

The thing about my mother was that she could be lost and adrift and then she could just seem to be lost and adrift. It was a good defense mechanism and a good way of putting people like Sugar in their place. She would have made a good preschool teacher or Cossack.

“He’s going to quit dealing drugs just as soon as he gets his high school diploma and a new car,” I said, “but not in that order, I suspect.”

“And do you also call yourself Sugar because you sell cocaine?” she asked.

“Allegedly,” he said.

My mother turned to Brent. “If you’re smart,” she said, “you’ll get him out of your life as soon as possible.”

Brent shrugged. If he could figure out a way to convey the word “like” by using a repetitive body action, he’d have the basis of his entire emotional range covered.

“Anyway,” I said to my mother, “Big Lumpy is a genius. Geniuses get to call themselves whatever they want. Though my understanding is that he doesn’t actually care for the name, if it makes you feel any better, Ma.”

“He might be all smart and stuff,” Sugar said, “but he’s mean.”

“He let you live,” I said. “He didn’t need to do that.”

“Whatever,” he said. “He wrapped me in plastic wrap like I was a sandwich or some shit. That’s messed up, yo.”

Through all of this Brent was strangely silent. “So,” I said, “what do you think, Brent?”

“Why does he want to do this?” he asked.

“Honestly? I think he sees himself in you.”

“I’ve never met him,” Brent said.

“I don’t mean it literally,” I said. “But in your work. The Web site. The guts it took to stand up to him and to screw Yuri Drubich over. He thinks you’re smart, Brent. I think you’re smart, too. But I’m not offering you an opportunity to do… well, whatever he wants you to do.”

“What do you think that will be?”

“My guess is that he wants you to go down a better road than he went on,” I said. “At least eventually. My sense is that he thinks he can train you a bit. And then send you to work for people who could use you for the good of our country. What you did to Yuri, what you came up with, InterMacron, that technology you just made up out of the ether? He thinks it could work, Brent. That’s the biggest thing. He thinks your theories are sound.”

“I was just doing what I could to help my dad,” he said. “I did what anyone would do.”

I looked across the table at my mother. She was sitting beside Brent attempting to be as motherly as possible, which wasn’t easy, since she was always better at being vaguely distant and demanding, and I could tell she wanted to say something. She kept opening her mouth and then closing it, like a fish.

“Go ahead, Ma,” I said, “say what you’re going to say.”

“Well, Michael,” she said, “I think Brent makes a very good point. Doing whatever he could do to take care of his parent. That’s a very kind, very wise, very sweet thing for a boy of just nineteen to do.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Princely.”

“At least he didn’t run off and become some… whatever you are.”

“A spy,” I said.

“Which is badass,” Sugar said.

“Totally,” Brent said.

Not the response my mother was looking for. “Anyway, Michael, I just think that maybe Brent needs a good, solid family surrounding him. What kind of life is he going to have doing whatever this Big Lucy wants him to do?”

“Lumpy,” I said. “Big Lumpy. And the truth is, Ma, that Brent can make his own choices of what he does. You want to work for the government, Brent?”

He shrugged. Of course. “I dunno. That sounds pretty cool.”

“Would he get to carry?” Sugar asked.

“Probably not,” I said.

“Whatever, bro,” Sugar said to Brent. “I could get you a piece.”

“He would need to get certain criminal elements away from him,” I said.

“What about my dad?” Brent asked.

I hadn’t told him yet about finding Henry. I wasn’t sure what might happen next, but I knew that if Yuri or perhaps Big Lumpy could use Henry as collateral, they would. It was best that Brent still be kept in the dark about his father’s whereabouts and mental condition, but I didn’t want him to be in constant fear about his possible death. I had to make a choice.

“He’s safe,” I said.

“You found him?” he said. “Where is he? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t,” I said. “And I can’t tell you where he is now, but understand that he’s in a place where no one can get to him.”

“When did you find him?”

“Yesterday,” I said.

“What?” Brent pushed back from the table and then stood up abruptly. “What? Why didn’t you tell me? I’m not a little kid, you know. I’m a full-grown man, you know. I’m, like, almost twenty.”

“Brent,” I said, “please sit down.”

“No,” he said. “No. I mean, like, I’m valuable and you’re just, like, pulling my strings and I’m not down with that.”

He stalked across the kitchen and into the living room and then back into the kitchen. His face was puffy and red and I realized he was near tears.

I don’t do well with tears. Especially not on men. Or boys. Or women. Crying animals aren’t my area of expertise, either.

“Uh, Ma,” I said, as quietly as possible, since I figured she might have more experience with this than I did.

“He’s right, Michael,” she said. “Nineteen is a full-grown man. I’ve heard that before.”

“Not helping,” I said.

Brent did another tour of the house, mumbling under his breath and stomping the entire time, before basically throwing himself down onto the sofa in the living room. “I need to go to school,” he said finally, as if we’d not spent the better part of an hour talking about the rest of his life. “I’ll be late if we don’t leave in, like, fifteen minutes.”

“Sam will take you as soon as he gets here,” I said.

“What about Fiona?” he said.

“That’s my boy,” Sugar said.

“Shut up, Sugar,” I said… at precisely the same moment my mother said it, too. There are things we agree on without condition.

“I’m just saying,” Sugar said, “Sam’s gonna stick out on campus like a narc. But Fiona, she can rock that grad student game. Put some horn-rimmed glasses on her, she’d make that shit work like 24-7.”

For once in Sugar’s life, he made a convincing argument. I didn’t think Fiona would go for the horn-rimmed glasses if she didn’t have to, but I suspected she would like the idea of being mistaken for being twenty-two. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long to find out, as she and Sam rang my mother’s doorbell just a few minutes later.

Sam looked like he hadn’t yet slept, his hair freshly slicked down with water and yesterday’s hair gel, his Tommy Bahama shirt open too far down his chest, not because of any fashion sense but because he’d just put it on in the car. Fiona, however, was radiant as ever in a white sundress accented by black sunglasses and a turquoise handbag. She looked like Jackie O, if Jackie O were still alive and packing a nine in her purse. Not exactly dressed for school, but I’m sure she’d make do.

“How’s your head?” I asked.

“Better,” Fiona said. “Nothing a hot stone massage and an evening spent reading US Magazine and cleaning my knife collection couldn’t soothe.”

“My head is killing me,” Sam said. “What’s that bright orb in the eastern sky?”

“They call that the sun,” I said.

“What’s it doing over there on that side of the heavenly firmament?”

“That’s where it starts every day,” I said.

“So every morning at eight thirty, I can expect to see this same phenomenon?”

“Pretty much,” I said.

“Reason enough to sleep in or drink early,” Sam said.

Brent popped up from the couch, grabbed his satchel and announced, “I’m going to be late. Can we go?”

“Fiona,” I said, “I need you to take Brent to school.”

“I already refused to do that yesterday,” she said.

“Besides, Sam was looking forward to meeting some coeds.”

“I need Sam with me today,” I said. “We’re going to have some Yuri business and he can’t see you again, at least not until his wrist heals. What we don’t need is another combustible situation before we have Brent safely taken care of.”

Fiona pursed her lips and exhaled hard through her nose. It was actually sort of cute when it didn’t portend violence. “What classes do you have today, Brent?”

“Um, history, which is totally lame. And then I’ve got a game design class, which is badass, you know. And then I’ve got a three-hour seminar on women’s studies.”

“Lovely,” Fiona said.

“I assume Western civ and women’s studies are held in big lecture halls?” I said.

“Yeah. Like two hundred people are in those classes. But game design is just twelve of us, so it would be weird if Fiona was with me, but also sort of cool.”

“Tell it,” Sugar said. He was still in the kitchen, wisely keeping his distance from Sam, but he couldn’t stop being Sugar, no matter where he was.

“Oh,” Fiona said, “you’re still alive?”

“I’m cold-kicking it live, doll,” Sugar said and then he began reciting lyrics to some rap song.

“Don’t speak to me,” Fiona said to Sugar, which got him to stop speaking/rapping immediately. “So I’m to wait outside this other classroom? Is that the idea?”

“Yes,” I said. “If someone is coming for him, I suspect they’d come for him there.”

“Then why are we even going to school?” Fiona asked.

“Because I’ll fail if I miss any more classes,” Brent said.

“This is ludicrous, Michael. You realize that?” Fiona said.

Sometimes the most important thing in the world is to let a person think that what they care about most is, in fact, extremely vital to their long-term well-being. Having something he could control, like when and if he attended class, was giving Brent a locus of normalcy. And if that was what he needed, that was what we’d have to give him, dangerous or not.

“We’re living in odd times,” I said. “You have a gun with you?”

“One in my purse, a dozen in my car. I’m supposed to sell a few this afternoon. I guess I’ll cancel that.”

“Please,” I said. “And keep in touch during the day. Let me know if there are any problems.”

“Yes, sir,” Fiona said. “Come on, Brent. Let’s go get you some book learning. And maybe, if you’re nice, I’ll let you pretend to be my boyfriend so that we can help you pick out a suitably slutty young woman for you to make mistakes with once you’re incredibly wealthy in a few days.”

“That sounds cool,” Brent said.

I walked Fi and Brent outside to Fi’s car, made sure he was buckled in safely and then pulled Fi aside ever so briefly. “Try not kill anyone today,” I said to her.

“What if I have to?”

“Try to just injure them,” I said. “Guns on college campuses are sort of frowned upon.”

“Hmm, yes, I seem to remember your government killing a bunch of kids on a college campus.”

“I’m thinking more of crazed gunmen in towers and in crowded classrooms, really,” I said.

“Ah, yes, your Second Amendment’s downside,” she said.

“Just be careful,” I said.

“I will be,” she said and then got in her car and was gone. When I turned around, Sam was standing on the front porch watching me. He had my cell phone in his hand.

“It’s always sad when they leave the nest,” he said.

“You’ve got a call.”

“Who is it?”

“He called himself Big Lumpy’s Manservant Monty.”

I took the phone from Sam. “This is Michael.”

“I am sorry to bother you,” Big Lumpy’s Manservant Monty said. “But Mr. McGregor asked me to phone in the event of any problems and address myself as Manservant Monty.”

“Mr. McGregor? That’s…”

“Big Lumpy, yes,” he said.

“Okay,” I said.

“Yes, sorry to say, he’s expired.”

“Pardon me?”

“He’s expired. In bed.”

“You’re telling me he’s dead?”

“He met his transition, yes.”

“That’s not good,” I said.

“On the contrary, it was very peaceful. He was very ill, as I’m sure you know, so this is a relief. He was very happy last night, you should know. As happy as I’ve seen him in years. He worked well into the early morning on your proposal, so I have it here for you. He instructed me that should there be any problems, as I noted before, all contracts remain enforced, so your brother, Nate, is still at risk here, so you should know.”

“What about Brent?”

“Yes, he has been provided for provided he does as Mr. McGregor wishes.”

“Which is?”

“Mr. Grayson will be delivered a copy of Mr. McGregor’s conditions.”

“When?”

“He left your mother’s home approximately five minutes ago-would that be correct?”

I looked over my shoulder and down the street. Nothing stirred. There were no men with cameras hidden in the bushes. Which meant I probably didn’t realize Sugar was bugged. If I had to guess, it would be his earrings. It’s where I would have put a bug.

“Correct,” I said.

“A messenger will be arriving shortly. Within the next ten minutes if you’d like to remain outside. Please do not kill him. He is literally the messenger and not an emissary of any kind. Mr. McGregor specifically wanted you to know this.”

“Great,” I said. “This information he left. It’s about the wind technology, is that correct?”

“That’s my understanding, yes. He was very thorough, you should know. He worked on it until he passed. It will certainly be enough to force Mr. Drubich into complicity provided it is brought to him by a believable source.”

“Big Lumpy was to serve that purpose,” I said.

“Yes, sir, I understand that,” Monty said. “I’m afraid, as I said before, that he’s expired and thus will not be able to play that role.”

“Henry Grayson,” I said.

“Yes?”

“Any information I should know regarding him?”

“Yes, well, I might add that Mr. McGregor was disappointed in you in that regard, but understood your position.”

“What position was that?”

“The position you took in lying to him about his whereabouts. Nevertheless, Mr. Grayson is still missing. Mr. McGregor would like you to know you won that bet.”

I’d had a feeling I hadn’t fooled him. But what I had done was convince him that Henry was crazy. If that hadn’t been the case, he wouldn’t have let me parade that lie in front of him. Even in death, he was exerting control.

“Do you have a body?” I said.

“The body has been removed,” he said.

“By whom?”

“The coroner. That’s who usually does that sort of thing, correct?”

“I just didn’t know if maybe Big Lumpy’s body was privy to government secrecy or anything. You’ll excuse me for presuming he was important.”

“He was important,” he said. I thought I caught a waver in Monty the Manservant’s voice, which made me feel bad. Big Lumpy was, after all, his friend. Or his employer. Or his… something. It really wasn’t all that defined what their relationship was and wasn’t made easier by the fact that they both wore those absurd white outfits, like they were about to star in a Wham! video.

Apologizing would show weakness, so I just pressed on. “Do you happen to have a death certificate?”

“One has not been issued yet. You’ll need to wait two days. The state of Florida is filled with dead people this time of year.”

“Then I need proof of death in some other fashion,” I said. “Otherwise I have no reason to believe you, apart from your very fine diction and that nice car you drive.”

“Would you like to come over and sniff his room?”

“That was a joke, Monty?”

“That was a joke, Mr. Westen. But I’m sure you can call the coroner’s office and they will confirm receipt of his body.”

“Is there going to be a funeral?”

“He was a man just like any other,” he said. “He has his wishes and they are that he will be buried in Massachusetts. If you’d like, I can see if we can get you a special pass to leave Miami to attend.”

Smart. But I wondered how smart.

“Monty,” I said. “That’s your real name? Because I’ve never known an Asian person named Monty.”

“No, not really.”

“What’s your real name?”

“Steven.”

“Steven,” I said, “why don’t you go on home? Get on with your life. You don’t work for Big Lumpy anymore. He’s dead. So you can stop with the formality of things. No one is going to hurt you, okay? You can just head on back to whatever life you thought you wanted to lead. I’m sure you’ve been provided for, right?”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Really,” I said. “Feel free. I’ll come and pick up the documentation you have for me and then fly free.”

Silence.

“Or do what you want. It’s your choice. You just don’t need to wait around for your orders anymore.”

“Mr. Westen,” he replied, “do you think everyone is you?”

“You’ve been briefed, apparently.”

“Apparently,” he said. “The messenger who arrives will have your information as well. When the money is made available to you from Mr. Drubich, you will contact me and your brother will be safe and all will be fine in the world.”

“And who is going to let the government know that Yuri has top-secret documents?”

“Do you think I am really a manservant?”

“I guess I did,” I said. “But I’m going to guess now that you’re some kind of super assassin and also some kind of genius-would that be correct?”

“I think Mr. McGregor overestimated you,” he said.

“Wouldn’t be the first,” I said. “Are you the eyelid guy or was that someone else, just so I know who I’m actually dealing with here.”

“My contact information will be enclosed with the documents you will be receiving. Call me when you are ready to transfer the money.”

“And what do I call you? Monty? Steven? Agent Zero?”

“Agent Zero sounds fine,” he said and hung up.

I scrolled through the phone to see if the call had come from any specific number, but it came up blocked, naturally. I’d need to confirm that Big Lumpy was dead, but my sense was that he wouldn’t go to such lengths just to complicate things.

“That didn’t sound like a great conversation,” Sam said.

“Big Lumpy is dead,” I said.

“I got that,” Sam said. I filled him in on the rest of the information Monty/Steven/Agent Zero gave me and let him digest it all. “Anything else?” he asked finally.

“I think Sugar is bugged,” I said.

“We need to give him a full pelvic?”

“I hope not,” I said. “I’m going to guess it’s either in his earrings or his watch.”

“His watch is the size of a hubcap,” Sam said.

“That’s where we’ll look first, then. Save the pelvic for later, in case he resists.”

Sam nodded. It was nice outside. A pleasant breeze. The palm trees were free of rats. The sky wasn’t smoggy. I couldn’t smell my mother’s cigarette smoke. I could probably get into my car and drive to the Keys and come back in a week and all of these problems would be gone, one way or the other.

“This might be a good time for me to say, again, that I apologize for getting us into this mess,” Sam said.

“How much do you know about wind technology?” I asked.

“I once had to go out to the Marine base in Twentynine Palms, outside Palm Springs and I saw that big wind farm they’ve got out there. Sort of creeped me out. Windmills look dangerous.”

“Apart from that?”

“Apart from that, not much.”

“Well,” I said, “when the messenger arrives with the information Big Lumpy came up with for us to deliver to Yuri Drubich, I suggest you spend some time getting acclimated to the nuances of all things involving wind technology.”

“So… ”

“Yes,” I said. “You’re now Big Lumpy. You have any all-white outfits?”

“Not since Miami Vice,” he said.

The front door opened and Sugar stepped out. “Your moms wanted me to come out and check on you,” he said. When I didn’t respond, because I knew he was lying, he said, “All right, man, you know, she’s relentless with the judgments. I’ve had a bad week, bro, and she’s all up on me for my life choices, so I had to bug out.”

I said nothing.

“And so, yeah, I was thinking, maybe I’d bounce, if that’s cool?”

“You planning on taking the bus?” Sam said. That he’d spoken at all was a surprise.

“Naw, man, I was hoping you could set me up with a ride and a safe place for a few days, till this Russian madness ends.”

“Sugar,” I said, “the moment you leave this house, you’re a dead man. Do you realize that?”

“Your mom hates me,” he said.

“You’re easy to hate,” Sam said. “Give me your watch.”

“What?” he said.

“Your watch,” Sam said. “Give it to me.”

“Look, I’ll hook you up with those Dolphin tickets-you just gotta give me some time.”

“Sugar,” I said, “give Sam your watch before he takes it with your arm still attached.”

“If I give him my watch,” Sugar said to me, “will you get me out of here?”

“Sugar,” I said, “I have a feeling Big Lumpy bugged you. The easiest place to look is your watch. After that, we start going through your internal organs. So please, with cherries on top, give Sam your watch.”

Sugar unclasped his watch and handed it to Sam. “Be careful,” he said. “It’s a Rolex.”

“Aren’t you a little young to have a Rolex?” Sam asked.

“I got big money,” he said.

Sam handed me the watch so I could look at it. It said ROLEX on the face and it was covered with diamonds… except that the diamonds were obviously cubic zirconium, since the only person who could afford the size and sum of encrusted diamonds on Sugar’s watch was the Sultan of Brunei. Even he would think it was gaudy. I turned the watch over. It said MADE IN CHINA right there on the plate.

“Where’d you get this?” I asked.

“You know. I got people who find me deals.”

“They got you a great deal on this one, then,” I said and handed it back to Sam, who set it on the ground and stomped on it until it broke apart. The “diamonds” crumbled like… well, like the glass they turned out to be.

“What are you doing?” Sugar fairly shrieked.

“It’s a fake, Sugar,” I said. “It was made in China.”

“What about the diamonds?” he said.

“Those were made in a window store,” I said. I reached down and pulled out the parts and found the bug immediately-Big Lumpy hadn’t bothered to put a small, top-level bug into the watch, opting instead for one about the size of a nickel.

“This come with your phone?” I asked.

“Aw, man, c’mon,” Sugar said. “You think I knew they’d bugged me?”

“During your traumatic time of capture,” Sam said,

“were you ever without your lovely Rolex?”

“That weird little dude? Monty? He asked me if he could shine it for me. Right before we came to your place, Mike. I was like, damn, you know?”

“This was before they wrapped you in plastic and stuffed your ears with cotton and taped up your mouth?” I said.

“Yeah,” he said.

“And you found nothing suspicious about the fact that they returned your watch to you all shined up and sparkling like it was the day you paid all eleven dollars for it?” Sam asked.

“Man, I was out of my mind. You know? I just, you know, like reacted to freedom and wasn’t thinking about it. I’m not a pro at being kidnapped like you guys are. Maybe I had that Frankfurt Syndrome or some shit.”

“I think you mean Stockholm,” I said.

“Frankfurt, Stockholm, Fort Lauderdale, my shit was scared, yo.”

It was hard to stay mad at Sugar. He was like a dog that pees on the floor every time the doorbell rings. Not much you can do but shake your head and drag it outside and tie it up when people come to visit-the difference being that you couldn’t just leave Sugar chained up outside for the rest of the day. At least not legally.

I examined the bug for a moment. It was a government-issue high-density bug-the kind they hand out like M amp;Ms to spies around the world-which lent credence to both Big Lumpy’s bona fides and Monty’s. .. or Steve’s… or Agent Zero’s. Whoever he was. I looked for a fingerprint on the bug but found nothing. He’d be too good for that.

“Sam,” I said, “you think you could find out who Big Lumpy’s manservant Monty actually is?”

“You don’t trust him?”

“No,” I said, “I actually do trust him. But I want to know who our new business partner is before we send you into combat with Yuri.”

“I’ll make some calls,” he said.

“I need to know if he’s someone who can be reasoned with or someone I might need to shoot first, like Sugar, but I have a feeling you’re going to have a bit of homework when the deliveryman shows up.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Sam said.

“You’re the only person here who resembles the words ‘Big Lumpy,’” I said.

“I can tell you right now,” Sugar said, “that Monty fool has his swerve down. He made my watch look tight even if he did bug it. But if you want to put a cap in his ass, I’m with that.”

“No one is putting a cap in anyone’s ass,” I said.

“Least of all you.”

“Just saying, Mike, I’m riding with you, I’m riding with you to the end, player.”

“Do you practice these lines?” Sam said to Sugar.

“Or do they just roll out of your mouth as natural as the day you were born?”

“You know,” Sugar said, “when you got game, you got game.”

A black van with the logo FOUR POINTS DELIVERY SERVICE pulled up in front of my mother’s house then. The delivery guy got out and saw us standing there. “This the Westen Spy House?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. Good old dead Big Lumpy. He had a sense of humor, at least.

“Cool. One of you want to help me with the boxes?”

“Boxes?” I said.

“Yeah, I got two file boxes full of stuff, plus a couple envelopes and a laptop computer.”

“Have at it, Sugar,” Sam said.

Sugar, to his credit, didn’t respond in any negative way to Sam, and instead went to the curb to help the deliveryman. The delivery guy opened up the back of the van, and Sugar stepped in and came back out with two white boxes stuffed with information.

“Where you want this stuff?” he asked when he got up to the porch.

“Put it in the kitchen,” I said, “and tell my mother not to touch it.”

“Man, I’m not telling her anything. I don’t need her yelling at me like I’m her kid.”

The deliveryman walked up behind Sugar with the envelopes and the laptop. “You need to sign for all of this,” he said. He handed me the envelopes-one marked with my name, one marked with Brent’s-and handed Sam the laptop. He went back to his truck and came back with a clipboard and showed me where to sign. “Okay, thanks.”

“Can I ask you a question?” I said.

“Sure,” he said. “Is it about the creepy dude?”

“The creepy dude?” I said.

“The little Asian dude,” he said. “If he’s your cousin or something, I apologize. He just gave me the creeps.”

“It actually is about him,” I said. “Where did you pick this information up?”

“That’s part of the creepy bit,” he said. “I picked it up about a block away from here.”

“From here?” I said.

“Yeah. Parking lot of that church down the street? You know it?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Weird since he could have just dropped it off himself, right?”

“Right,” I said. And then a thought occurred to me. “When did they place the delivery order?”

He flipped through the pages on the clipboard. “Uh, let’s see. Looks like the order came in two days ago.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yep. Prepaid delivery authorized on Saturday.”

Saturday. I hadn’t even met Big Lumpy yet on Saturday. “What time?”

“Uh, let’s see. Did it online at eight in the morning. Early risers, I guess.”

And with precognitive abilities. Sam and I met with Big Lumpy on Sunday at noon. Which either meant Big Lumpy had the world’s best Ouija board or was well aware of Brent’s situation-and his connection to me-long before we ever met. I had a suspicion that either Brent’s home phone was bugged-likely, really-and that more than likely Big Lumpy had been tracking Brent for a very long time. It made sense if Henry Grayson was in as deep as he appeared to be. I could see Big Lumpy wanting to have a pawn to play with for his money, only to discover something far more interesting and then, as was his wont, taking a few bets on how things might turn out. All an elaborate game for his enjoyment and, perhaps, a little deathbed edification.

“Thanks,” I said. “That’s helpful.”

“No problem,” he said, but then he didn’t go anywhere. “Information, you know, it’s the currency of the future, but you can’t pay your rent with it, if you get my meaning.”

I did.

“Sam,” I said, “tip the man.”

“You should wear more comfortable shoes,” Sam said. “Trust me. You’ll be having back problems soon enough if you’re not careful. You need to start lifting from your legs and then carrying all boxes in what we in the ergonomic profession call the strike zone. So, middle of your thigh to the middle of your chest.” Sam patted the delivery guy on the shoulder in such a way that he actually managed to get him turned around back toward his van. “No need to thank me now. Your sciatica can send me a thank-you note from the old folks’ home.”

We watched the van drive off in silence, both of us contemplating the news we’d learned.

I looked at Sam and tried to imagine him all in white and filled with two file boxes and a laptop computer’s worth of information. He apparently was having the same revelation, since he now looked even more sickened than usual by the early hour.

“Better go inside and ask my mother if you can borrow her reading glasses,” I said to Sam.

“You ever learn that Evelyn Wood Speed Reading technique?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “I always preferred to actually read.”

“They say if you learn something in an altered state, you’ll recall it better in an altered state. So I’m thinking maybe a mimosa is the call here.”

“I’m going to say no,” I said.

“You sure you don’t think Sugar could pull off being Big Lumpy?” he said.

“No.”

“So Big Lumpy knew we were coming,” Sam said.

“Seems like it.”

“I wonder how much more he knew.”

“I’m going to guess quite a bit,” I said. I told him I thought Brent’s place was probably bugged and my ideas about Big Lumpy’s initial reasoning.

“Makes sense,” Sam said. “You really think he’s dead?”

“I’ll call the coroner to find out,” I said, “but I’m going to guess that he killed himself.”

“Why?”

“Because it would be more entertaining for him to watch this from some spectral plane than to actually be in it. And because he was already dead, for the most part. Last night he told me he had three months, but I wouldn’t have placed money on that being true. The man could hardly function. He didn’t even torture Sugar.”

My mom stepped outside then and slammed the door behind her. “He’s an idiot,” she said.

“I know,” I said.

“Are you going to stow him in my garage while you go out saving the world?”

“Not this time,” I said.

“Good,” she said, “because he’s not safe here.”

“I understand,” I said.

“It’s bad enough that he’s an idiot,” she said, “but his self-tanning lotion is giving me a migraine. Someone should tell him that the color orange does not occur in nature.”

“I’ll mention it to him,” Sam said. He put an arm around my mother. She had a soft spot for Sam, probably because Sam had an ability to make anyone like him, and probably because she knew he’d kept me alive on more than one occasion. “Why don’t we go inside and you can help me learn all about the fascinating world of wind, and if Sugar does anything to annoy you, I’ll put him in a sleeper lock. How does that sound?”

Before she could answer, Sam had her turned around and was walking her back into the house. The man could defuse a nuclear bomb with a drink in one hand.

I’d planned on leaving Sugar behind, but circumstances had changed. I hadn’t expected Big Lumpy to die. I hadn’t expected to be the unwitting dupe in some larger game-a position I was absolutely not comfortable with, but which I’d need to react to with suitable force and control. And I hadn’t expected the need to get Sam trained in the fine art of wind technology, the burgeoning echo system of black market bandwidths and, of course, make sure it was all plausible enough to get Yuri to bite on it, so that the rest of the plan could go forward. Getting a man who shot rockets into businesses off the street was a good thing, but the more tangible issue was that otherwise he would kill Brent the first chance he got. And Fiona’s death was a real possibility, too. Yuri Drubich probably considered Fiona’s breaking his wrist as bad form. What I did know, however, was that Yuri wanted to see Brent and Henry, wanted to make them pay for his inconvenience. They probably knew what Brent looked like by now, but they probably had no idea what Henry looked like. They knew enough to blow up his office, but not enough to destroy his home, which told me they were still grasping at straws.

So I needed to find someone who could plausibly pass for Brent’s father.

I needed someone who would do exactly what I said and wouldn’t ask too many questions.

I needed someone who might know how to manage a few million dollars discreetly… and who wouldn’t mind working with Sugar, if need be.

That decreased the pool by a legion.

I opened up the envelope Big Lumpy had left for Brent and read the terms and conditions of his inheritance, such as it was. A good lawyer would help, but the closest thing I had to that was another man good at moving papers around. And, as it happened, the perfect person for the job at hand, too.

“Barry,” I said into my cell phone when my favorite money launderer answered, “I need you.”