Trumps of doom

«A fellow named Luke Raynard, a dead man named Dan Martinez; a local man named George Hansen, probably, and another dead man named Victor Melman… Why? These names ring any bells?»

«Yes, the dangerous one is Luke Raynard. I brought you here to warn you about him, if you were the right one.»

«What do you mean `the right one'?»

«If you were who you are - the son of Dara.»

«So warn me.»

«I just did: Don't trust him.»

I sat up and propped a pillow behind me.

«What's he after? My stamp collection? My traveler's checks? Could you be a little more specific?»

«He tried several times to kill you, years ago -»

«What? How?»

«The first time it involved a truck that almost ran you down. Then the next year -»

«Gods! You really do know! Give me the dates, the dates he tried it.»

«April 30, always April 30.»

«Why? Do you know why?»

«No.»

«Shit. How do you know all of this?»

«I was around. I was watching.»

«Why didn't you do something about it?»

«I couldn't. I didn't know which of you was which.»

«Lady, you've lost me completely. Who the hell are you, and what's your part in this?»

«Like Luke, I am not what I seem,» she began.

There came a sharp buzzing around firom the next room.

«Oh my!» she said and sprang out of bed.

I followed her, arriving in the foyer as she pushed a button beside a small grating and said, «Hello?»

«Honey, it's me,» came the reply. «I got home a day early. Buzz me in, will you? I'm carrying a bunch of packages.»

Oh-oh.

She released the one button and pushed another, turning toward me as she did so.

«The husband,» she said, suddenly breathless. «You've got to leave now. Please! Take the steps!»

«But you haven't told me anything yet!»

«I've told you enough. Please don't make trouble!»

«Okay,» I said, hurrying back to the bedroom, pulling on my pants and slipping my feet into my loafers.

I stuffed my socks and underwear into my hip pockets drew on my shirt.

«I'm not satisfied,» I said. «You know more and I want it.»

«Is that all you want?»

I kissed her cheek quickly.

«Not really. I'll be back,» I said.

«Don't,» she told me. «It won't be the same. We shall meet again, when the time is right.»

I headed for the door.

«That's not good enough,» I said as I opened it.

«It will have to be.»

«We'll see.»

I tore off up the hall and pushed open the door beneath the EXIT sign. I buttoned my shirt and tucked it in on my way down the steps. I paused at the bottom to draw on my socks. I ran a hand through my hair then and opened the door to the lobby.

No one in sight. Good.

As I left the building and headed down the walk a black sedan pulled up in front of me and I heard the hum of a power window and saw a flash of red.

«Get in, Merlin,» came a familiar voice.

«Fiona!»

I opened the door and slid inside. We began moving immediately,

«Well, was she?» she asked me.

«Was she what?» I said.

«The one you went to the club to meet.»

I hadn't thought of it that way until she said it.

«You know,» I said a little later. «I think maybe she was.»

She turned onto the road and drove back in the direction from which we had come earlier.

«What kind of game was she playing?» Fiona asked.

«I'd give a lot to know,» I answered.

«Tell me about it,» she said, «and feel free to edit certain portions.»

«Well, all right,» I said, and I let her have it.

We were back in the country club parking lot before I was finished.

«Why are we here again?» I asked:

«This is where I got the car. It might belong to a friend of Bill's. I thought I'd be nice and bring it back.»

«You used the Trump I'd made to go through to the bar in there?» I asked, gesturing.

«Yes, right after you went in to dance. I watched you for about an hour, mostly from the terrace. And I'd told you to be wary.»

«Sorry, I was smitten.»

«I'd forgotten they don't serve absinthe here. I had to make do with a frozen marguerite.»

«Sorry about that, too. Then you hot-wired a car and followed us when we left?»

«Yes. I waited in her parking lot and maintained the most peripheral of touches with you via your Trump. If I'd felt danger I would have come in after you.»

«Thanks. How peripheral?»

«I am not a voyeur, if that's what you mean. Very well, we're up to date.»

«There's a lot more to the story than this fast part.»

«Keep it,» she said, «for now. There is only one thing I am curious about at the moment. Would you happen to have a picture of this Luke Raynard?»

«I might,» I told her, reaching for my wallet. «Yes; I think I do.»

I withdrew my shorts from my hip pocket and explored further.

«At least you don't wear jockeys,» she remarked:

I withdrew my wallet and turned on the overhead light. As I flipped the wallet open she leaned toward me, resting her hand on my arm. Finally, I found a clear colored photo of Luke and me at the beach, with Julia and a girl named Gail whom Luke used to date.

I felt her grip tighten as she drew in a short, sharp breath.

«What is it?» I asked. «You know him?»

She shook her head too quickly.

«No. No,» she said. «Never saw him before in my life.»

«You're a lousy liar, Auntie. Who is it?»

«I don't know,» she said.