Pop Goes the Weasel

invisible anywhere he chose to go in D.C. He called it his “Nightmare Machine.”
    He wedged the Jaguar beside the taxicab, then he jogged upstairs. Once inside the apartment, he switched on the air-conditioning. He drank another sugar-laced coffee.
    Then he took his pills, like a good boy. Thorazine and Librium. Benadryl, Xanax, Vicodin. He’d been using the drugs in various combinations for years. It was mostly a trial-and-error process, but he’d learned his lessons well. Feeling better, Geoffrey? Yes, much better, thank you .
    He tried to read today’s Washington Post , then an old copy of Private Eye magazine, and finally a catalog from DeMask, a rubber and leather fetish wholesaler in Amsterdam, the world’s largest. He did two hundred push-ups, then a few hundred sit-ups, impatiently waiting for darkness to fall over Washington.
    At quarter to ten, Shafer began to get ready for a big night on the town. He went into the small, barren bathroom, which smelled of cheap cleanser. He stood before the mirror.
    He liked what he saw. Very much so. Thick and wavy blond hair that he would never lose. A charismatic, electric smile. Startling blue eyes that had a cinematic quality. Excellent physical shape for a man of forty-four.
    He went to work, starting with brown contact lenses. He’d done this so many times, he could almost do it blindfolded. It was a part of his tradecraft. He applied blackface to his face, neck, hands, wrists; thick padding to make his neck seem broader than it was; a dark watch cap to cover every last strand of hair.
    He stared hard at himself — and saw a rather convincing-looking black man, especially if the light wasn’t too strong. Not bad, not bad at all. It was a good disguise for a night on the town, especially if the town was Washington.
    So let the games begin. The Four Horsemen.
    At ten twenty-five, he went down to the garage again. He carefully circled around the Jaguar and walked to the purple and blue taxicab. He had already begun to lose himself in delicious fantasy.
    Shafer reached into his pants pocket and pulled out three unusual-looking dice. They were twenty-sided, the kind used in most fantasy games, or RPGs. They had numerals on them rather than dots.
    He held the dice in his left hand, rolling them over and over.
    There were explicit rules to the Four Horsemen; everything was supposed to depend on the dice roll. The idea was to come up with an outrageous fantasy, a mindblower. The four players around the world were competing. There had never been a game like this — nothing even came close.
    Shafer had already prepared an adventure for himself, but there were alternatives for every event. Much depended on the dice.
    That was the main point — anything could happen.
    He got into the taxi, started it up. Good Lord, was he ready for this!

Chapter 6
    HE HAD A GORGEOUS PLAN mapped out. He would pick up only those few passengers — “fares” — who caught his eye, fired up his imagination to the limit. He wasn’t in a hurry. He had all night; he had all weekend. He was on a busman’s holiday.
    His route had been laid out beforehand. First, he drove to the fashionable Adams-Morgan neighborhood. He watched the busy sidewalks, which seemed one long syncopated rhythm of movement. Bar-grazers slouching toward hipness. It seemed that every other restaurant in Adams-Morgan called itself a café. Driving slowly and checking the glittery sights, he passed Café Picasso, Café Lautrec, La Fourchette Café, Bukom Café, Café Dalbol, Montego Café, Sheba Café.
    Around eleven-thirty, on Columbia Road, he slowed the taxicab. His heart began to thump. Something very good was shaping up ahead.
    A handsome-looking couple was leaving the popular Chief Ike’s Mambo Room. A man and a woman, Hispanic, probably in their late twenties. Sensual beyond belief.
    He rolled the dice across the front seat: six, five, four — a total of fifteen. A high count.
    Danger! That made sense. A couple was always tricky and risky .
    Shafer waited for them to cross the pavement, moving away from the restaurant canopy. They came right toward him . How accommodating. He touched the handle of the magnum that he kept under the front seat. He was ready for anything.
    As they started to climb into the taxi, he changed his mind. He could do that!
    Shafer saw that neither of them was as attractive as he’d thought. The man’s cheeks and forehead were slightly mottled; the pomade in his black hair was too