The Fool's Run

outcome, a woman blindfolded with her arms bound, surrounded by swords stuck point-down in the earth. That was good enough, and I quit.
    The next day was a Wednesday, the last in October. It would be getting cold up north, but if I could back off the Anshiser crowd, I might be able to get my boat over to Vilas County, Wisconsin, for the November muskie rush. It’s not that there’s a rush of muskies; there’s a rush of muskie fishermen, crowding in before ice-up. I decided to call Maggie the next day.

Chapter 20
    Y EARS BEFORE, WHEN I first started doing unconventional computer work, I had taken the trouble to construct an alternate identity. It wasn’t particularly hard: a phony birth certificate acquired in Chicago, along with the Social Security number of a dead teenager who would never use it, got me a passport in the name of Harry Olson, of Eau Claire. A few customs stamps and stapled-in visas gave the passport a wearied look. Presented at a Wisconsin driver’s examination office, the passport and Social Security number were good for a driver’s license. The license and Social Security number produced a bank account. The bank didn’t ask too many questions, since the documents were accompanied by a fat cashier’s check.
    That summer I rented a place on Grindstone Lake, near Hayward, in the name of Harry Olson. I spent the summer writing code, painting, hunting muskie, and collecting my mail, which included credit cards from Visa, Amoco and Exxon, and the local library.
    When I left Hayward, I changed the address for the credit cards to a post office in Hudson, Wisconsin, just across the St. Croix River from St. Paul. I carefully used the credit cards and promptly paid the bills. I renewed the driver’s license and over the years collected a variety of other forms of ID in Harry Olson’s name.
    Harry Olson checked into the Anshiser/Vegas at three o’clock in the afternoon. The desk clerk ran the Visa through the credit-checking machine, smiled, and handed me a room key.
    “Let the bellman know if you need anything. The movies are turned on for your room. The key to the refreshments cabinet is on the credenza,” he said. The bellman had a number of suggestions for the evening, including a private party with a couple of showgirls. I declined, but gave him ten dollars.
     
    “LET ME SPEAK to Maggie.”
    “Kidd?”
    “Yeah. I want to talk to Maggie.”
    “Just a minute.” Dillon sounded stressed, but controlled. I had been out of sight for a month, though they suspected I’d tested their computer security. If Denzer told them about my visit to Miami, they would have that. Nothing else.
    “Kidd.” It was a statement, not a question.
    “Yeah. How are you?”
    She ignored the question. “What do you want?”
    “Peace and quiet.”
    “That’s going to be hard, now.”
    “Yeah, I know. I thought we should talk. Face-to-face.”
    “Where are you?”
    “Flagstaff. I’ll be in Vegas tomorrow. I’ll meet you at the Anshiser/Vegas.”
    “What time?”
    “In the afternoon, about three-thirty or four o’clock. I’ll call your room.”
     
    THAT EVENING, I dropped seven hundred dollars at the blackjack tables.
    Blackjack can be beaten. There are several methods of shifting the odds in your favor by keeping track of certain cards as they’re dealt. You make your biggest bets when the deck is most in your favor; the rest of the time, you tread water. Casinos don’t like card-counters.
    With that in mind, a mathematician friend at the University of Chicago once spent some time refining a common card-counting routine. In essence, he built in a randomizing factor that disguised the bet-building. In my case, the disguise more than worked: I lost my shirt.
    In the process of losing it, I thoroughly confused the dealer. She spotted me for a card-counter, I think, but I was leaking money at a ferocious rate. When I finally walked away, her eyes followed me all the way across the casino floor, as though she expected me to come back, pull out a surprise bet, and recoup all the losses. No such luck.
    High-tech computer-assisted programs sometimes get out in the real world and get their ass kicked. Something to lie in bed and think about, as we made the torpedo run on Anshiser.
     
    THE CASINO WAS a bad idea. I’d picked one a few blocks from the Anshiser, just in case somebody was looking for my face. But on the way back, I almost bumped into Maggie.
    She went through the lobby with a thin,