Aces and Knaves

else because he would share his dissatisfaction with the Internet.
    "Is Stan there?" I asked.
    "One moment, please."
    A lot of moments passed.
    "Stan here."
    "Hi Stan, it's Karl Patterson."
    "Hey, Karl, how they hangin'?"
    "Uh, fine. Listen, Stan, I need some help. I talked to James a few days ago about a very rare baseball card that was up for auction, and he said to go ahead and bid on it."
    "A Honus Wagner, right?"
    "You know about it then."
    "James filled me in. He said you might be calling. Did you get the card?"
    "Yes. I..."
    "Okay, give me the amount and the name and address to send the check to."
    I gave Stan the information, but I had the distinct impression that I was sliding down one of those Arctic icebergs with nothing to stop me until I hit the freezing water.
    "Shall I have the card sent to you?" I asked.
    "No; you're the owner of the card. We don't know anything about baseball cards here. You have a safe deposit box, don't you?"
    "Yes. But what I was thinking is that since I can't really afford the card at this time you might want to turn around and resell it for a quick profit."
    "Any profit on resale goes to you, since you're the owner. The most we'd do is charge you nominal interest. However, I don't see reselling it, Karl. Owning a rare card like the Wagner is a dream come true for a collector, such as yourself.
    "I suggest that you get your ass up here on Monday, when James will be back in town, and work out a deal with him to pay for the card. You know that James is a reasonable man."
    As reasonable as a king cobra. What could I do for James that was worth $380,000? I didn't want to think about it.
    ***
    "I'm not surprised that James would do something like that," my father said the next morning after Arrow and I filled him in on our adventures. "He still tramples on people."
    That didn't make me feel good. We had made light of our two fights, the only visible evidence of which was the bruise on my cheek and a Band-Aid on Arrow's chin. We had presented all the evidence, including the contradictory stories told by Michael and Seamus.
    When I mentioned the email link between Michael and James, my father said, "James has connections all over the world. It makes sense that he would have one where he grew up. Michael probably didn't admit to you that he had contact with James because he was suspicious of you. Then, after your meeting they exchanged emails. If Michael is in the pay of James he isn't going to say bad things about him."
    And he might have hired the thug in London to scare Seamus away from us.
    Arrow was going to talk to Elma that afternoon. We agreed that Arrow would tell her the Seamus version of events, but not the Michael version. Three reasons. There was no sense bad-mouthing Ned to Elma, especially since he was dead. There was no sense bad-mouthing Elma to herself by implying that something torrid had happened between her and Dickie Stewart. The third reason, of course, was that the Seamus version suited our purposes. We needed Elma's shares to keep James from taking over Dionysus.
    When we had finished our discussion my father indicated that he had something to say. He cleared his throat and looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable. He said, "You two did a good job—certainly beyond the requirements of your job, Arrow—and Karl, you're not even an employee. You're just trying to help your old man, which I appreciate."
    No wonder he was uncomfortable. He had never spoken to me like this before.
    "I don't ask anybody to do anything I wouldn't do," he continued, "especially if it places them in physical danger. With that in mind, I'm telling both of you to stay away from James. From now on I will fight him from behind a phalanx of lawyers. They get paid to do that sort of thing."
    I escorted Arrow out to her car, wishing that I could indeed stay away from James. As she prepared to get in she said, "In spite of our personal differences and the problems we ran into, I really enjoyed the trip."
    "Me too," I said.
    "I just wanted you to know that because I don't suppose we'll be seeing each other again soon."
    "We'll always have Wick," I said, and immediately regretted speaking so glibly.
    "I think I'd rather forget Wick."
    Arrow looked into my eyes for a long count, during which I had a compulsion to spout some inanity just to break the silence, but I restrained myself. Then she hugged me, a hard, committed hug. I hugged her back. She got into her car, started the engine and drove