Time Was

by Steve Perry

  Herbert parted his hands before him. “Couldn’t miss it if I was falling-down drunk.”

  “Now,” continued Morgan, “this is where the third element comes into the picture—Ego. Herbert’s given his Pitch, he’s offered the Enticement, and now the customer’s Ego comes into it. Herbert shows them how easy it is to make a basket. He hands them the ball. Did you happen to notice where he stood after he gave me the ball?”

  “To the side.”

  “To my right side,” said Morgan. “That’s because he saw that I was left-handed. If I were right-handed, he would have stood on my left.”

  It was beginning to come clear to Killaine. “ . . . blocking the other two baskets.”

  “Right again. This way, now that my Ego is involved, I not only want to get my ball in the same basket as Herbert got his, but I don’t have any choice because his body’s blocking the other two. So I toss, and the ball goes in but doesn’t bounce out.”

  Killaine snapped her fingers. “That’s because Herbert’s ball is already in there to kill the bounce so your free shot doesn’t rebound out. The basket is . . . is . . .”

  “Dead,” prompted Morgan.

  “. . . dead, so the free practice ball tossed by the player will stay inside. But once he collected your money, he took both balls out of the basket and stood to the side so you could aim at any of the baskets, but since you’re throwing at the baskets from a slightly farther distance, and because there’s nothing in there to kill the bounce, the balls rebound out.”

  Morgan grinned and looked at Herbert. “Not only gorgeous, but smart to boot!”

  “Wow,” Killaine whispered.

  “Now, thing is,” said Herbert, “I was only showin’ you how it’d be set up if I was gonna cheat you. For regular play, I put one of these into each basket.” He produced a rubber ball big enough to fit in his palm; it looked like the type of exercise ball a physical therapist might give to patient who’d broken their hand. “These weigh a bit less than half of what the softballs weigh, and since they’re smaller they stay down in the bottoms of the baskets, so you can’t see them from anyplace but in here.”

  “And you do that . . . why?”

  “To soften the bounce but not kill it. That way, everybody’s got the same chance. Most folks just naturally throw too hard, so I don’t lose too many CD players.”

  “The point is,” said Morgan, “that it’s an honest game and everyone has fun.” He looked over his shoulder as he turned around. “Thanks a lot, Herbert.”

  “Any time, Danny.” Then, to Killaine: “Nice meeting you, Karen. You take good care of him, hear?”

  “I will.”

  And, crazy as it seemed, Killaine meant it.

  “That was pretty sharp, the way you figured it out,” said Morgan.

  Killaine couldn’t help herself—she reached out and touched his cheek again.

  To her joy, she felt Morgan lean into her touch, ever so slightly.

  “Come on around back of my booth,” he said. “I’ve got another tent set up.”

  “To show me the ropes?”

  “The ropes, the rigs, the gizmos, hoochimajiggers and whatchamacallits.”

  As the walked slowly around the booth toward the tent, Killaine put her arm around Morgan’s shoulder and asked, “How do you know so much about how to cheat customers at these games?”

  “I was wondering when you’d get around to asking about that.”

  “Well?”

  “Can’t catch a gig artist unless you’ve been one yourself.” He looked at her. “I used to be a first-class flat store operator. I wish I could tell you that my conscience finally won out, but the truth is I had a fixer rat me out and I did sixteen months in the Ohio State Pen for my efforts.”

  “And you sort of ‘found your religion’ in prison?”

  “That’s where I first read the story about the kid and the Egyptian vase with the rose in it. It was in a book of fairy tales in the prison library. That’s where I worked on account of my physical problems. So, Karen, you’re working with an ex-con. I hope that doesn’t disappoint you too much.”

  “I suspected something along those lines.”

  “Do you . . . mind?”

  “No,” she said, smiling.

  Then she did something that surprised even her.

  She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  Morgan blushed. “I should confess my sins more often.”

  “You’re a very sweet man.”

  Morgan shrugged. “Gotta make up for my shortcomings somehow.”

  Killaine knew he was referring to his physical condition, and that both hurt and angered her, but before she could say anything Morgan said: “The stuff over there at Herbert’s booth was pretty simple, compared to what else you’ve got to learn. But if you remember the basics—the Elements of the Ploy—you’ll catch on pretty quick.”

  “Do you know which booths are—?”

  He sneered. “I’ve got a pretty fair idea, yes.” He reached the other tent and lifted the flap for Killaine. “After you.”

  She made a mock-frightened face. “I feel as if I’m entering some dark sorcerer’s secret alchemy chamber.”

  “Huh,” said Morgan. “I always just called it a tent.”

  Then they went into their smiling routine again. . . .

  60

  * * *

  Annabelle sat at her desk, alone in her office, looking at the photograph of herself and Roy and Preston.

  Had she ever really been that young?

  That pretty?

  That happy?

  It all seemed like such a dream to her, a faraway, numbingly pleasant dream.

  She blinked, then turned the photograph over, laying it face down on her desk.

  No, this wasn’t the time for melancholy or nostalgia. Now was the time to be readying herself for Robillard’s capture—and he would be captured. She had complete confidence in Janus’s abilities.

  She looked down at the list of items she’d acquired for him in the last sixteen hours and shook her head.

  She’d seen some very odd requisitions over the years, but nothing like what Janus had demanded.

  Still, Annabelle had sent them along, figuring that his plan probably made great sense to him, and that was all that mattered, and so the better its chances of working.

  She tossed the list aside and thought about Preston.

  If only he’d come to her sooner, but . . . stupid, arrogant male pride.

  Maybe it could have worked out between them—

  —but probably not. Not after Roy’s death and Robillard stealing the I-Bots.

  Robillard, she thought, making a fist.

  One week. If you had waited one more week before running away, Zac, I might have let you go free. If you had waited one more week, then you could have been here to construct a body for Roy before he—

  No.

  She wouldn’t think about what Might Have Been.

  Might Have Been was for the weak willed, for those who didn’t have the strength to move forward.

  What was it the late actor Robert Mitchum had once said about the past? Never look back—something might be gaining on you.

  Damn straight.

  She looked down at her fist, feeling the muscles lock, and had to use her other hand to pry her fingers apart.

  She’d dug her nails into her palm with such intensity she’d broken the skin.

  Her palm was bright with blood.

  She smiled.

  Blood; that seemed appropriate, somehow.

  Because a lot of it was going to be spilled before this was done with.

  And this would be done with very, very soon. . . .

  61

  * * *

  When Killaine returned from the carnival later that evening, Radiant met her at the door, grabbed her hands, and dragged Killaine into her bedroom.

  “I heard Zac telling Psy–4 something about your phone call,” whispered Radiant intensely, excitedly. She pulle
d Killaine down onto her bed and the two of them knelt there, holding hands, facing each other like two schoolgirls sharing delicious hallway gossip during a sleepover.

  “You’ve just got to tell me all about him,” said Radiant, barely able to contain her joyous curiosity. “What’s he look like? Does he have a sexy voice? Are his hands strong? Does he say things that make you feel all gooshy inside?”

  “‘Gooshy’?” said Killaine.

  Radiant smacked her hand. “C’mon, you know what I mean. When he talks to you, do you feel like there’s no one else in the world but the two of you? When he touches you—he did touch you, didn’t he?”

  Killaine was smiling now. “Oh, yeah—but not anything out of line.”

  “Did he kiss you?”

  “Yes!”

  “Aaahhh!” squealed Radiant. “Oh, this is too good! He kissed you? Really?”

  “A couple of times.”

  “On the lips?”

  “No—but he did kiss me on the cheek when I left tonight.”

  Radiant thought about it for a moment, then gave a single, sharp nod of her head. “That’s okay, that’s good. That means he respects you and that’s half the battle and—oooooh, is he cute? Please tell me he’s cute!”

  “He’s got the most handsome, chiseled face I’ve ever seen! There are some miles on it, but the lines and wrinkles in his skin are like . . . like scratches in really fine leather. Each one tells its own story—and he’s got so many wondrous stories, Radiant!” Killaine took a breath and put a hand on her chest. “Oh, my. I’ve . . . I’ve never felt this way about a man before. It’s so odd, I always figured that you’d be the one to get all . . . gooshy over a man.” She removed her hand from her chest, then reached up to feel her forehead. “I never imagined something like this happening to me, Radiant, never! You’re the beautiful one, the one all the men look at and talk to and makes passes at. I’m the . . . the Amazon. Men don’t look at me in that way.”

  “But he does?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And how does it feel? C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, tell me!”

  “It feels . . . exquisite. He looks at me like I’m the grandest thing his eyes have ever beheld.”

  Radiant squealed once again and pounded her fists against her legs. “Oh, I am so jealous! You lucky strumpet!”

  “I beg your pardon. I am no strumpet!”

  “True, but I’m just so jealous I had to call you a name!” Radiant threw her arms around Killaine and gave her a long, tight embrace.

  It took Killaine a second to get over the shock, but when she did, she put her arms around Radiant as well.

  “Oh, Killaine,” said Radiant, tenderly. “I’m so happy for you. I know that we don’t . . . don’t talk about the way we feel about each other very much, I know we fight a lot, but I really do care about you so much. You’re my sister! I’m so happy for you, I’d cry if I had eyes.” She pulled back, brushed some of Killaine’s hair from her eyes, and said, “And you’re the beautiful one. I mean, I know I’m pretty, and I know I’m vain, but I only shove it in peoples’ faces because I know that if they look too long at me, they’ll see there’s not a lot beneath the surface, but if they look at you, they’ll see the fire inside and will be drawn to it. I’m glad Daniel Morgan’s one of those people who can see that fire in you. Oh, Killaine, this is so exciting!”

  “I know, it’s crazy. Whenever he would step away from me to get something, or to demonstrate how a certain trick was done, I’d miss him. Isn’t that insane? The man was only a few feet away and I couldn’t breathe correctly because I was afraid he wouldn’t come back and be close enough for me to touch.”

  “Oh, I can’t stand it! I can’t! How will you sleep tonight?”

  “I don’t think I will—I don’t think I can!”

  “I know. It’s great, isn’t it?”

  “It is. It really is!”

  And they giggled.

  From outside the closed door, Itazura said, “Who are you two and what have you done with Radiant and Killaine?”

  Radiant threw a pillow hard against the door. “Go away! We’re talking in here!”

  “Girl stuff?”

  “Yes, girl stuff!” shouted Killaine. “Now go away before I come out there and give you a Dutch Rub!”

  A moment of silence, then Itazura said: “What’s a ‘Dutch Rub’?”

  “You don’t know that term?”

  “Can’t say I do.”

  “It’s carny talk.”

  “And that’s supposed to explain it?”

  Killaine threw a second pillow at the door. “Go away!”

  “Psy–4 wants to see all of us in the control room ASAP—which, by the way, is not a carny term.”

  “We’ll be there in a minute!” shouted Radiant.

  “Yes,” echoed Killaine, barely able to keep herself from laughing. “In a minute!”

  “Girls.” Itazura groaned.

  Radiant and Killaine both stuck out their tongues at the door, then looked at each other and fell into another fit of giggles.

  62

  * * *

  Waiting for the redheaded bitch to come back to her building, Rudy’d had to duck into doorways three times in order to avoid getting spotted—once by her, but the last two times he’d had to hide, it was because he’d spotted a group of five Stompers wandering the streets.

  Probably looking for him.

  Everything was cool now, things were quiet, but there was no doubt in Rudy’s mind that Gash wasn’t going to wait much longer before he sent the Stompers out in full force to find him, and when they did, Gash was going to wail on him until there wasn’t enough left to scrape off the bottom of a shoe.

  So Rudy had no choice but to succeed.

  And he would, he knew that now.

  The redheaded bitch was doing some kind of job for that twisty-crip at the carnival.

  The two of them had spent an awful lot of time alone in that tent out behind the carnival grounds, so they’d either been planning what they were going to do, or they’d been screwing . . . and judging by Twisty-Crip’s crutches and humpty-dumpty back, he probably wouldn’t survive a bout in bed with the likes of her.

  Rudy almost laughed to himself, wondering if Twisty-Crip knew he was making eyes at a robot.

  He did laugh at the idea that maybe DocScrap was some kind of techno-pimp running a robotic whorehouse.

  Oh, man, would that be funny!

  Rudy squatted down in the doorway and watched the Doc’s building.

  Awful lot of lights on in there for this hour.

  And shadows moving past windows every few minutes.

  Awful lot of walking around.

  Something was definitely going on.

  He thought back to the snippet of conversation he’d overheard between the bitch and Twisty-Crip before he’d left the carnival.

  Rudy wondered if he should’ve just dusted her right then and there; after all, he’d managed to track down an electron gun, as well as some extra clips for his regular guns.

  Too bad he’d had to dust that shopkeeper, but the dude had to learn that there were consequences when you didn’t go along with a Stomper.

  It’d made him sick, seeing that bitch and Twisty-Crip hug each other like they were both normal human beings. He was lucky he didn’t puke, there behind the ticket booth.

  “I’ll miss you,” TC had said to the bitch.

  “Don’t worry,” the bitch had replied. “I’ll be back here at six sharp tomorrow night.”

  “With the whole team?”

  “With the whole team. Maybe even my boss—he doesn’t get out to many of these.”

  “Tell him I can get a whole roll of freebie tickets for him.”

  “I will.”

  Then TC kissed the bitch and Rudy had to look away.

  Cripples and robots.

  Take ’em all out and the world would be a better place.

  Maybe he’d do just that tomorrow night; dust TC and the
bitch together before he took care of DocScrap. Didn’t matter if he went with the rest of them or not.

  One way or the other, Rudy’d get to him.

  And there was going to be Wreckage.

  Like no one could imagine . . .

  63

  * * *

  It took the I-Bots an hour to construct the mock-up of Preston’s lower floor, another thirty minutes to go over the notes and blueprints (making only two small revisions to the plan), then five minutes to do their first run-through.

  “Not bad for the first run,” said Psy–4, clicking off his stopwatch. “Four-fifty-seven.”

  “But?” asked Killaine.

  “But . . . I want it down to a solid three minutes from the time we come through the doors.”

  “Three minutes?” exclaimed Radiant. “That doesn’t leave a lot of time for any variables.”

  “That’s because I’m not allotting any time for variables. Radiant and I will be the first ones to reach the target area. If Stoner’s calculations are correct, the Catherine Wheel program will have already been running for at least two minutes—we’re sending it through Roy to Preston’s system disguised as a virus warning. Roy will receive it just as the final comparison stage of the D and D is beginning. That means if we’re all in place within three minutes, Preston’s system will just be starting to get confused by the CW program when we enter the mainframe area. It’ll continue to run for another sixty seconds before it freezes.

  “That’s when we disconnect Roy and make the transfer. It has to be perfect, people. And I mean flawless. So I will not be figuring in any variables.”

  It took a moment for the implication of that to register.

  “So if we encounter any physical resistance?” asked Itazura.

  “Counter with greater physical force.”

  “So you’re telling me that if we turn a corner and run smack into a group of guards headed home after their shift is finished, we just terminate them?”

  “No. First of all, going by the personnel schedule, there shouldn’t be anyone in these corridors during the three-minute period we’ve targeted; secondly, if there is anyone in the corridors, we’ll have the element of surprise, so it should be easy to knock them out for a decent length of time.”