Trumps of doom

«I don't know. I'm just thinking out loud. They both sound shaky to me, that's all. For that matter, the French Foreign Legion gave everyone leave on April 30 to get drunk, and a couple of days after that to sober up. It's the anniversary of the battle of Camerone, one of their bi, triumphs. But I doubt that figures in this either.»

«And why the sphinx?» he said suddenly. «Why a Trump that takes you someplace to trade dumb riddles or get your head bitten off?»

«I'd a feeling it was more the latter that was intended.»

«I sort of think so, too. But it's certainly bizarre. You know what? I'll bet they're all that way - traps of some kind.»

«Could be.»

I put my hand in my pocket, reaching for them.

«Leave them,» he said. «Let's not look for trouble. Maybe you should ditch them, at least for a while. I could put them in my safe, down at the office.»

I laughed.

«Safes aren't all that safe. No thanks. I want them with me. There may be a way of checking them out without any risk.»

«You're the expert. But tell me, could something sneak through from the scene on the card without you.»

«No. They don't work that way. They require your attenlion to operate. More than a little of it.»

«That's something, anyway. I -»

He looked back again. Someone was coming. I flexed my fingers, involuntarily.

Then I heard him let go a big breath.

«It's okay,» he said. «I know him. It's George Hansen. He's the son of the guy who owns the farm we're behind. Hi, George!»

The approaching figure waved. He was of medium height and stocky build. Had sandy hair. He wore Levi's and a Grateful Dead T-shirt, a pack of cigarettes twisted into its left sleeve. He looked to be in his twenties.

«Hi,» he answered, drawing near. «Swell day, huh?»

«Sure is,» Bill answered. «That's why we're out walking in it, instead of sitting at home.»

George's gaze shifted to me.

«Me, too,» he said, raking his teeth over his lower lip. «Real good day»

«This is Merle Corey. He's visiting me.»

«Merle Corey,» George repeated, and he stuck out his hand. «Hi, Merle.»

I took it and shook it. It was a little clammy.

«Recognize the name?»

«Uh Merle Corey,» he said again.

«You knew his dad.»

«Yeah? Oh, sure!»

«Sam Corey,» Bill finished, and he shot me a glance over George's shoulder.

«Sam Corey,» George repeated. «Son of a gun! Good to know you. You going to be here long?»

«A few days, I guess,» I replied. «I didn't realize you'd known my father.»

«Fine man,» he said. «Where you from?»

«California, but it's time for a change.»

«Where you headed?»

«Out of the country, actually.»

«Europe?»

«Farther.»

«Sounds great. I'd like to travel sometime.»

«Maybe you will.»

«Maybe. Well, I'Il be moving on. Let you guys enjoy your walk. Nice meeting you, Merle.»

«My pleasure.»

He backed away, waved, turned, and walked off.

I glanced at Bill then and noticed that he was shaking.

«What's the matter?» I whispered.

«I've known that boy all his life,» he said. «Do you think he's on drugs?»

«Not the kind you have to make holes in your arms for. I didn't see any tracks. And he didn't seem particularly spacey.»

«Yeah, but you don't know him the way I do. He seemed very different. It was just on impulse that I used the name Sam for your dad, because something didn't seem right. His speech patterns have changed, his posture, his gait. Intangibles. I was waiting for him to correct me, and that I could have made a joke about premature senility. But he didn't. He picked up on if instead. Merle, this is scary! I knew your father real well - as Carl Corey. Your dad liked to keep his place nice, but he was never much for weeding and mowing or raking leaves. George did his yard work for him for years while he was in school. He knew his name wasn't Sam.»

«I don't understand.»

«Neither do I,» he said, «and I don't like it.»

«So he's acting weird - and you think he was following us?»

«Now I do. This is too much of a coincidence, timed with your arrival.»

I turned.

«I'm going after him,» I said. «I'll find out.»

«No. Don't.»

«I won't hurt him. There are other ways.»

«It might be better to let him think he's got us fooled. It might encourage him to do something or say something later that could prove useful. On the other hand, anything you do - even something subtle or magical - might let him, or something, know that we're on to him. Let it ride, be grateful you're warned and be wary.»

«You've got a point there,» I agreed. «Okay»

«Let's head on back and drive into town for lunch. I want to stop by the office and pick up some papers and make some phone calls. Then I have to see a client at two o'clock. You can take the car and knock around while I' m doing that.»