Page 57 of Shadow Ticket
“Off and on since the War.”
“And how many admirers of his ex- or do I mean current missus has he given the bump to?”
“How many in person?…not counting all the duels, hmm…a dozen?”
“Duels.”
“Pistols. Antique set of Wogdons. Perfect record, goes without saying, though Don Porfirio prefers to think of himself as a lucky amateur. The simple appearance of his name on a passenger list is enough to transform themost cheerful vessel afloat into a Liner of Doom…alcohol consumption rises drastically, stylish black frocks come out of steamer trunks to be ironed and ready, given the high expectation of more than one burial at sea.”
“I think he might have me on one of his lists. He’s got an idea somehow that me and that Glow’ve been kidding around.”
“With you, not likely. Dancing all night in public? How would you have found the time?”
“There you go. Do me a favor and mention that to him next time you get a chance.”
“Soupe de canard, as they say on the Île-de-France.”
Hicks signals for another Jack Rose, drinkers of which seem to make up a good percentage of the passenger list. Part of the appeal is watching a steward try to bring one across a deck forever in motion without spilling any from the glass it comes in, a shallow cone set on a long stem and filled to the brim. Instead of Stateside applejack they’re using calvados, and making the cocktail in bulk early each morning so that it can be delivered out of a convenient spigot arrangement. At this rate Hicks will be a screaming dipso before he ever sets foot on land again.
—
After lurking indoorways in Milwaukee observing pickpockets at all levels of skill, Hicks figures he has a pretty good eye for the profession by now, but this Porfirio is something to watch. First time Hicks tries to chisel a smoke, “Cómo no, mi amigo, allow me a moment,” scanning the deck traffic for a likely target, eventually lifting from a passing inner pocket a cigarette case, taking out a cigarette for Hicks and another for himself, substituting two different and cheaper brands, returning the case, meanwhile lighting up, and nobody the wiser.
“Oh, who doesn’t love a jewel thief, good-hearted outlaw preying only on greedy plutes who can afford to lose a sparkler or two. Hardly ever collared for it, filed under Annoyance more than Threat.”
“Harsh words, though deserved. It’s why I should really quit the game—too safe, too low-energy, I need a more elevated level of risk.”
“Uh, huh. And how’s that going for you?”
“Hmm?”
“World Depression, so forth?”
“Could not be more lively. We are currently in a golden age of jewel theft. Theatrical skills, physical timing, stage magic, acting, improvisation, all the tool kit of gemstone redistribution, called upon as never before. I can’t complain, although I imagine I do, perhaps more than I’m aware.”
A little disingenuous. In fact he hasn’t quit at all, and uses the revenue from his light-fingered activities to finance a diverse portfolio of projects, among them currently the used autogyro business. Amateurs who thought they’d be up flying everywhere on the cheap are discovering it requires more from them in the way of dedication than they can provide. Not to mention the infernal noise. Hence suddenly a sizable inventory of pre-owned autogyros there to be picked up for eight bars of “I Got Rhythm” with or without ukelele accompaniment.
—
By the timeHicks and Glow might’ve been ready to rendezvous under a suitable phase of the moon with a studio orchestra somewhere in the background, the weather has in fact turned from unpleasant to quite unpleasant indeed, not exactly Oconomowoc Lake in the summertime, the ship beginning tonight in fact to take some 20- to 30-degree rolls, waves rearing up and crashing all over the weather decks, which not unexpectedly are now forbidden to passengers.
Glow, tonight sporting a metal-gray Fortuny Delphos gown, a glamorous finely pleated hand-me-down that more than once has been pulled whispering through the circumference of a wedding ring, her own or somebody’s, seems strangely energized by all this.
“And isn’t that just the appeal, tough guy? Somebody doesn’t want us to be somewhere. So we sneak out together to a forbidden liaison, helpless before the towering waves of our passion.”
“Jake with me,” though it’s setups like this, actually, that the Gumshoe’s Manual tends most earnestly to caution against, often adding, more than once in fact, that the generally accepted procedure here is to just breeze, with no second thoughts.
Then again, alone out here on the ocean with tomato quality like this and so forth…c’mon.
Of course into the churning seascape of possibilities, as if on cue, comes striding who but Porfirio, with a betrayed pout on his face.
“After I bared my soul to you, after you gave me your word you’d stay away from her…”
“It isn’t what it looks like—”
…whereupon Porfirio hauls out a high-caliber cannon and blasts Hicks backwards over the lifelines and into the sea, and forgets to call “Man overboard.”
Well, no, actually Porfirio now seems to be pushing awad of cashinto Hicks’s pocket. “By way of apology. Far below the customary rate, if that helps any.”
