Page 65 of Shadow Ticket

“Know the feeling.”

“That bad?”

“Looks like I’m going back empty-handed tonight, and it ain’t as if I don’t have enough trouble already.”

“Your boss really wants this lamp, huh.”

“Not that much, the lamp is just an excuse to see me off the roster. Which with his outfit, when you’re dropped, you’re dropped.”

“Wish I could help.”

“Not unless—”

“What.”

“Somebody said you know Al Capone.”

“Couple years back maybe, a little business now and then with pals of his, last I knew some of them could even be still alive, but since he went in the pen I’m not sure how much of an introduction I could guarantee you.”

“And…if I just skipped, tried to, I don’t know, seek asylum someplace…”

“Cops in Vienna tell me they’re after your boss, but any deal you make with them…”

Shaking his head slowly, “Not about to happen.”

A deep rumbling felt more than heard passes through the invisible world and around the edges of this one. From beyond any zone of civic safety something has begun to pulsate, soul-strumming and growing louder, finishing with a great thump reaching citywide. Just like that, no more Tasteless Lamp, only the familiar empty volume of post-asport cold.

“Well what in the heck,” Ace after heart rates return to normal.

“Zoli said this might happen.”

“Did he have anything to do with it?”

“No idea. Think they’ll buy the story back at your shop?”

“Sure hope so. What are we supposed to do now?”

“Guess I could be lookin the other way while you make your escape…”

“Soon as you put away that weapon, bid me godspeed.”

“Till you find more ammo, reload, and start shooting at me.”

“Last thing on my mind.” Ace already up on the kick-start pedal. “Next time, amigo.”

“Lookin forward.” But the roar of the bike is all anybody hears.

23

Meantime, Pips Quarrender has materialized in Budapest, gone platinum, a finger-wave, a smart little nearly ultraviolet cocktail hat with a veil, earlobes dazzling, as if beginning to pick up from somewhere a grasp of what goes with what in the doll-up department.

“Well.” Hicks taking her hand, giving her a twirl.

“I am, from head to foot, as Marlene might say. And does, actually.”

“This might take some getting used to.”

“All part of the craft, give whoever’s watching something blonde and shiny to fix their attention, then should one need to disappear, simply get rid of it and fade into the mobility. Whoosh, and away goes this,” flipping a curl, “and it’s back to the old cottage loaf again…”