Aces and Knaves

extra hard on Wednesday morning, perhaps trying to wash the guilt out of my system with the sweat. Images went through my mind as I ran: Elma laughing, Elma crying, Elma clinging to me. It occurred to me that I could easily get a crush on her. She was a very lovable woman.
    Of course I couldn't afford to get a crush on her. Or if I did I couldn't do anything about it. This had been a one-night stand. But as my urgency to cleanse myself abated and my brain started to function normally, I began to realize that I need not have any guilt on Elma's behalf.
    Elma had needed me in a way that was too complex for me to understand. Her last words to me as I left had been, "You saved my life."
    I hadn't stayed the night; Elma couldn't afford the risk of having her daughter find me there. In addition, it would have destroyed the magic and the meaning of the moment to wake up together, with morning breath and morning reality. I had returned home and slept in my own bed, sleep being a relative term.
    I ran to the post office and checked my mailbox. There was a small, padded package, big enough to hold baseball cards. Nothing unusual about that; I received cards all the time. I looked at the return address and didn't immediately recognize it. Then I did; this was the seller of the Honus Wagner card, the cause of all my misfortune. I laughed out loud, somewhat hysterically.
    I couldn't wait to look at the card until I got home. I borrowed a pair of scissors from a postal clerk and carefully opened the package. Inside, the card was encased in hard plastic. I carefully inspected the front and the back. If anything, it looked better in person than the scans had looked on eBay. This was one helluva card.
    I wrapped it up again, placed it carefully in my fanny pack and jogged back to the house. The card was in such good condition that maybe I could resell it for more than I paid. Even if I lost a few thousand dollars it would be worth it. Of course, carrying out another auction, even on eBay, would take more time than I had to square things with Buchanan. And it was too soon to place the card back on eBay.
    Back home, my thoughts returned to Elma. Now, even as I understood as much as I ever would about what had happened between us, a tinge of guilt remained. I couldn't make it go away with logic. It continued to haunt me after I ate breakfast and started working on my baseball card business. And after I sent a thank you email to the seller of the card and gave him positive feedback on eBay, which would increase his credibility with other buyers and sellers.
    Conflicting ideas went through my head. On the one hand, I wanted to protect Elma and help her. On the other hand, I wanted to convince her to give her proxy to James—the man who had killed her husband.
    The incompatibility of those desires suddenly rang in my head with the clarity of the tone produced by a fork striking a piece of crystal. And I knew there was no way I could do what James wanted me to do. And I knew that if I didn't do what James wanted me to do I was a dead man.
    For an hour I wallowed in despair. I felt sorry for myself. I, Karl Patterson, would be cut down in the prime of my life. Fortunately, after reaching the depths I began to understand how ridiculous these maudlin thoughts were. I fixed myself an iced tea and told myself sternly that I wasn't dead yet and until I was I had damn well better do something to improve my situation.
    Okay, fine. What? The obvious answer was to prove that James had arranged to have Ned murdered. Easier said than proved. Maybe the way to get at James was through Stan. Was Stan possibly a weak link? He had been the front man. Could I get him to admit that?
    Arrow knew Stan much better than I did. But in order to get her assistance I would have to confess to her that I had sold my soul for a baseball card. The idea galled me, but what choice did I have?
    Could I intercept Arrow when she came for the morning briefing of my father? No, because she wasn't coming today. I had heard her and my father discussing that yesterday. She was working on something else.
    I called Arrow and got her voice-mail. I left a message, asking if she was free for lunch, knowing that I wouldn't hear from her. She didn't need me anymore and in the business world that put me at the bottom of her list of calls to return. And low priority calls never got returned.
    ***
    The phone rang at three o'clock in the afternoon while I was buried in my baseball card