The Best American Mystery Stories 1998

David Ballard Child Support from New Mystery

Dexter Harrison cursed the biting wind as he pushed the blue baby carriage up the park path with one gloved hand and struggled to hold onto the tugging dog leash with the other.

It was even colder at the top of the hill, and Harrison growled a curse at Lex, his black Lab, for refusing to drop his chewed red Frisbee as Harrison tried to free the dog from his choker collar. As he locked the carriage brake and handed a baby bottle to his son, Adam, Harrison clenched his teeth and swore at his soon-to-be-ex-wife and her idiot attorney for withholding the promised cash settlement until Friday, when Harrison desperately needed $16,000 today.

After shaking the Frisbee overhead like a tambourine to get the dog revved up, Harrison shouted, “Here we go, boy! Come on! Bet you can’t catch this one!” Harrison whipped the Frisbee so hard into the wind it sailed toward an abandoned soccer goal at the north end of the park. Lex bolted after it. He caught it easily with an airborne lunge, ending with the enamel crunch of sharp teeth clamped into plastic. As Lex trotted back with the Frisbee, Adam waved a mittened hand from within the baby carriage and squealed, “Dog-geee!”

From behind, Harrison heard the muffled whump-whump of two car doors slamming far away. He turned and saw a black Mercedes with darkened windows parked at the curb. Two figures leaned into the wind as they walked up the hill toward him.

Pretending not to notice, Harrison glanced around the deserted park. The overhead lamps down by the tennis courts were not yet lit, despite the gloomy overcast sky. The gunmetal gray playground equipment — the slide, a row of swings, and a tilted merry-go-round — sat neglected off to the east. The closest house with a porch light burning was across the street at the other end of the park, at least five hundred yards away. In front of him, Lex danced in anticipation, alert for another throw.

Without hesitating, Harrison threw the Frisbee again, and Lex flew after it, following the crimson arc of the Frisbee’s flight as the wind angled it toward the merry-go-round. Like a pro, the dog timed the approach perfectly, caught the Frisbee inches from the ground without breaking stride, and rushed back for another throw.

Harrison glanced sideways at the two men slowly walking toward him. One was tall and skinny, while the other was broad and immense. They both wore long black coats tied at their waists, and their attention seemed focused on Harrison the whole time.

This must be it, then, thought Harrison. Time to pay the piper.

Harrison looked at his son in the baby carriage, bundled in his little blue parka. “You’re my little rabbit’s foot, Adam,” he whispered as he bent down to take the Frisbee from Lex. “My lucky horseshoe. Nothing bad will happen. They only want to talk to Daddy. I’ll just explain the delay. They’ll understand.”

Adam beamed up at his father and grinned. He was a magnificent eighteen-month-old little boy — bright and inquisitive, with round blue eyes and hair the texture of cornsilk. Harrison treasured his son more than any of his possessions, and so far Adam represented the only profit resulting from Dexter Harrison’s dull and dreary marriage to Dr. Lynn Harrison.

As an attorney himself, Harrison had deftly whisked away temporary custody of their son from his wife. While he had been pondering a divorce, Harrison had spent months preparing a detailed and somewhat exaggerated chronology of all the abilities that made him a wonderful parent, while at the same time embellishing accounts of all of Lynn’s shortcomings, lapses in judgment, and blunders. When Harrison filed for divorce, his attorney obtained an ex parte order from the judge granting Harrison temporary custody of Adam, all before any of the divorce papers were even served on Lynn. Harrison had capitalized on the fact that, while Adam spent weekdays in the most expensive day care in town, Lynn could arrange no baby-sitting for the evenings and weekends she was on call at the hospital, especially on such short notice.

Harrison had supported his wife financially while she was in medical school, and now she earned almost ten times what he did with his floundering personal injury practice. The property settlement had already been reached in principle, with Harrison to receive a large part of it in cash this morning. Lynn’s attorney, however, had deliberately withheld the paperwork until Friday, probably out of spite.

I’ll get even at the custody hearing tomorrow, thought Harrison. His own attorney had assured him that all of their witnesses were lined up and that preliminary signs were good that Harrison would win permanent custody of Adam. Harrison smiled at this thought as he regarded his son. The ultimate prize.

The wind carried the steady sound of boot heels slowly approaching. The two men were thirty feet away.

Still composed, Harrison took the Frisbee from his dog’s mouth and let loose with a mighty throw. Lex pounded the ground after it as if his life depended on it. The dog’s head bobbed like a greyhound’s as he raced to get under the Frisbee before it floated to the ground.

That dog sure loved to run. As a sporting dog, Lex understood and appreciated the thrill of the chase, the electrifying rush of pursuit. He savored the hunt and the kill, even though his target may be only a softball, or a piece of flying plastic.

Lynn, on the other hand, simply had no imagination, no sense of adventure. She preferred her heavy medical books and mildewed chess manuals to the frenzied excitement of a race or the wild exhilaration of a home game.

Chess was boring. It was static, monotonous and simply uninteresting. Harrison would rather invest his leisure time tackling a high stakes poker game or watching a small fortune build at the track. The promise of the big payoff surged through Harrison like adrenaline. Although it was sometimes painful to lose money — and yes, a lot of it on rare occasion, Harrison insured against loss by placing only intelligent and calculated bets.

How was he supposed to know that last year’s Super Bowl champion would lose on Sunday to an expansion team?

Lex returned with the Frisbee just as the two men stopped in front of the baby carriage.

The tall one had the sunken sockets and bulging eyes of a fish, as if he spent days in the dark staring into a television screen. As he peered into the baby carriage and smiled, decayed yellow teeth seemed to burst from his mouth. His lips were circled by an untrimmed goatee that made Harrison’s own face itch when he looked at it.

Harrison gripped the vinyl handle of the baby carriage, trying to appear casual. Just keep breathing, he thought to himself. This is just like being in court.

“Cute little boy you got there, Mr. Harrison. Never seen a finer lookin’ little kid. Wouldn’t you agree with me, Mr. Corillian?”

The shorter man said nothing. He was massive and squat, like a sumo wrestler sizing up an opponent. Thick arms, thick neck — even his eyelids were thick slabs of flesh almost squeezing shut his eyes in a menacing squint. Tight ridges of chocolate skin rippled down the back of his scalp and into a blue turtleneck as he looked first to his right, and then left in smooth, fluid movements, checking out the surroundings.

“Yes,” the taller man concluded, as he clapped moist hands together for emphasis. “This is one snapper of a lad.”

Watching out of the corners of both eyes, Harrison quietly said, “Yes, I know.”

“That is a boy in there, ain’t it?” the tall man continued. “Kinda hard to tell when they’re that little, you know? Boys, girls, they’re more or less the same at that age, don’tcha think?”

Harrison suddenly felt crowded as he gripped the carriage handle tighter. “Who the hell are you guys? What do you want?”

“Ooooh, hey! Calm down, Sport. Don’t get all stimulated. By all means, introductions are most certainly in order. This, as you now know, is Mr. Corillian. He’s not very sociable, so I wouldn’t expect him to hold out his hand and shake.”

The taller man thrust out his own blistered hand to compensate, his naked wrist and forearm jutting out from inside the leather sleeve. “Call me ‘Fish-Hook.’ Pleased to meetcha, Mr. Harrison.”

As if to punctuate his introduction, he produced a long, rusty fish-hook from inside his sleeve after Harrison refused the handshake, and began teasing at lacerations in his palm with it.

Harrison swallowed. This definitely was not developing well. “What did I tell you, Mr. Corillian, we would find our Sport out here playing games. What sort of games do you like to play, Mr. Harrison? I’ll bet Hide-and-Seek is one of your favorite games.”

Harrison’s legs felt like bee hives. He looked over hopefully at Lex, still wagging his tail and waiting for someone to throw the Frisbee. No help there.

Harrison swallowed his initial panic and continued to pace his breathing, gaining control. He could take charge of this situation, with the right approach. He had done it a thousand times before, with a reluctant witness on the stand, or a suspicious client unsure of legal procedure. It was just a matter of setting the tone, controlling the conversation, directing the course of negotiations, and maintaining superiority over these opponents.

“I take it,” Harrison opened, “that you two are here representing the interests of Mr. Shaw.”

“You take it very well,” said Fish-Hook, who then savagely punched Harrison in the stomach.

Harrison’s grip on the carriage handle withered as he folded over and sucked wind. Lex whined in confusion and dropped the Frisbee, but he kept wagging his tail, ready to resume play.

“I don’t have the sixteen thousand,” Harrison managed after a moment with his hands on his knees. “Look, I expect to get at least ten times that much in my divorce settlement. It’s just that the papers haven’t come through yet.”

Fish-Hook arched one eyebrow and glanced down at Mr. Corillian, who shook his head.

“This is very bad, Mr. Harrison,” Fish-Hook said, “but such is not our concern. You will have to talk to our employer.”

“But I can’t—”

Harrison stopped as he noticed for the first time another figure walking up the park path. The man was huge.

Where Mr. Corillian was thick and massive, this man was all fat. His face was pink and completely hairless, with splashes of red stinging his cheeks. His gray eyes were intelligent and playful, and his blubbery smile was impish. A hearing aid was virtually lost in the expansive folds of one ear, and his face ended in an abundance of chins overlapping like snow drifts into his buttoned overcoat. He waddled as he walked, with his right hand poised out in front of him, as if he were carrying a phantom cane.

When the fat man spoke, his voice was gruff, but friendly. “Mr. Harrison. We had an agreement. I am somewhat disappointed.”

“Look, I thought I would have the sixteen thousand this morning, but I know I will have it for sure by Friday. You just have to give me a little more time.”

“Ahhh, Mr. Harrison, it appears you fail to grasp an essential truth here. By Friday, the amount you owe will no longer be $16,000. It will be $128,000. Compound interest, my friend. Compound interest.” At this he began to chuckle, a throaty, rumbling laugh that rocked his whole body. “Someone once asked Albert Einstein what he believed to be the most powerful force in the universe, and do you know what he responded? ‘Compound interest.’ In your case, my friend, it may also prove to be the most destructive.”

The fat man then bent down toward Lex and picked up the Frisbee. Lex sprang up in anticipation.

“A beautiful animal you have here, Sir. I have always loved a good sporting dog. You love sports, do you not, Mr. Harrison?”

The fat man then swung his arm forward to throw, but the Frisbee merely fluttered to the ground as soon as it left his hand. Lex scooped it up anyway, and brought it back.

“I propose a solution to our dilemma,” the fat man said, with a twinkle in his eye. “I am prepared to forgive your debt and wager you $100,000.” From within his broad overcoat, the fat man withdrew five thick stacks of cash, tightly banded, with hundred dollar bills visible under the rubber bands. He tossed all five stacks into the baby carriage.

At the sight of the money, Harrison tasted warm silver in his mouth. “What’s the bet?”

The fat man chuckled, as he picked up the Frisbee again. “Oh, that is very good, Mr. Harrison. I see you are interested. Very good, indeed. I have been watching you throw this device to your beautiful animal. How graceful he is. He is in his element here, is he not? This is what they were bred to do, and I see you have treated him well.”

The fat man looked Harrison directly in the eyes, his pupils like pinpricks. “I am prepared to wager $100,000 on whether this beautiful dog can catch this saucer eight times in a row.”

Harrison flinched only slightly, assuring himself that he heard the fat man correctly. “He could catch that thing a hundred times in a row!”

“Very well, then! Let’s make it a hundred—”

“No!… no,” interrupted Harrison. “Eight is good. I’m sure he can manage eight.”

“Very good, Sir. Eight times in a row, throwing from this walkway. Let’s say the throws have to go as far as that trash can. That’s approximately fifty yards. Does that seem fair to you?”

Harrison chewed on his thumbnail and considered it. The further the better, actually.

“All he has to do is catch it, right?”

“That is correct. Eight times in a row, without letting the saucer touch the ground. You win two thousand dollars per catch, and you can stop at any time.”

“And if he drops it?”

“Well, then,” the fat man began, and he reached into the baby carriage and softly stroked Adam’s tiny exposed hand. “How exactly did Rumpelstiltskin phrase it? ‘Living things are more important to me than all the treasures in the world.’”

Harrison’s stomach lurched — it felt worse than the punch FishHook had given him. He grabbed the carriage handle and wrenched it away from the fat man. “You’re crazy!”

“Perhaps, for as you say, your lovely animal could catch many more throws than that on which I am prepared to wager.”

“Pick something else! I’m not betting on my son’s life!”

“Now, Mr. Harrison, you are committed to nothing. If at any point during the wager you wish to quit, you simply pocket your cash and walk away. At which point my associates will take it from you and remove one of your eyes as collateral for the balance owed. I do not believe you will enjoy their method.”

Harrison’s mouth went dry.

“Hang on a second,” rasped Harrison. He looked again at the trash can. “Say I accepted your wager. What’s to keep me from just running away with Adam if I lose? There are houses all around here. If I scream loud enough that my son is being kidnapped, someone should come out.”

The fat man smiled, a cold eel grin that showed no teeth. “That is true, Mr. Harrison, you could. We do not have to claim such a fine prize tonight. We have many means at our disposal. For example, please gaze at what Mr. Corillian is holding.”

Harrison had not even seen the silent hulk move. In a hand as broad as a tablet, Mr. Corillian held a laminated security card from the Little Treasures Day Care Center, with Adam’s picture on it, the I.D. needed to enter the Center’s front door.

My God, thought Harrison. They only give those cards to parents!

“How the hell did you get—”

Mr. Corillian snapped his hand shut and tucked the card into his coat pocket.

“So you see, Mr. Harrison,” chortled the fat man, “we have our means. This is only one potential avenue of collection. We are very resourceful, would you not agree?”

Harrison looked over at Lex, still wagging his tail, still full of energy. They had been playing only five minutes, and Lex looked like he could go another fifteen. The trash can wasn’t that far. Lex had done this a million times.

“You will find that I am a fair man, Mr. Harrison. You win, you walk away a rich man. You lose, you will pay the price, believe me.”

Harrison looked at Adam bundled in his carriage, but Adam’s attention was focused on the money. The stacks of money looked like heavy green bricks. Harrison took the one Adam was playing with and riffled the corners of the bills — they were all hundreds. The numbers danced in awkward animation as he thumbed through the stack, and then thumbed through it again. He lifted the stack and smelled it. He pressed it against his cheek. It felt scratchy and cool.

“I think we have a player, boys,” whispered the fat man. “Please give him room.”

Eight times. Harrison picked up the Frisbee and hefted it. Eight times. The Frisbee weighed 140 grams. It felt like a 14-pound brick. Eight times. Only eight. Eight is nothing. He pantomimed some throws with it, practicing his wrist flick. Eight. He looked at Lex, and Lex was eager. He was very eager. He was ready.

Eight times.

The wind swirled around Harrison, and it felt vigorous.

Eight times.

Eight.

Eight-eight-eight-eight-eight.

“Are you ready, Mr. Harrison?”

“I don’t see that I have much choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice, Mr. Harrison. That’s what makes life exciting, would you not agree?”

Harrison turned his back on the fat man and shook the Frisbee overhead again to re-ignite Lex, but it was hardly necessary. The dog had been standing at attention and staring at the Frisbee in Harrison’s hand with a single-minded focus, waiting for him to renew the game.

Harrison threw it, and the dog left tufts of grass flying behind him as he bounded after it. The Frisbee sailed well past the trash can, and for a second Harrison thought he may have thrown it too far. It seemed to hang in the air for a long time, until Lex arched up gracefully like a swordfish from the sea, bringing the Frisbee back down with a satisfying crunch.

Suddenly it felt to Harrison like eight was an eternity away.

“That’s one, Mr. Harrison,” said the fat man, who chuckled his throaty rumble again, shaking his entire body.

Without hesitating, without giving himself a chance to back out, Harrison took the Frisbee from Lex and threw it again. As soon as he released it, the wind gusted and blew the Frisbee so high that it careened in a vertical plunge toward the playground. The Frisbee fell like an arrow, gaining speed. For a moment Harrison forgot about the dog. The Frisbee was now a knife, plummeting toward Adam’s tiny heart.

Lex caught it again, smoothly, with fluid grace. He returned quietly with the Frisbee, and placed it in Harrison’s hand.

“That’s two. Excellent, Mr. Harrison. Would you like to up the wager?”

“No! I’ve got nothing left to bet. And stop that counting, would you? This is hard enough as it is.”

Amazingly, this brought no rebuke from the fat man or his assistants, and Harrison felt his confidence return. He cocked back to throw the Frisbee again, this time waiting for the wind to die down a little before releasing. As Harrison swung the Frisbee forward, Adam called out, “Dog-gee! Daddy — Daddy — Dog-geeeee!”

The Frisbee wobbled as soon as Harrison released it. Lex had already run out past it, unaware that Harrison had botched the throw. The Frisbee headed straight toward the trash can, barely three feet in the air, and Lex wasn’t going to see it.

“Lex! Oh, Jesus! LEX!”

Instantly, the dog slammed on the brakes, turned his head back, and miraculously reversed his momentum to charge toward the trash can. The Frisbee barely cleared the top of it, and Lex caught it low, with his chin brushing the grass.

“That’s three.”

“I quit, you son of a bitch. Give me my six thousand now and I’ll take my chances. I’ve got until the end of the day to get the rest anyway, don’t I?”

The fat man looked over at his two assistants and smiled. FishHook and Mr. Corillian walked forward, their hands in their coat pockets. The fat man turned his attention back to Harrison.

“You do have a point, Mr. Harrison, but I am disappointed in you. I thought you had more steel in you. But as I told you, I am a fair man. I will even give you a five-minute head start before my associates begin looking for you again, for I do not believe you will accumulate the rest of the money so quickly.”

“Just give me the money.”

“Ah, yes. The money.”

The fat man reached into the carriage and withdrew one of the stacks of cash. He tossed it to Harrison.

“Please be so kind as to count out sixty of those bills for me. I would hate for my count to be off.”

Harrison bobbled the stack like a hot potato, managing to unloop the rubber band. The crisp bills poured into his hands like a newly-opened deck of cards, cascading over his fingers. He counted out ten bills, then twenty, and lost count. The stack was so thick he could barely enclose it with one hand. Again he counted out ten, then twenty, and then he put those in his mouth. As he breathed through his nose, he inhaled the splendid perfume of green wagered and won. He counted out ten more bills, but the stack in his hand seemed boundless, like it would keep coming, as if it multiplied in his hands the more he handled it.

As he counted the fourth thousand the money seemed almost to talk to him. I could be all yours, it said, so much of me you could take a bath in hundred dollar bills tonight. You’ll be a winner tonight. On top. I know you will. You’ll win, and you’ll beat everyone. You’re almost there.

Harrison clenched the cool bills in his hand and knelt down to talk to his son.

“Adam, listen to me. I’m not going to lose. I can’t. Lex never misses. You’ve seen him. We’re going to win, Adam, just watch Daddy. In just five minutes we will be rich, I guarantee it. I feel it. I know it. This is the big payoff, Son, the one we’ve been waiting for.”

Feeling confident and justified, Harrison threw the bills back into the carriage, picked up the Frisbee, and threw. It climbed and lifted with another gust of wind, and the dog hustled after it. Lex jumped, and Harrison’s stomach lurched as he heard the crocodile click! of hard teeth snapping on empty air.

No!

Lex had only bounced the Frisbee further in the air, to his left. He stayed with it, and after cutting at a right angle, he caught the Frisbee and kept it from hitting the ground.

“Spectacular, Mr. Harrison! Your animal is simply amazing.” After a pause, the fat man added with a sly grin, “That’s four.”

When Lex returned, it was with shaky hands that Harrison took the Frisbee from him. The fifth throw sailed straight and solid, unaffected by the wind, and Lex caught it easily. The sixth angled a bit, but Lex understood the idiosyncrasies of the Frisbee, and recognized the physical forces affecting it. He compensated marvelously. The fat man continued to count out loud.

Harrison noticed the dog’s tongue lolling from the side of his mouth, sticking out from under the Frisbee. “Lex, lie down,” he said. The dog immediately dropped to the ground, apparently grateful for the break. It was getting colder, however, and Harrison was anxious to have all of this finished. Only two more catches. Two more catches and they were home free.

Fish-Hook walked over to Lex and knelt.

“Get away from him,” Harrison snarled. “I only need two more catches.”

“Take it easy, Sport. I just might help you out and buy this mutt off a you when you lose. He would look good on film, yes, I believe he would. Quite a virile specimen. I just happen to operate a side venture in the video industry.” Fish-Hook turned to Harrison and flashed a rotted grin. “Special orders, you might say.”

Good God, thought Harrison, as his hands turned to ice.

“Besides,” Fish-Hook continued, as he left the dog and touched Adam’s carriage, “I have some exciting plans for my new star here. Believe me, such young talent is in demand, and extremely difficult to obtain these days.”

Blood sank from Harrison’s face as he turned toward the fat man and croaked, “You can’t be serious.”

“My associate is quite serious, Mr. Harrison. He has become quite the enterprising producer.”

Fish-Hook knelt down and peered in at Adam, flicking his chalky tongue rapidly in and out at the boy. He then looked back at Harrison and shrugged. “Boys, girls, they’re more or less the same at that age, don’tcha think?”

Revulsion erupted inside Harrison as he lunged at Fish-Hook. “You bastard, you get away from—”

Again, Harrison never saw the thick man move a muscle. Before Harrison could reach his son, Mr. Corillian’s right arm was around Harrison’s neck. His left hand held a black device inches from Harrison’s face. It looked like an electric razor, but with two points protruding like silver mandibles from the face. Once Harrison stopped struggling, the strong hand gently squeezed the device, and a blue arc of electricity sizzled between the two probes.

“What was that you were saying, Mr. Harrison?” asked Fish-Hook, as he bounced on his toes. “I wouldn’t try that again, if I was you. Two hundred thousand volts would turn you to jelly for at least an hour. In fact, I think we should zap you right now, and just take the kid.”

“No, no,” interrupted the fat man. “I made a wager with the man. So far he has performed admirably.” Mr. Corillian released Harrison and resumed a quiet stance. “You do intend to finish, do you not, Mr. Harrison?”

“Just two more throws and you guys will leave me, and my son, alone?”

“Of course, Mr. Harrison. I am a man of my word.”

“And I get to walk away from here with the cash. No strings attached.”

“No strings attached. Absolutely.”

“You guys won’t come after me as soon as I turn around?”

“Mr. Harrison, you watch too much television. Do you plan to continue?”

Lex was standing already, refreshed from his rest, and Harrison picked up the Frisbee. This time, it felt weightless, and Harrison gripped it tight until the chewed plastic edge bit into the sides of his fingers. Two more times, he thought to himself. Take it easy, just two more. Please, Lex, don’t screw this up.

He felt numb as he threw the Frisbee, and once again it fell short and looked like it might not even reach the trash can. Like a bowler trying to will the ball to move left with body language to pick up that spare, Harrison swung both arms low and thrust them upwards, trying to create an updraft that might lift the Frisbee. Magically, a burst of wind did appear, pitching the Frisbee up high as if it were a small boat struggling to stay afloat in a storm. Lex watched it, waited for it to drop, and then stabbed out and caught the Frisbee before it hit the ground. Harrison cheered and dropped to his knees, his fists still up in the air, his mouth opened wide as he screamed with the surge of victory. When Lex returned, Harrison vigorously ruffled his fur and scratched at his neck in hearty celebration.

“That’s seven, Mr. Harrison.”

Yes, thought Harrison, that’s seven and there’s only one more to go and then it’s payday.

“Come on, boy,” he urged, “you can do this. Just one more, champ. Let’s go, boy, let’s do it. Let’s win.”

Harrison looked over at the fat man before the final throw, to see if he showed any sign of concern. To see if he was sweating as the final card was being dealt. If they had intended to cheat him all along, thought Harrison, they would probably look unconcerned, even bored.

The fat man’s eyes were fixed on the Frisbee in Harrison’s hands. Those eyes revealed intense interest. At least this appears to matter to him.

The fat man’s two assistants also stared at the Frisbee in Harrison’s hand.

So did Lex.

Harrison looked over at the baby carriage, and at the stacks of cold cash piled inside. This could finally be the big score.

It was getting darker, and Harrison looked out over the park and where he needed to throw the Frisbee. Just an easy toss, no need for anything fancy. He scraped the edge of the Frisbee with his fingernail as he wound back. Lex perked up, ready to take off. The Frisbee felt normal, finally. All he had to do was toss it. All he had to do was let go. Throw it like he had a trillion times before.

After what seemed like two days, Harrison finally swung his arm forward, and flicked the Frisbee into the air.

It sailed clear of the trash can, out in the open, with a slight arc to the right. Lex kept up with it easily, his dog tags jangling as he ran under it to position himself for its descent. Finally, he reached up to grab it, and Harrison heard the satisfyingly familiar crunch.

Except Lex missed it. The Frisbee looped from his mouth and rolled to the ground.

Harrison froze.

He stared at the Frisbee resting in the grass.

He could not breathe. His lungs had collapsed. His circulatory system immediately flushed as antifreeze surged through his veins. All he could do was turn his head toward his baby boy, toward the three men now hovering over him like crows over carrion.

With pain branching throughout his chest, Harrison saw that somehow he had crept at least twenty feet away from Adam — unconsciously, he had been hedging closer to the trash can with the last two throws. Suddenly he felt as if he were in a free falling elevator, whooshing away from his baby boy. As in every dream he had ever had where he had been chased by mobsters, Harrison’s feet felt like cement blocks trudging across hot sand as he struggled to reach his son.

The fat man, however, was not looking at Harrison, nor at Adam. He was looking at nothing, with his left index finger pressed into his hearing aid. Suddenly the fat man lifted the lapel of his jacket and began talking to it.

“Did you get all of that?”

Harrison stopped, numb.

“Good,” the fat man continued. “Good… Excellent! Oh, this is better than we hoped for. Mr. Harrison, I’m told that your expression just now came out wonderfully on the monitor. Dr. Harrison just informed us she will pay a bonus for a copy of the videotape alone! Oh, this is marvelous!”

Harrison stared, dumbstruck, as the fat man shook with laughter.

All three men then reached into their jackets, and it occurred to Harrison that they might just shoot him right there. Instead of pistols, however, each pulled out a business card, and held it out. Harrison took the one from the fat man and read:

“What—”

“Mr. Harrison,” the fat man began, “our client, Dr. Lynn Harrison, has been somewhat concerned with… oh, how should we put it, your fitness to be the custodial parent of young Master Adam here. With the custody hearing coming up tomorrow, I’m sure you can appreciate her need for a demonstration of your… concern toward your son’s welfare. Please direct your attention down the lane, toward our car.”

Harrison looked to where the fat man pointed, and the rear door of the black Mercedes opened. Out stepped Lynn, wearing a white sweater and tan skirt he had not seen before, and also holding a finger to her left ear.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Oh, believe me, Mr. Harrison,” Leonard Piper continued, “both the video and the audio portion came out extraordinarily well, as I understand both are being reviewed just this moment for clarity. Would you like to hear?”

Piper plucked the earpiece out by the cord with a pop! and held it out. Harrison saw a small dab of wax dangling from the rubbery insert.

“Get that thing out of my face! Even if you do have this on tape, none of it is admissible in court. You people deliberately set me up!”

“Ahhh, but it is admissible, and quite desirably so, as you should very well expect, Mr. Harrison, in matters central to the moral fitness of a custodial parent. How do you think the news agencies will react to your acceptance of and participation in our little wager? Or perhaps the bar association?”

Piper withdrew a stack of papers and a pen from inside his jacket. “We are no longer recording, Mr. Harrison. Please sign this consent decree. It indicates your desire to award permanent custody of Adam to Dr. Harrison, thus obviating the need for the hearing tomorrow. I’m sure you will find that everything is properly addressed within the document.”

Harrison grabbed the papers and scanned them. After a long moment, he took the pen. As he signed, he saw Piper replace the earphone and listen. Harrison looked back down the hill toward Lynn. The white sweater accentuated her long dark hair blowing in the wind. She held a small microphone with a cord trailing into the car, and Harrison could see her lips move as she spoke into it. “What is she saying, as if I really need to know?”

Piper clasped both hands together on his chest and chuckled again, his gelatinous body jiggling as he tried to find breath to speak. “Just this, Mr. Harrison,” Piper managed between snorts. “Checkmate.”

Harrison let loose with a string of profanities shouted at his wife, angry spittle flying from his mouth. Piper roared with laughter, but then interrupted Harrison suddenly with an outstretched hand. Piper touched his finger to his ear again, listening.

“I’ve just been instructed to make you a cash settlement offer, Mr. Harrison. Apparently, Dr. Harrison does not wish for the boy to be fatherless, nor for you to lose the ability to contribute child support. She has authorized me to present you with enough cash to pay off whatever stake there is against you. In exchange for the dog.”

Piper thumbed through a stack of cash and pulled out a chunk of bills. “Please count these,” he instructed as he tossed the still-banded remainder to Harrison. “I would hate for my count to be off.”

Two minutes later, Dexter Harrison stood alone in the park, the wind now colder in the twilight. He quietly cursed as Piper pushed the blue baby carriage down the park path with one chubby hand and struggled to hold onto the tugging dog leash with the other.