

# FOR LOVE OR MONEY

##

### Published by Doug Walker at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Doug Walker

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Cover Image: http://www.flickr.com/photos/helga/3572042885/"

Helga Weber http://photopin.com "http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/2.0/"

CHAPTER ONE

Judy Blazer was feeling low. The last customer, a heavy set demanding woman, had stiffed her. No tip. But that's not the reason she was down in the dumps.

The eatery closed (hat's what it was called, the Elegant Eatery), and she was having coffee with her friend, Sandra Allen, and explaining her miserable state of mind.

"I'm not capable of sustaining a relationship. My boyfriend left me last night."

"Bert, was this one Bert?" Sandra asked.

"No, Bert was the one before. This one was Darin. They were much alike, both handsome. You might say narcissistic."

Sandra gave her a look and said, "What does that mean? Gay?"

Judy smiled and said, "Of course not. It comes from a boy who saw his own image in a pool of water and fell in love with himself. A type of self adoration."

"You mean they really don't need anybody, but themselves."

"I suppose. They weren't particularly bright, either one of them. But it does mean I have to pay the full rent on the apartment. I've had trouble with just half of it and I've dropped out of school."

"You've got looks and you've got brains, Judy. Men fall all over themselves when they see you. I wish I had half your looks and something approaching your figure. So I'm stuck with Randy."

"Dependable Randy," Judy admonished. "You're in a stable relationship. I can't help myself. I must be obnoxious and picky. I can hook them, but they get away. Now look where I am."

"Looking for the next fish, I suppose. What you need is a sugar daddy. Someone with big bucks to take care of you."

"I wish. Well, back to my lonely apartment."

At the supermarket, Judy picked up a four-dollar frozen pizza. She had cheese and pepperoni at home to top it off. She grabbed a cheap bottle of Chablis. During the evening she picked at the pizza, sipped wine and was struggling through the novels of William Faulkner. She had read "Absalom, Absalom." Given up on "The Sound and the Fury," and was now halfway through "Go Down Moses."

As she nibbled, sipped and read, the question kept surfacing, "where can I find a man with the money to take care of me?" She resolved to try extra hard to be a caring, decent human being if such a person came along. She pondered the words of an old song, "He is not the type of man some think of as handsome, but to my heart he carries the key." At least she thought those were the words, but they did express her present mood.

To reinforce her resolve she made a silent pledge: If a handsome man approaches me, I'll kick his butt. Figuratively, anyway. Well, maybe I'd go on one date if offered a substantial meal. Then it would be goodbye with only a goodnight peck on the cheek.

The next morning her ten-year-old car needed gas. Out of sight! Probably might also need oil, maybe even an oil change, but that could wait. Perhaps she could get a second job and return to school. Perhaps anchovies could fly. Well, she must buy gas. Judy had a debit card but wasn't certain her bank balance would carry the price of a tank of gas. So she used her credit card. Twenty dollars a month for the rest of her life. She wondered if she might be paying pure interest. There was always bankruptcy. Goodbye credit. Then there was always bank robbery. Free rent and board for twenty to thirty years. Almost heaven. Would a note do, or would she have to steal a gun or carve one out of soap?

Back to the Elegant Eatery and the official apron. At break she chatted with Sandra and wedged in a question about sugar daddies.

"It's a website," Sandra said. "You can Google it."

"There really are such things?"

"Randy told me about it."

Randy was reliable, but it wasn't so much that Judy distrusted his veracity, it was his gullibility that might come into question. "You mean I can pick off a sugar daddy much as I would pick a low hanging apple from a tree?"

"Maybe not that easy for most, but with your looks and quick wit, and I'm not trying to flatter you, it might be that simple."

She checked her watch. They still had five or eight minutes. "Tell me about it."

Sandra checked her watch. "I have to go potty. Let's get together after work."

Later, over coffee, Sandra repeated what Randy had told her. "Say a young woman is struggling, just as we might be. She's in school, she has a part time, even full time job, but the ends simply won't meet. She finds an older man who's generally, but not necessarily, looking for sex, makes a contract, verbal of course, to be paid maybe one hundred a week for a meeting."

"A sexual encounter," Judy tossed in.

"Usually, but there may be more. They could have lunch or dinner, they might go jogging, they might work out in a gym, or take in a film."

"But there's always sex?"

"Not always, silly. Don't be so obsessed with sex. There are other things in life. Art, culture, music, fine wine, books. You know the drill."

"And sex."

"Most usually."

"So I Google 'sugar daddy'?"

"That's where to start according to Randy." Sandra had a broad grin on her face when she said, "The best of luck. I'll enjoy your exploits second hand."

"You may do so, but don't tell Randy or anyone else. I have a reputation to protect."

It wasn't all that hard. Judy picked up a flat bread sandwich and a twelve pack of light beer and went at it on the computer. There was a substantial list of sugar daddies. Whether they were authentic, or fakes, or high school kids just having fun, or maybe even undercover cops, there was no way to tell. So she e-mailed a likely candidate – Gary, middle aged, professional. Presentable, tall and thin.

With that out of the way, she popped open a beer, turned on the tube and placed her sandwich on a TV table. Her mind was not on the sitcom. Her heart almost fluttered with thoughts of Gary. This sudden plunge into uncharted territory. Might he be a sadistic rapist, a serial killer or all round degenerate? What sort of person advertises themselves as a sugar daddy?

Two beers later and the crumbs of the flat bread littering her TV table, she was ready for bed.

Two days drifted by. Judy's thoughts were somewhere in a cloud, waiting for the first shoe to drop. Then there came a you've-got-mail moment. It was Gary's e-mail, along with a cell phone number and an appropriate time to call, between seven and eight that evening.

She screwed up her courage to the sticking point as Shakespeare would say, then made the call. A moderately pleasant male voice said hello.

"This is Candy," Judy said.

"Is that your real name?"

"Of course not. I'm new to this game and it was the least I could do."

"I suppose we must meet."

"I suppose."

"Morning, evening, noon?"

"I'm a morning sort of person. Breakfast at Tiffany's type." Then she thought better of it. "Not really that sort of girl. More the wholesome farm type."

"You are of age?" he asked.

"Definitely, but not overly."

"Let's not shadow box, not until we meet anyway. What part of town are you in?"

"North side."

"Okay. How about Mr. Bagel at seven thirty tomorrow?"

"I know the spot. I'm blond, about 5 feet 6, 130 pounds, I'll be having coffee and reading a Faulkner novel if I get there first, which I surely will."

"I'm fairly tall, thin, graying, about forty, dark blue suit and diagonally striped tie."

"Wow. A dress-up sort of guy. See you tomorrow." She signed off.

Gary held the dead phone for a moment. He had liked her voice, whatever her name might be. Then he thought, Faulkner, a nice touch.

Judy was glad there would be little waiting. She would launch into this thing in a few hours. No commitment except a verbal agreement to be honored or dishonored by either side. The contract smacked of a type of marriage. Two lost souls, guided by their stars.

She was up at six, showered and dressed modestly in jeans and a sweatshirt. By seven-fifteen she was seated in Mr. Bagel pretending to read "The Bear." She became aware of a man standing by her table, also holding a coffee cup.

Looking up, she remarked, "Gary, I presume."

"On target." He took a chair. "So here we are together."

"At last. And on our own. Ain't it great?"

"I guess. You didn't dress up for me."

"You're interested in my wardrobe?"

Gary chuckled. "Not so you could notice. I don't know where to begin."

"I suppose at the very beginning. You like bagels?"

"They're okay. I had toast at home."

"With your family?"

"I'm a widower. Two children, both in distant cities. You have a family?"

"A father in Iowa, down on the farm."

"Really, down on the farm?"

"No, a pretend farm. I don't know where he is and could care less."

"Did he mistreat you?"

"It was more like ignoring me. So I'm getting even."

"I see. Ignoring him."

"Yes," Judy smiled. "And he doesn't even know it."

"It's a stealth thing. But down to business. This isn't sordid, is it?"

"I don't think so. If we both can profit."

" What's your situation?"

Judy glanced around and sighed. "I suppose I must. I work as a waitress. I dropped out of school because of poverty. I have trouble maintaining a relationship. So my boyfriend walked out and I am now stuck with the entire rent. That nutshells it."

"You hope to return to school?"

"Yes."

"How much is your rent?"

"Six fifty."

"Are you what they call high maintenance?"

"Probably the opposite. Picky, obnoxious, sarcastic maybe in a long-term relationship, but I spend very little. I don't care about clothing, makeup, skin care, that sort of thing."

"You have a natural beauty."

"So I've been told. I attract men without trying. The two I've had relations with are quite handsome, but not entirely bright. Both were stuck on themselves. I need a rich ugly duckling."

"I'm moderately well off, but not a duckling." Gary now glanced around to see if they might be overheard. "I'm told, and believe me this is my first time too, that we might contract to meet once a week, and for that you would receive a certain sum every month. Right now I'm thinking rent."

Not bad, Judy thought to herself, hoping that dollar signs hadn't appeared in her eyes. This guy seemed to be okay. "I know we're talking sex, Gary. But I've heard there might be other things like walks, workouts, movies or so forth. Is that on the menu?"

"I've heard that too, Candy. You're name isn't really Candy is it?"

"Of course not. But why not use it. If we get into this thing, we'll probably learn everything there is to know about one another. So, what's your idea?"

"Simply sex, at least at first. Of course at my age, my position, there are many older women floating around I could have a relationship with, but it would mean some type of commitment plus time. Then it might not work out."

Judy finished her coffee and went back for seconds. It was a self-serve place on that score. When she returned she asked if a contract meant anything in terms of weeks or months.

"I think it should," Gary said. "For both our sakes. I'm thinking four months with the possibility of renewing on mutual agreement."

"That seems fair to me. Now, to be up front, we are just talking about plain and simple sex. Nothing kinky or role playing or nonsensical."

"That's my idea," Gary agreed. "You seem to be a perfectly wholesome young lady from down on the farm. I'm cut from the same cloth, but different gender. Do we have an agreement?"

Judy sighed. "It seems so simple, but yes. Where to meet and so on?"

"Here's the deal. You'll get cash payment for the month during the first meeting, or (he smiled and cocked his head) you might say tryst. Now, if you agree, I would like getting together in the morning, maybe about seven o'clock. We would spend an hour or a little more together. I could pick you up right here at Mr. Bagel and drive to a nearby motel."

"It might be difficult to rent a room at that hour," Judy said.

Gary smiled and nodded. "That's the beauty of my plan. I would rent the room the night before, paying cash."

Judy rotated her head in fake wonder. "You'd be marvelous in the CIA." Then she laughed and said, "But, really. It is a fine plan. When do we kick it off?"

"Sunday morning."

"Total genius," she replied. "We'll be through in time for early service."

And so it was done. And thus began a series of Sunday morning assignations, or trysts as Gary termed them.

Judy was amazed how well the two of them struck it off. No quarrels, no disagreements, no commitment, simply fun times. And there was the rent money.

They had completed their third session, always protected sex, when Judy got to thinking, why just one sugar daddy? Twice the fun, twice the sense of adventure, twice the money with two.

Judy was fairly bursting with thoughts that could not easily be vented. Without family or a broad circle of friends, she often took Sandra Allen into her confidence on a limited basis. It was enough to let at least one person into what was going on, with limitations.

Sandra sometimes sought details of what went on in the motel bedroom, but Judy countered that whatever happened between Sandra and Randy should remain privileged. Judy decided not to let the next phase out of the bag.

Returning to the website, she found a likely suspect in Rob who billed himself as a youthful, educated sharp dresser, 5 foot 10, top physical shape. Why such a specimen would seek the role of sugar daddy both intrigued and excited her. So she fired off an e-mail.

Her relations with Gary had placed her on an even keel in more ways than one, financially and psychologically. She had gained confidence, feeling she could handle even messy situations. Her waitressing, or wait staffing, had improved, which was illustrated by a marked hike in her tips.

The daddy known as Rob called the second day after she had fired off the e-mail. She missed the first call, but he called again late that evening. She was surprised to detect such youthful vitality in his voice.

They sparred around for a couple of minutes, each trying to determine if the other was into some sort of prankish stunt. This time Judy had called herself Babs.

"Is Babs your real name?" Rob finally asked.

"No, it's not. How about you, are you Rob."

"I am. Robert is fairly common, although I don't want to go farther until we've met. I'm guessing we both want to keep this thing we're doing off the record."

"Deep in the lodge," Judy replied. "Step two, we meet."

"Generally, where do you live?"

"North side."

Judy was surprised when he mentioned meeting at Mr. Bagel. Deja vu. But she wasn't a regular there, so be it. "I'm good with that. I prefer early morning."

"Sooner the better. How about tomorrow morning?"

"Again, good by me." She didn't want to wear the same outfit, although blue jeans were okay. She had an old white sweatshirt with a few paint spills on it. She described her outfit and said she'd be reading a magazine.

"Seven thirty?"

So that was that. Strictly business. But a young one. How come?

She had arrived at ten after and was half a cup of coffee down when Rob dropped into the seat across from her.

She looked up and her eyes widened. He was young, handsome, dressed casually, but well, with an athletic appearance. "You look like one of my boyfriends," she blurted. "What in the world?"

He smiled broadly and said, "I have a story. Now tell me about yourself, Babs, if that's what I should call you."

"Might as well." She did the routine. Waitress, forced to drop out of school for financial reasons, abandoned by her boyfriend, must pay the full rent, plus a few more family details, some real, some imagined.

"You are one beautiful woman, Babs. Why would a boyfriend desert you?"

"Not one, but two. I attract handsome men, much as yourself. They don't have to be particularly bright. They also attract pretty girls. So they tend to be the hummingbird type, flitting this way and that. And I am not the motherly type. I can be sarcastic and maybe obnoxious at times, particularly when faced with stupidity. Sustaining a relationship is not one of my power suites."

Rob nodded in an understanding way and said he understood. He seemed to have an easy spiritual quality. He looked into her eyes and announced, "I am a clergyman."

Another surprise. Would there be no end to them? "You are saying you are a preacher, a man of the cloth?"

"That's one way of putting it, but let's not go overboard. I'm an assistant pastor. And what you say is true. I can attract women, particularly from the congregation. But if I picked one, well, it's complicated, but it might be considered serious. I'm a long way from being ready to commit to anything."

"So we have a back-street affair?"

"Strictly business. There seem to be certain sugar daddy rules. Quid pro quo."

"Indeed. I'm in. Shall we do the details?"

"First finances."

"My rent is six-fifty per. I like that figure."

"Sounds reasonable to me. I trust you, Babs. So I will confess that I am with Holy Blood Episcopal church. I mention this because there is a room there where we can do the deed. Tell me, do you have anything special in mind?"

Another surprise, sex in the chapel. "I'm simply a wholesome girl from down on the farm in Iowa. Simple sex, no bells, no whistles. If you want more, go elsewhere."

"Are you really from Iowa?"

Judy laughed, then got up and refilled her coffee cup. "Of course I'm not from Iowa. Someday we'll exchange life stories. When do you prefer to have me sneaking around the sanctuary?"

"Not Sunday," Rob chuckled. "If you don't mind, I was thinking fairly early in the morning. Monday or Tuesday, maybe about seven. Nobody's in the church at that time."

"Just us church mice, huh. Okay. Tell me where to park and how to get in. Let the games begin."

Rob pulled a paper from his pocket and drew a sketch with two X's, one for parking, a second for the door.

Judy folded the paper and stuffed it in a pants pocket. "How serious are these Episcopals about religion?"

"It's a high fashion church. We dress up in fancy garments. There's a person called a verger who carries a type of staff and leads a grand entry. It attracts the rich and the would-be rich. If you don't care about high fashion you might become a UU."

"What's a UU?"

"Unitarian. They have a lot of lectures and don't believe in the risen Christ."

"But the Episcopals do?"

"I think probably a minority. But it's in our doctrine. It's like the Baptists pretend not to drink alcohol. We meet and greet, have other activities, I mean other than worship. Pretend to be worldly. It's part of the good life, the American dream."

"Sounds okay. How did you get mixed up with such a group? You would seem to be an intelligent young man with great expectations."

"I suppose it's a lack of ambition. I was raised an Episcopalian. My family had, and still has, money. So I don't need to crib from the collection plate. I can always abandon the calling, but stay with the faith, and go into Dad's business."

Judy smiled broadly. "The real sugar daddy."

"You nailed me. How about Monday so I can nail you?"

"I've got my chart, I'll see you in church."

CHAPTER TWO

It just seemed incredibly easy, even though a small voice somewhere in her head would now and then whisper, "You are not immortal, Judy." Or maybe she misunderstood and the voice was saying, "You are immoral, Judy, but who's watching?"

But after two stints in the sanctuary with Rob, she was feeling her oats and returned to the sugar daddy site to scout fresh vistas. This time she picked a man named Herb, who admitted to age 60, a widower, balding, but in good physical condition. She made the call.

Thoughts of quitting the Elegant Eatery and returning to college danced in her head, but she knew it was too soon, and she had yet to settle on a major. Her friend Sandra had guessed more was going on than Judy admitted. So they fenced occasionally, but remained the best of friends and kept the gossip mill flowing.

Usually they talked about restaurant matters, the help, Sandra's friend, Randy, tips, big tippers and low wages. There had been a fat fire in the kitchen that set off smoke alarms and triggered a city health inspector's visit. The chef gave him a shopping bag containing four strip steaks and two bottles of burgundy.

A couple of days passed before Herb called, fairly late in the evening. Judy wondered if he had been drinking. He was affable and laughed a lot. He identified himself as the owner of a local car sales lot, which Judy had often seen advertised on TV, sometimes with this same Herb pitching a bevy of dazzling offerings for bad credit, or no credit.

This time Judy had billed herself as Kate and drew the tired response – Kiss me Kate from a jolly Herb. He didn't seem to care about privacy. Judy gave him the usual song and dance, most of which was true, except the part about being from a farm down in Iowa.

"We should meet," Herb said.

"Breakfast would be good. I'm saying coffee, not the whole nine yards."

"Sure. What part of town are you from?"

"North side."

"How about Mr. Bagel?"

Judy was glad Herb did not have the opportunity to witness her cringe. "That would be okay, but I'd rather go to Old Country Bread. I've heard a lot of good things, but have never been there."

"Old Country Bread it is, Kate. We have lots to talk about."

"You got that right."

A day elapsed, and then they met at the usual seven-thirty. It was becoming old hat. Herb was there when she arrived and was being hovered over by a middle-aged waitress who had recognized him from TV.

Judy slipped into the chair across from him, shook hands and said good morning.

Herb glanced around furtively, and then said, "You're a pretty girl, Kate."

"Thank you, kind sir. And you are a handsome man in robust health. You must work out." Mutual compliments were always appreciated.

"I stay fit," Herb replied. "More people have rusted out than burned out."

Judy searched her mind but could not come up with a trite reply. She settled on, "You're famous. People must recognize you wherever you go."

"In this town they do, Kate. And I could hook up with a lot of women, some single, some not. But I've stumbled into trouble before and might again. This contractual relationship, honored by both parties of course, has a solid ring to it."

"That's my idea, Herb. A lot of young folks are struggling today. I'm simply one of them. I had a boyfriend and he bailed, more stuck on himself than me, I think. So here I am with rent to pay, scraping by as a waitress, a school dropout. Not ready for another stormy affair, or marriage."

"We're like two peas in a pod, Kate." He leaned close and said, "I'm thinking a thousand dollars a month, cash of course. And we can meet in my condo."

The money sounded great, but his condo? "Would your neighbors be upset?"

Herb laughed. "No, not on your life. They generally avoid me. You might know I talk too much. I can say you're a niece, or doing cleaning, or, what the heck, both."

"A niece doing cleaning. What a grand idea. You have a quick mind, Herb."

He was all smiles. "If you snooze you lose. You don't build a car agency by letting grass grow underfoot. And Kate, I'm interested in you as a person. We can talk. I've got hobbies, collections. As much as I seem to be a public figure, I have few close friends, a person I can really unload to. You seem to have a sympathetic ear."

It was Judy's time to grin. "I'm all ears, Herb. If the shoe fits, wear it." Finally a hackneyed phrase. "Do we have a deal, or what?"

With a handshake and a smile, their troth was plotted. It would be Friday nights in his condo. Thoughts of turning in her old jalopy and getting a deal on one of Herb's creampuffs were not far from her mind.

A month passed and Judy was delighted with her lucrative pastime. Herb was a doll. Garrulous, often humorous, laying out snacks and drinks, sometimes ignoring sex. She had remained overnight once when she had drunk to excess. He delighted in showing her his various collections and chatting endlessly about his childhood.

They had taken to one another so well that he had said she might move in with him. She could pose as a young relative. Of course that would be the beginning of the end and Judy realized that.

Relations with Gary and Rob were just as good. No quarrels, no bickering over who would do what and who said what and why. She thought if everyone simply knew about this situation it would be the lifestyle of choice. And she could shift days around if need be. The three of them had a depth of understanding.

It was after her fourth session with Rob that an untoward situation developed. Approaching her ancient jalopy, she noticed a sleek Mercedes parked beside it, and an attractive woman maybe a year or so older than herself emerging.

"I'll introduce myself," she said. "I'm Maude Crane, a member of Holy Blood. It's possibly forward of me, but I'm interested to know if you're having an affair with Rob Davis."

Judy was taken aback, but soon recovered. "It's not simply forward, such a question is not only outrageous, but shocking. Why would you ask such a thing?"

"I'm a friend of his and a church member."

Fully recovered, Judy chuckled. "You want to have him excommunicated?"

Maude was aloof. "We Episcopalians don't do such things. I have his best interests at heart. I would not see him come to harm."

"Your motives and your approach puzzle me. It's almost surreal to be standing here discussing such nonsense."

"Is it nonsense if you're out to destroy a promising young man's career?"

Judy thought this one over. "So I am a Jezebel leading a Christian man astray? Is that it?"

"A crude way to put it, but succinct."

"And so, goodbye, perhaps I can find other victims before lunch." She opened the door and was poised to enter her car, but Maude implored her to give her another chance.

"Perhaps we're off on the wrong foot. I'll confess. I have eyes for Rob, unrequited eyes. We have dated a time or two, but nothing serious. So I'm interested in him. Perhaps overly interested considering I am accosting you in this manner."

"In that case, I might as well tell you. He's my counselor."

"Counselor!" Maude said in surprise. "He's the assistant pastor here at the church. He's no counselor."

"Of course he is," Judy responded. "He's a clergyman. They're trained as counselors. It's a large part of their profession. You know that."

"I suppose I do, but you're not a church member. I've been going here for years. I'd know you, a woman with your looks."

"A friend recommended him. We are all lambs of God, regardless of congregation."

This triggered indignation in Maude. She leaned forward in a confrontational manner and demanded to know, "Just what is Rob counseling you about?"

"What gall you have. Such things are confidential. You're smart enough to know that, or should be."

"I do know that. Frankly, I'm in something of a daze. I was certain romance was in the air, and I feel I have a personal interest. I merely wanted to get to the bottom of it. So you have my apology. Now I've told you who I am, who might you be?"

"With due respect, I'd like to keep my identity, my name, confidential. I really would rather it not be known that I'm undergoing counseling. There can be a certain stigma."

"I understand completely. But you are a beautiful woman, outstanding. I would think Rob would be tempted, but he has been able to fight off more than one overture so far. I often wonder about him."

"That he might be gay?"

"Well, let's hope not."

"Maude, it's been an interesting conversation, but I'd best be going."

CHAPTER THREE

Two blocks away from the church, Judy dialed Rob Davis on her cell phone and described her encounter with Maude. "You might expect her any minute."

Rob was highly amused and quipped that no one could have handled the situation with more decorum.

"Perhaps. The way things started it seemed to be degenerating into a cat fight."

"I believe I hear Maude approaching. Talk to you later."

Judy heaved a sigh of relief. All bases touched, it was over. No more problems. Her courage slightly bruised, Judy made a full recovery during her shift at the Elegant Eatery. She did wonder what would happen if one of her new acquaintances would walk in and order Brunswick stew, or the blue plate special. Probably nothing, unless two came at once. Then she would retire to the kitchen and slip out the back door headed for terra incognita.

That night she decided to go for broke and add a fourth client, a swipe at the brass ring, the main chance. She fired an e-mail off to Alan, who billed himself as a 66-year-old retired postal employee. Older men had begun to appeal to her. They were settled in their ways and less intimidating.

She was off the following day and, after coffee and cereal, vacuumed the odd patterned rug that her last live-in had left. He had also left the sweeper, neatnik that he was. She wondered what had become of him. Probably holed up with some less sloppy female who owned her own sweeper.

With the sweeper back in its closet abode, Judy glanced in the freezer and decided to thaw boneless chicken thighs for dinner plus green peas. A six-dollar bottle of Chardonnay was in the reefer section. She enjoyed the convenience of a screw cap and applauded the fact that they were coming into vogue. But she looked on boxes of wine with disdain.

After laying the frozen thighs on the counter, she checked the pantry for canned soup, crackers, peanut butter and odds and ends. Lunch would be no problem. There was also a wedge of hoop cheese in the fridge.

Just before noon Alan rang her up on her cell phone. She had tossed her line in the water and got an almost instant strike. She wondered how much cash a retired postal employee might have in the kick.

"Can we meet?" he inquired. His voice was strong, not the shaky old man one might imagine. No grandpa type this.

"Sure. I have the whole day free. You name it."

"What part of town are you in."

She hesitated to say North side, but she did anyway. Evil visions of Mr. Bagel danced in her head.

"I'm not far away. You might come to my house." He supplied an address. "You do have a car?"

"Sure, a crippled rattletrap, but it gets me around. It won't embarrass you if I show up at your door?"

"Very little embarrasses me, sister. But if the neighbors ask, I'll tell them you're doing cleaning work."

"I can come just after lunch."

"Why not just before lunch. I'll make sandwiches. I make a wicked ham on rye with the works."

"Sounds like a step up to me. I'll be there at 11:30."

So this is how it begins again, she thought, signing off. How interesting life can be if one gives it a chance.

Alan, a widower, lived alone in an old frame house on a residential street, probably platted about 1930. He was far more than a retired postal employee, although he was that. A widower, he had a flowing white mane, was fairly short, about 5 feet 6, a wiry frame, hardened by all those years of tramping around lugging mail bags.

He was an amateur botanist, but also a day trader, which accounted for a fairly large stash of accumulated cash. Actually, he was a _successful_ day trader, a pastime that stirred Judy's curiosity and later became a primary interest.

They reached what was now becoming the usual contract, this time for three months at seven hundred dollars a month. She would arrive at his house at six-thirty Thursday mornings. It seemed the older age one achieved, the earlier they struggled out of bed.

Although not as talkative as Herb, Alan seemed more interested in conversation than sex, although both were on the menu. This early in the day, there was plenty of time for both.

One of Alan's favorite topics was the plant world as sensitive beings. Do tomatoes scream when they are sliced, does a carrot respond with near human emotions when subjected to an electrical shock?

"It seems to be generally accepted that plants have no brain or central nervous system," Alan would pontificate, "yet many emotions that seem to be shared with humans remain unexplained."

Judy was eager to learn and to please her daddy. She joined in these discussions with genuine enthusiasm.

"There are absolutely known things about plants," Alan explained. "In times of drought a pea plant has been known to communicate with fellow plants to get ready for tough going. This can be ancient stuff. Aristotle suggested that plants have a 'vegetal soul,' and down through the years the idea that plants have souls is not unknown."

"This sounds like guess and by golly," Judy suggested.

"Truly, in the old days," Alan agreed. "But then plant science came along. Progress has been made, and it may sound laughable, but some are seeking the possibility of a plant's capacity for innocent enjoyment; that is, can plants be happy, or perceive happiness?"

"I'm guessing they can't make a joyful noise, at least not one that we can hear," Judy quipped.

"Not so far," Alan said seriously, "but the best might be still to come if one takes these matters seriously. One of the Darwin's mentors, Erasmus to be exact, asked, might vegetable buds be irritated? Do they feel sensation? He thought they did. It has also been speculated that even though primitive, plants are the ancestors of the human mind."

Judy said she had heard more than once that people sometimes talked or sang to their plants, which seemed to encourage growth and perhaps good health.

Alan said he too had heard that and often talked to his houseplants, but had once seen evidence that plants hate hard rock, preferring what one might call easy listening, or elevator music. "They also have a social life and are able to distinguish between close relatives and strangers of the same species."

"If one prays to an unknown being, why not chat with a plant, something you can actually see, nourish, even destroy if you like. So to a plant, you might be God, or the plant might be God. In ancient times," Judy continued, "people worshipped cats. And the cats have never forgotten."

CHAPTER FOUR

Her enterprise, which is what Judy called it in her mind, had run smoothly for some time without a ripple, and the cash piling up. She was not dumb and knew this could not and should not go on forever. It smacked of illegality, yet sugar daddy relationships seemed to have been known to dating back into the mists of time.

Her thoughts of returning to college seemed to be fleeting, replaced by the very real notion of going into day trading with Alan's wise counsel. How easy it was to get on with that old man.

She had completed another session with Rob Davis and was departing Holy Blood church when she noticed the Mercedes parked next to her vehicle. Sure enough, as she neared, Maude Crane emerged.

Maude's first words were, "I need to talk with you."

Judy wondered what now, but said, "No problem. Let's chat."

Maude glanced around as if being observed. A squirrel hopped on the nearby lawn, a passing car, a far-off sound, but no one else in sight. "Not here. I have a confession to make. I know who you are."

That was startling. But did it matter? Probably not. "Where can we talk?"

"Riverside Park, across from downtown. There's benches."

"Okay. I've got some time. I'll follow you."

Maude nodded and got into her car. On a morning like this there were plenty of parking places along the river. A few people jogging, a couple of dog walkers, very little activity. They didn't speak until they were seated side by side on a green park bench.

Maude began. "I hired a private detective and he followed you last week when you left the church. He learned that you live alone in a low-rent apartment, and he told me where you work."

Judy digested Maude's words and commented, "Low rent. Six-fifty a month. To a food worker, hardly low."

"I know that. I was in the restaurant. I hoped you'd wait on me and we could speak, start a friendship, but it was someone named Sandra, according to her badge."

"A friend of mine."

"I'm sure. You know, Judy... you don't mind if I call you Judy, do you?"

"Of course not."

"I have few real friends. I know people at church and at the country club. I'm a member of the Junior League. But real friends are as scarce, what do they say," she grinned, "as hen's teeth."

"We can be friends," Judy said.

"I'd like that," Maude replied. "I've had boyfriends, you know, relationships, in high school and junior college. You know I live at home. My parents are fairly possessive and I'm an only child." She paused and they both watched a racing shell, crew and coxswain, passing on the river. "You know Rob was a member of a crew like that. He was very athletic, still works out."

"You still care for him, don't you, Maude?" Judy said.

"Well yes, but he's standoffish. I don't think he knows what he wants. Certainly not marriage. Although if he were to remain in the clergy that would almost be a must. Isn't that an odd quirk? Protestant ministers should be married, Catholic priests must not. But the clergy for Rob is something of a lark. He didn't need a profession because of daddy's business. I must confess, I'm in the same boat."

"Some boat."

"I suppose. But you have good taste, Judy. Your clothes are stylish, but not expensive. Quiet good taste. I could help you."

Judy almost giggled. She was absorbed by the scene, a fine day, birds sang, a shell on the river, joggers, dog walkers. She could find a regular Joe husband, buy a dog, attend church, have children. "How could you help me and why?" she finally asked.

"Just so we could be friends. I'm attracted to you. I have money. There are plenty of nutty people with money, but sometimes problems are rooted in the lack of it. I don't know this, but your counseling needs might be partly allayed if you had sufficient funds."

Judy felt as if she were experiencing a trip to wonderland. After all the scheming she had done in recent weeks, was this like Frankenstein meets Godzilla?

"I don't understand why you would buy things for me?" she questioned.

"Simply because I have the money. But of course there's more. Have you ever thought of sleeping with a woman?"

There it was. The cat was out of the bag. A few weeks back Maude seemed desperate to begin an affair with Rob. Now she wanted to bed Judy, and she had the wherewithal. After all, this was Judy's game. She had stumbled upon a sugar mama. It flashed through her mind that she might be drowning in a cesspool.

"Frankly, Maude, I haven't. Not until this moment. It might be interesting though, mightn't it? If I did do that, I would not want any money or gifts. It would be strictly for the experience."

"But we could visit Europe. We could travel the world. There would be no holding us back."

"Yes and no, Maude. It would eventually boil down to any other marriage or relationship. There would be ups and downs, foolish quarrels, jealousies, name calling, everything you ever wanted to avoid, but just couldn't. But sleeping with you once or twice... give me your cell phone number and I'll consider it."

"We'd be great in the game, Judy."

"I'm not turning you down, Maude. And we can certainly be friends. And your proposal interests me. It's a bit bizarre, but it is adventuresome. Life is a journey. I'm certain you've heard that."

"A journey of discovery," Maude said. "I didn't know if I could come out in the open with that or not. But I've done it and I feel good. You are as close to a perfect specimen as anyone could find, Judy. You are perfection, a melody by Chopin."

"Enough, Maude. No terms of endearment, please. We are both citizens of the world, worldly people, with deep emotions, hidden desires and probably dark secrets."

Maude drew closer. "I want to know your secrets, Judy. Confide in me."

"Not on your life. Who would have thought we would sit here on this park bench on this glorious day that nature has given us and engage in such a conversation. I feel fulfilled simply by my consumption of phrases, sentences, yes, even paragraphs. And now I should be on my way."

"I know when your shift begins," Maude asserted. "You have plenty of time."

"Yes, but I must get home and pop open a can of soup. We'll be in touch, trust me."

Judy could have opened a can of soup, but she didn't. Thoughts of all the sodium, plus other confused thoughts swirled through her head. Maude pushing, plunging into her life. Equating botany with God. A tree trunk with a carved bear, a drop of water with the universe, the Earth as a bowling ball. Creation – the space between – and the end. Like a story, or a speech, three parts.

Her thoughts turned to day trading, a possible way out of this crazy Chinese puzzle. She had plans to discuss this at length with Alan. How much money would she need to start? Might she lose everything? What if she were overly cautious?

She had planned to call Maude fairly quickly but had let it slide.

Then Maude showed up at her station at the Elegant Eatery. "You didn't call," she chided.

"I'm sorry, Maude. I had every intention, but work, worries, other concerns got in the way. We can get together very soon and talk. I'd like that."

"So would I." Maude eyed the menu. "What would you recommend?"

"Chicken salad on a croissant. Delicious."

"Chock full of mayo?"

"Not too much. Lots of chicken, plus cranberries and walnuts."

"Yeah, they come frozen, whole cranberries. I think they must be partially cooked. They are delicious. You know, I've never seen them in stores. Anyway, you sold me, and ice tea, unsweetened."

Judy hurried off to her workday chores. Maude wondered what it would be like to get up in the morning facing several hours of work, serving others. She immediately pushed those thoughts from her mind, admiring Judy's features and figure. If anyone deserved a tip.

The sandwich was as delicious as advertised. When Judy returned with the check, Maude placed a fifty dollar bill on the table and said, "No change," as she rose and added, "call me" as she retreated toward the door.

CHAPTER FIVE

Judy, with her nom de jour Babs, which she answered to with some humor, showed up at her usual time at Holy Blood on a bright and cheerful early Monday only to find Rob Davis deep in thought, an unusual predicament for such a carefree sort.

"I was saddled last evening with the task of delivering next Sunday's sermon," he complained.

"You like to talk. It seems to come rather fluently," Judy observed.

"Talking is one thing, preaching quite another, particularly when assigned a specific topic."

"And what might that topic be?" she inquired, wondering what sexual pleasures were in store for this day, if any. No matter. Helping to construct a sermon would be a different experience.

"Sin."

"Sin?"

"Yes, sin. That is breaking a divine or moral law, especially if done deliberately. Or one might say an offense against good taste or propriety."

"I've heard we're all sinners."

"That's true. It dates to the Garden of Eden, original sin. It involves munching an apple, urged on by an evil-tongued serpent."

"A snake in the grass," Judy said.

"In truth, I think he or she was hanging from a tree limb. At least according to illustrations I've seen. That's about as far as I've gotten. A lot of the stuff I've been reading might apply to the congregation, or me, or you."

"Let's not get personal, Rob. But maybe I can lend an earthy overview and be of some help. I'm assuming sermons of this, or any nature, are intended to somehow help the congregation?"

"Yes, lead them on the path of righteousness, heal their spiritual wounds, compel them to be better Christians, which is the stock and trade of my profession."

"Maude said you had chosen the clergy as a lark."

"Her view was possibly correct at the beginning. I liked the charming outfits and the pomp and pageantry of the high church. Also the free time. Episcopalians require very little shepherding. Of course there are hospital visits, and I do counsel poor wretches such as yourself. But there comes a time when one must abruptly face responsibility. This seems to be one of those times. There is not a person in my congregation who is free of sin."

"Nor is there supposed to be. But you must direct their footsteps toward the true path. Why not start with the seven deadly sins and instruct your congregation to avoid them, whatever they might be."

"You know what they are?"

"No idea. I mean I could name some sins, or things people might think of as sins, but to number them, no."

Rob went to his desk and picked up a sheet of paper. Glancing at it, he looked up and said, "I've looked them up. They are in no particular order, which I find a bit strange. You would think one sin would be more deadly than another." He seemed to ponder his words.

"Go on," Judy urged.

"Okay – Sloth, Envy, Greed, Pride, Gluttony, Lust and Anger, which is often referred to as Wrath."

As he spoke, Judy counted on her fingers to assure herself there were indeed seven. "So you advise the congregation to avoid these things wherever, or whenever possible."

Rob shook his head in some doubt, but emitted a slight chuckle. "A preacher must preach. Have you ever heard the sermons about new wine in old skins?"

"It has a familiar ring to it."

"That topic can be an entire sermon. How that can be, I'm not certain. But I could do that one. I have a book of sermons, and that's in there. I've never read it. But I can't find a sermon on sin. It's very likely such a common thing that everyone is against it. But truth to tell, sin has changed through the years, and it means different things to different people."

"Maybe you could quiz the congregation on what they believe is, or is not, a sin. Have a group discussion."

"If I were an old preacher and had preached for many years, that might be a great topic. But as an assistant in what we like to think of as a fairly intelligent congregation, it would be kicking the can down the road, or shunning my responsibility."

"Maybe you could concentrate on the good things, as opposed to the bad things."

"I've thought of that," Rob said. "There are seven virtues. In fact there seem to be more than seven. Although I suspect some virtues have more than one name." Again he picked up a paper and read off a list of virtues, this time far more than seven: "Patience, Kindness, Temperance, Humility, Diligence, Charity, Fortitude, Prudence, Justice, Faith, Hope, Chastity, Purity, and Abstinence. Did I say any of those twice?"

"I don't think so. You nailed us both with four or five of them."

"That's the nice thing about preaching. It's not do as I do, it's do as I say. A preacher must be familiar with sin. Also, I have read a few things about sin. One definition is that it must be a deliberate disobedience to the known will of God. So now we must attempt to determine the known will of God. Who would know such a thing?"

"No one," Judy tossed in.

"Exactly. I think I'm on the right track. I can talk about these things, then, as a final blow, recite Gandhi's view of the seven deadly sins. This set of sins will hit the congregation where it lives. I'll emerge as a hell-fire and damnation holy man."

"My God, Rob, what did Gandhi allow?"

With some glee, Rob recited the Gandhi list, again reading from a paper. "Politics without principle, wealth without work, commerce without morality, pleasure without conscience, education without character, science without humanity and worship without sacrifice."

CHAPTER SIX

At her Thursday morning appointment, Alan briefly outlined conservative day trading to Judy.

"As a part-time day trader it's recommended that you have a minimum for five thousand dollars."

"What about full-time, and who's making these rules?" Judy asked.

"These are just generalities if you read up on the topic," Alan continued. "There are no hard and fast rules. But to get started you need several thousand dollars. How else are you going to buy enough stock to make a profit?"

"Well if you bought a thousand bucks in stock and it grew to five thousand you could go from there. Onward and upward."

"Yeah," Alan said with a grin. "Onward and upward. But it's not that easy. If you're using gut feelings, or hunches, you might as well be in Las Vegas. You're going to go broke quickly and depend on a pawnshop for a ticket home. Let me put it this way. If you're looking to buy a car and find a good used one you like for ten thousand, what do you do?"

"Low ball it. Offer seven or eight."

"Correct. Now we're talking New York Stock Exchange, the Big Board, where every stock has a manager. Someone to be on both sides of the trade. Someone to try to keep that stock on a level keel. That person tries to insure there are shares to be sold, and he might be there to buy shares if too much is sold at one time. This person you might say mother hens the stock."

"I'm with you," Judy said. "Teach me, oh learned one."

"So that stock is like a car. There is a price set to buy the stock and a lower price set for the person who wants to sell that stock. Now what the day trader wants to do is buy that stock at the lower price and sell it at the higher price."

"That sounds simple enough, but that would mean the stock would have to go up in value." Judy thought a moment, and added, "Unless it tanked. Then you lose."

"Then you lose," Alan agreed. "So the idea is to pick a relatively stable stock. One that is neither going up or down, but one that does have a good daily volume of sales. You see, the person who manages that stock or watches over it, whatever they might be called, is invisible. He or she is on the stock exchange floor in the midst of all that hubbub. You also are invisible, sitting at home staring at a computer screen. I might add here that you also have a screen capable of showing you the entire market in real time. That will cost you a few bucks, but it's vital."

"Okay," Judy said. "So we've got two invisible people. Me and the little man who isn't there. Now what?"

"Simple. You pretend to be him. You buy the stock at the price the market offers to buy it and you sell it at the price the market offers to sell it. That is buy low, sell high."

"Is that possible?"

"Certainly. Because you're pretending to be the market. The spread may be a quarter point or even an eighth or a sixteenth, which is small, but buying and selling thousands of shares of low-priced stock adds up, and you do it time and time again, four, five or six times a day."

"Small potatoes, but low risk. You can always buy low and sell high?"

"No. Sometimes you break even and then you lose. Because you must pay a commission on each transaction. And there are times when you simply lose. But generally, if you are careful, with experience, money can be made on a daily basis. Any questions?"

"That seems a good primer, Alan." She glanced at her watch. "Are you up for a roll in the hay?"

Alan nodded and led the way into the bedroom. "Even at my advanced years, you tickle my fancy."

Judy laughed. "You tickle mine and I'll tickle yours."

After fulfilling her obligation, Judy managed to return to her apartment for a quick shower before showing up for her shift. She was feeling good, and thoughts of day trading and an escape to the good life danced in her head. She bantered with customers, made small talk with Sandra and returned to her apartment with a fist full of tip dollars. Life was good.

After downing a beer for hydration, she switched to white wine while watching CNN and munching on an overstuffed ham on a Kaiser roll with drippy sliced tomatoes and sloppy mustard. Her pleasure was interrupted by a ringing telephone.

The Rev. Rob Davis was on the other end with depressing news. Maude Crane had been struck by a car while crossing a street. She suffered a broken leg and head injuries and was being treated at Good Samaritan hospital.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Judy called the hospital, but there was no reason to go there. Maude was in surgery and would be for several hours. She was told the injuries did not seem life threatening, but there was a possible concussion that might mean a possible coma, but this was simply speculation. It was too soon to know.

The following morning she called again. Maude was out of surgery. There had been extensive work on the leg, but it would be okay. Nevertheless the woman was in a coma. How deep and how severe, only time would tell.

With heavy heart, Judy went to work and managed a cheerful front. She and Maude had become quite close. Life was a crapshoot. The dice were slung by an unseen hand. Old folks should be thankful for long life rather than curse their frail condition.

After work Judy went directly to Good Samaritan. The duty nurse admitted her to Maude's room. Judy pressed the sleeping woman's hands, said a prayer, and took a seat. After half an hour she went to the hospital cafeteria, bought coffee and a chicken salad sandwich and returned to the room.

After eating she stood and looked at the peacefully sleeping woman, placed her hand on Maude's forehead, then grasped her hands tenderly. The breathing was easy. An IV provided nourishment. She knew there were cases where this condition continued for years. There had also been marvelous awakenings.

She sat and let her mind wander. At a time like this it was natural for thoughts to drift toward religion. She had said a prayer even though she had no particular religion. All the horrors religion had caused through the centuries and was still causing flashed through her mind. She had read about the Vatican, an anchor to the Catholic faith, yet a maelstrom of corruption and sexual misbehavior over the years. Pedophile priests and selfless shepherds of their flocks and the poor all mixed together. Then there were Protestant ministers who preyed on choir members of both sexes, plus some whose only ambition was to amass both money and TV fame. Zealots and murderers from an assortment of faiths. Non-believers, both good and bad. There were no easy answers.

She did not consider her present activity sinful in any sense of the word. If she became a successful day trader, that might be a sin. For every dollar one earns in that profession, means a dollar taken away from another party. Yet that other party is playing the same game, sometimes winning, sometimes the loser. No sin there. Perhaps she was on a path to sainthood. Joan of Arc, Saint Joan, burned at the stake by the French, then elevated to sainthood. Who can figure?

Judy was roused from her slumber later in the evening by the entry of the Rev. Rob Davis, carrying out both his personal preference and his obligatory visitation to the sick.

His first words were, "You've been sleeping."

"Does that cheapen my vigil?" she questioned.

"Not at all. You need your rest. Hustling food at the Elegant Eatery is no work for the lame or the faint of heart. How's our patient?"

"Most patient. Sleeping peacefully, the sleep of the pure of heart."

"Would we all were such pristine creatures. She is surely a lamb of God."

"It is in my heart that she will recover. Time, the great healer. Sit with me, Rob. Share your thoughts."

"My thoughts are like yours. I pray for Maude's recovery. The world would miss her. We would miss her."

"It seems odd that we have become the best of friends in a short time."

"It is not odd, and the three of us are the best of friends. For all our faults, we are wholesome people. We do the best we can with the tools God has given us."

"Always the preacher."

"Preachers preach."

"Lechers lech."

"Perhaps." Rob laughed, seeking to stifle his voice. "Bankers bank."

"Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly."

"I shall bless this sleeping body, and then we can go for coffee and you can get home for a good night's sleep."

"A good plan. Lead me not into temptation."

She did sleep well and woke early. With time on her hands before her shift, she returned to the hospital and took up her seat near the bed, this time with a food magazine to glance through. She enjoyed the photographs of delightful morsels posed to perfection. If only she could serve such things at a low price. Wow!

About to depart for the restaurant, an older woman entered the room.

She glanced up and greeted the newcomer.

"Who are you?" the woman asked.

"I'm Judy, who are you?"

"Mrs. Crane, Maude's mother. Are you a friend of my daughter?"

Judy rose to go. "Yes, I was here last evening and thought I'd drop by for a few minutes this morning."

"I don't recognize you from the church or the country club. Are you a member of the Junior League?"

The question was laughable, but Judy answered seriously. "No."

"How did the two of you get together?"

"I'm on the wait staff of the Elegant Eatery. She drops in sometimes for food."

"That diner," the woman said in surprise. "She eats there?"

"It's not bad. Good wholesome food. We have a fair selection. Also daily specials."

"So she talks to you there?"

"That seems to be the case." Judy was tiring of the questioning and started out of the room, but Mrs. Crane blocked her way.

"I can't believe you are close friends, Judy. Is that what you said your name is?"

"It is Judy. Now I must go."

"Casual conversation between a waitress and a diner does not cement a friendship. It might be wise if you stopped coming here. I'm sure Maude would be as surprised as I am if she woke up and saw you seated by her bed. You may have assumed things that aren't true."

"If you say so. I'll not come again."

"Well, that's that, isn't it. So goodbye."

There was a sense of relief in Judy's mind, also bitterness. She would not bother with Maude or her family anymore. Rob could keep her posted on Maude's progress, although it would become less important as the days went by. No reason to bother with snobbish people. That attitude would always endure, possibly just under the surface, but remain it would.

Judy was happy with her life, juggling four sugar daddies and the prospect of day trading as her bank account blossomed. She fled to the steamy food aroma and the warm embrace of her cheerful work family and earthy regulars, all habitués of the Elegant Eatery.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Judy's next surprise flipped into her life on Sunday morning when she kept her appointment with sugar daddy number one, Gary, at a no-tell motel. He was the tall, thin, graying dentist and her first hook-up.

It was after sex, at least the first round of it, and they were having a cup of that nasty motel-room coffee when Gary broached the subject of dental care.

"We do deep cleaning in my office and have a whole range of other procedures including whitening and root canals."

"The secrets of dental care, I mean to really get inside it, must be fascinating," Judy responded, half in jest. Early on, she was reluctant to offend the sugar daddies, but now she found they enjoyed a little give and take in the conversation end of the business.

"You'd be surprised," Gary said. "The things I learn with my chair-side manner. There've been sexual come-ons, don't you know."

"Mount and ride right there on a reclining chair?"

"It's been done. But probably not with a dental tech standing by. Of course the three of them could be in cahoots."

"I've never been to cahoots."

"It's a pleasant seaside village with a green, a village chime, volunteer fire department and a fish fry in the UU church sanctuary every Friday night. Prizes are given to the thinnest and most elderly who can name the most unindicted Chicago politicians."

"I believe I've heard of the place, though I've never traveled there. It's the small community with countywide government ruled by a queen with a band of derelict advisers elected via a pie-eating contest each August fifteenth of even numbered years."

"You're spot on, Candy, but permit me to return to my roots and molars. What I'm saying is that the world of dental care could open to you. At no charge."

Judy grinned, then felt self-conscious. Was he watching her teeth? "Wow, what an offer. It's a modern age, the twenty-first century. Goodbye to the old, hello to the new. I can imagine someone saying that in 1790 – almost the end of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth, a totally modern world! What the heck. I could sign on for a recreational root canal."

Gary rolled his eyes. "If that is your desire, my love. But good dental health is important. Bad dental health might impact the entire body in a negative way."

"If you want to talk shop, Gary, I can tell you about waitressing. The odd customers I've had, the good food I've seen thrown away. You wouldn't believe some of the antics that go on behind the scenes. The cockroaches, the health inspectors. I could write a book."

"Please, don't. I know you're joking, but I have some serious stuff to say. Your idea about me renting a room Saturday night was great. I've been renting it, then going home. I had the thought this morning, "what if I stayed?" What if we both stayed the night? So, to meet here Saturday night, maybe go out to dinner, take in a show, then return to a bottle of wine and snacks. Sleep together for the night?"

"Not such a bad idea. Let me give it some thought. Spur of the moment like that, springing it on me, temptations to approve or disapprove out of hand. I'll think about it. You know the two of us, we get along."

"I know we do, Candy. And I know that's not your true name. But I've gone along with that and never attempted to go beneath the surface. But we've been together for some time. It might be we want to talk about something more permanent, maybe marriage."

This truly surprised Judy. Wed an aging dentist. But was it all bad? She tried to maintain an even keel. The word, "Gary" was scarcely out of her mouth when he interrupted.

"Now, Candy. I'm totally aware of the age difference. But let's say I'm twenty years older than you, which is about right. When I'm sixty, you'd be forty. Not bad. When I'm eighty, if I survive, you'd be sixty. It might be said we grew old together. That's a scenario maybe we could both live with."

Judy laughed. "That plus dental care gratis."

"I'm serious. Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not, Gary. We're just jawing here. Our relationship wasn't made in heaven. You might say I picked you off the Internet. We've more or less bonded, we've had some fun, we've had good sex, and I'm keeping up with the world financially..."

"You're saying, don't spoil it?"

"Not exactly. I'm not a deep person, or particularly intelligent, but I've remembered some lines in Italian penned by Salvatore Quasimodo:

Ognuno sta solo sul cuor della terra

Trafitto da un raggio di sole:

Ed e subito sera."

"Lovely, but I have no idea what they mean," Gary replied. "I'm simply a dumb dentist."

"But not so dumb," Judy said. "The words mean: Everyone stands alone on the heart of the earth transfixed by a sun ray: and suddenly it is evening."

"Also lovely. We both need a little thinking time."

That was Sunday morning. Now it was Monday, seven a.m., and she kept her assignment with the Reverend Rob. She could handle the task, actually enjoy the occupation, but it was beginning to be a bit hard keeping the sugar daddies straight. After Monday she would be free until Thursday early with Alan, then Friday evening with Herb. The money was piling up, but this couldn't go on forever. She was continuing to read up on day trading and exploring sources of software and high speed discount brokers.

Rob told her that Maude seemed to be having almost lucid moments, but was not fully awake. He questioned why he had not encountered her at the hospital, and she told him about the unpleasant confrontation with Maude's mom.

"Holy Christ, how cruel can one be? Should I say something to her?"

"No. Let sleeping dogs snore. As crude as she might be, she has a point. Maude and I come from different worlds. She, honored at the country club, me a wretched scullery wench. Like there's no class system in America. Like Jesus scorns the rich and idolizes the poor. I could go on."

"Ever consider divinity school."

"You'd be surprised. Does anyone ever reveal their true thoughts?"

"I hope not. If they did, I'd have to seek honest work."

"You might try politics."

"Do you suppose politics corrupts? Or are corrupt people drawn to politics?"

"Probably both. Once in the game, at least in higher office, it becomes necessary to make deals, get money from questionable sources and fall into the mire. To remain honest, one must drop out. But there is self-delusion. You can be a bit corrupt and convince yourself that you are an honest official serving the public good. And perhaps you occasionally do something of benefit to the downtrodden. Many run for office to do good and they do well."

"I think there's a sermon there somewhere."

"Sometimes, Rob, I think you may not be cut out for the cloth. Have you ever considered day trading or bartending?"

"Frankly, my dear, I'm a lost soul in need of counseling. I did become a preacher because I was immature and taken with the pomp and ceremony, the rituals, the odd clothing. I did it on a whim. I had drifted through college, was deep into fraternity life, which is the party life. I was already a trust fund baby, plus I had my own portfolio. The Episcopal life seemed almost an extension of college. A close-knit, affluent group, given to party giving and the good life. The ministers are encouraged to marry and have a family, which subtracts from negative inducements and pitfalls facing other faiths."

"How many others?" Judy asked.

"I can think of one that will go unmentioned."

"We dasn't speak its name. Shhhh.," she said, placing a finger on her lips. "I think you might need to escape."

"Yes, but how? And to where?"

"That, my friend, is between you and your psychotherapist."

"Supposedly, I'm trained in that field."

Judy giggled. "That's what I told Maude. She lies comatose while we skylark together. Is there no justice?"

"I hope not."

CHAPTER NINE

Say what you will, there was always a goodtime buzz at the Elegant Eatery. In recent weeks political talk seemed to surge. Various levels of political combat never ceased to amaze Judy as she tripped from table to table on her station and overheard talk from other tables.

One might start with high schools, although very likely the real battles commenced in nursery schools. Who would dominate seemed to be the issue. Parents talked of their boys or girls seeking the class presidency or some other honor.

Perhaps the local level came next, that is the community. Mayors, councilmen, aldermen, what have you, usually at odds over something or the other. Trash pickup, water main breaks, purity of water, sidewalk repairs, potholes, vermin infestations, polluted soil, police protection or the lack of it.

There was an overlap with the county when it came to the sheriff's office, the water supply, landfills and road maintenance. Property taxes at this level was a sustained issue. The courts, criminal prosecution, welfare and so on.

Next in line was the state government, often the stepchild many sought to ignore. But the legislature did meet and consider taxes of one sort or another, as well as the sanctity of marriage, pro-life, pro-choice, pro-this and pro-that. And what about school boards and other minor tools of governance?

The political parties themselves are often divided into elected officials. Each party in each county wants a chairperson. Wards or precincts need watchdogs. And patronage jobs for primaries and general elections for each of the parties.

Then there are the large halls of the winds in Washington where more heat than light is generally generated. It seemed the tastiest political dish for diners involved scandal. Who had been careless enough to commit an error of a sexual nature and be found out? Simple gaffs in speech generally rose and died after one or two news cycles. They were the stuff treasured by late night comedy.

If she happened to be in low spirits, Judy was often buoyed up by the good fellowship and political give and take that prevailed in the Elegant Eatery. Of course there were many other issues of the day chewed over along with the daily specials and bottomless coffee cups.

There were the regulars, clusters of old men or old women, often gathered around a pair of tables pulled together, plus mixed groups, young hand-holding moony-eyed lovers, the occasional family group, the squalling toddler.

Then one fine day when the sun shone and birds twittered in the treetops, Maude Crane's mother entered the restaurant, looked around tentatively, rightly identified Judy's station and took a seat at a table for two. Immediate recognition on Judy's part. Had the country club kitchen blown up?

Judy had half a mind to ask, "What's your pleasure, treasure," but restrained herself. She inquired what she might serve the lady.

"You're Judy Blazer, we've met before."

"How could I forget, Mrs. Crane. I hope Maude is doing well."

"Her recovery medically is as well as can be expected, maybe better. But she seems in poor spirits."

"I'm sorry about that. Did you see the specials on the blackboard? There's also an insert in the menu."

"I'm really not too hungry. Can I just have coffee?"

"Of course. Coming right up." Judy made an about face, but soon returned with cup, saucer and coffee pot. Sugar, fake sugar and cream in those pull tab containers were already on the table, plus a supply of napkins. "Will that be all?"

"Uh, no. I'd like to talk to you about Maude."

"Really, Mrs. Crane, I've stayed away as you requested. So what's to talk about?"

"I was wrong in saying that. She considers you one of her best friends, maybe the best friend. You know how people are these days."

Judy had to smile. "No, how are people these days?"

"I meant nothing by that. It's simply that I'm an older person. I hope you'll visit Maude at the hospital and at our home. She'll be discharged soon."

"Did you tell her what happened?"

"I don't know what you mean?"

"That you asked me not to visit?"

"Perhaps I should have, but I didn't."

Judy looked around anxiously. There were customers to attend to. "It would be better coming from you than from me. If you will tell her that you asked me to remain away, then she and I can resume our friendship."

"I suppose I must, although it's not a pleasant task. I'll do it for Maude's sake."

"And mine. Now I must get back to work. If you need more coffee, I'll be around."

Mrs. Crane eyed her coffee with distaste. As Judy walked away, she placed a five-dollar bill under the cup and quietly departed.

After work, Judy called Rob Davis and told him what had happened.

"I'm not surprised," he replied. "Maud has quite a few acquaintances, but no close friends that I'm aware of. You two have simply hit it off."

"Haven't we though," Judy replied, thinking of Maude's suggestion that they might sleep together. "I drove by the Crane house after work. What a castle. Big iron gate. Is there a gatekeeper?"

"No. Clickers open and close the gate. If you come unannounced there's a button to push and you can talk to the house. They'll let you in unless they don't like you." Rob laughed at his own remark. "Mrs. Crane is a bit of a snob."

"I've noticed. I'm surprised Maude would even bother with me. Her Mom was probably right. They're on top of the world, living in regal splendor."

"All things are not what they seem, Judy. The old adage of not judging a book by its cover applies in many situations. I'm saddled with listening to people's troubles. Money isn't a one-stop answer."

"Is it love?" she suggested in a fake, pleading voice.

"Hardly. That's generally the basis for the problem. We are all deeply flawed, sensitive human beings, delicate creatures at best, brutish and uncaring at worst. Get thee to a nunnery. There's your catch-all solution."

"Not a bad idea. Food, clothing, a small cell, steeped in prayerful meditation. Far from the madding crowd."

"Thou sayeth. When might you see Maude?"

"I'll call her tomorrow morning, then plan to drop in after work. Her Mom should have talked to her by then. If not, I'll tell her what happened. I'm not taking on any extra burden. My guilt level is high enough already."

"We are all of us sinners, Judy. Don't dwell on it."

"I like Maude, but she seems to need me more than I need her."

"Because of the accident, this might be her hour of need, nothing more."

"And nothing less. Is Maude my cross?"

"Maude is your cross if you think of her as your cross. Otherwise you'll have to sort through your emotional satchel to locate another cross. They come in all sizes."

"I'm glad we've had this chat, Brother Rob. Cares fly away, much like those Arabs we've read about. And, no, Maude is not my cross. She is a good friend and I have but few, you included."

"Bless you my daughter, May God's peace be upon you."

"And you."

CHAPTER TEN

Just before work the following day, Judy called Maude and said she would drop by the hospital after her shift.

Maude seemed cheered by the call. "You could bring a sandwich, or better yet, you could share my meal. I could ask for extra. Well, you know what a nice room it is."

"I don't want to impose. But I might bring a sandwich from work. Do you need anything?"

"No. My Mom almost throws stuff at me. I just need to talk with you. I've something important to tell you."

Judy wondered what that might be, but didn't ask. She'd know soon enough. Life's complications were beginning to close in on her. "I'll come right from work," she said, signing off.

As usual, traffic at the Elegant Eatery was brisk. The food was good and the prices as low as possible. The manager often said no one had ever gotten food poisoning at the EE and he hoped it never happened.

During a lull in business, a regular named Tyler Morris came in and took an out of the way seat at a window seat on Judy's station. She knew what to expect. He often bantered in a sexual way, but he was a good tipper.

After delivering his order, apple pie with a scoop of vanilla, he made a couple of barely decent remarks to which Judy replied, "I know you have a wife and children, Tyler, and you're not a young man. Why do you seem to introduce sex into every conversation?"

He was seated far enough away from the few patrons so as not to be overheard. "I'm not dead yet, Judy. And you are the most attractive waitress here."

"I'm also the youngest and the slimmest, or almost anyway. Sandra's okay, and she lives with her boyfriend. You seem to know these things."

"I keep current. If your favorite food's beefsteak, you don't want it every night. Maybe you want chicken now and then."

Judy smiled. "And I'm a chicken."

"I don't know if you know it, but my business is rental property. You're probably paying rent now, but I could fix you up with a good spot, rent free."

"Oh, free" she responded, "What price freedom. Some type of human bondage no doubt."

"I don't know what you mean by that. We could agree on an arrangement. We'd both get what we want."

"Tyler, eat your pie. Then go home to your wife. Or pick up one of those girls who stand on the corner in the tenderloin district. Do you see Ruth over there by the cashier?"

"That heavyset old woman?"

"Yes. Please sit on her station from now on. She's more your type." She turned and walked away. Tyler rolled his eyes and applied himself to his pie and ice cream. He was already fairly round with a baldhead to match. A pound or two more would make no difference.

His offer had been straightforward and was not unlike the arrangement she was already in, but she couldn't imagine herself being in bed with him. A married man would be a good choice because he would be discreet, protecting his infidelity. But her plate was full. She did wonder if even considering such an offer was sinful. Was she a sinner? And what constitutes sin? This question was not a novelty to her.

Her old car carried her to the hospital, and she parked in the visitor's lot. She had money and had trifled with the idea of buying a newer model. But then she might go in for day trading, and for that cash would be required. A car on credit would be at least two hundred a month for the foreseeable future, maybe beyond. She would keep the old bus until it fell apart, then duct tape it back together.

Maude was sitting up in bed and seemed bright and chipper. They embraced for a long moment, and Maude whispered into her ear, "How I've missed you."

"They must be treating you well. You look fine." Judy too was pleased to be reunited with her friend.

"I started walking with a cane today. First day without a walker. The physical therapy folks are all over me. They make me do what I would never do on my own. They say PT means pain and torture. Not far off the mark. How have you been, Judy?"

"Same old, same old. Dishing out hash and saving money for my declining years. Not a bad life."

"Now I'll tell you my secret," Maude beamed. "I had a vision."

"A vision?"

"Yes. It was about you and me and maybe somebody else. We were in an exotic place together."

Judy gaped for a moment, but then had the presence to say, "Tropical."

"Maybe tropical and maybe not. I say that because it changed from time to time. We seemed to be traveling from place to place."

Judy got with it and was all smiles. "Magically transported."

"Yes. It was magic," Maude agreed. "We were so happy. You know I'm not always happy. People think I should always be joyful because I have lots of money. Even people at the country club who are just hanging on. You've got fairly young rock stars and overpaid athletes committing suicide. Money doesn't always hack it. Particularly if you get deep into drugs or alcohol."

"I agree," Judy said.

"Yet you're always on the sunny side. I admire that in you."

"Poor, but honest," Judy said, mindful that she had just told a three-word whopper.

"I'll be going home in a day or two and then you can come to the house and we can really talk things out. I'd like you to know everything about me and my family."

"I've met your mother. Does your father work?"

"No. He's at home. You might say he's something of a mystic. He's actually not too well. You'll find him interesting."

"Are you an only child?"

Maude hesitated, but then said, "There's Brother."

"Your brother?"

"Yes."

"You call him Brother?"

"Yes, that's odd, isn't it? All I've ever called him is Brother."

"And he answers to that?

"I'm sure it doesn't make any difference. As Shakespeare said, what's in a name?"

At that point the orderly entered with Maude's dinner. Judy unwrapped a BLT she had brought from the restaurant, and the two of them busied themselves with the food. The BLT was messy, with tomato juice dripping out. Judy was not a dainty eater.

With dinner out of the way, they chatted happily about nothing until it was time to go.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Maude did not get out of the hospital at that early date. Judy visited when she could, but she had other responsibilities. Alan on Thursday morning, Herb on Friday evening, and Gary on Sunday morning. On Sunday afternoon Maude told her she would be released sometime Monday.

Monday promptly at seven a.m. she and Rob gathered at the church. "Maude told me she'd be released from the hospital today," Judy said.

"I know. I spoke with her on the phone. She can walk on her own, and there were really no internal injuries."

"I guessed that. Why did they keep her so long?"

"Her parents donate money everywhere, including the hospital. They didn't want to bother with her at home. Sick room, nurses, that sort of thing. It was her mother mostly, the Dad's an odd bird."

"An odd bird?" Judy questioned.

"You'll see soon enough. Maude wants you to move in with them."

Judy was truly shocked. "That's ridiculous. Why would I want to do that?"

"Care and feeding, I suppose. They would care for you like a child."

"Rob, you make it sound bizarre. Are you getting at something I know nothing about?"

"The short answer is yes. But I want you to find out on your own. You'll know soon enough once you immerse yourself in that big house with the iron gate."

"Is this a Gothic tale?" Judy laughed. "Am I in peril?"

"Your only peril is to be pampered like a spoiled child if you go for it hook, line and sinker. They'll love you to death."

"I don't know what you're talking about. They already have Maude and Brother. What would they want with a stray waitress?"

"Brother," Rob said, "is the dearly departed."

"He's dead?"

"Shocking, isn't it. This week, after she gets home, they'll plant a wisteria in his honor."

"A wisteria, one of those climbing things?"

"Yes, usually purple, or some shade of lavender. There are several varieties. If you go to the back of their house, there's a second story gallery. You'll see a variety of wisteria climbing up to that gallery, dedications from days gone by."

"An annual event?"

"Not necessarily. A whimsical event. Whenever the notion strikes them they roll out another wisteria for Brother, crack open champagne and a little lobster pate and crackers. I've attended a couple. Very festive."

This story interested Judy. "Tell me about Brother."

"That is a lengthy story, my dear. I'll leave that to one of the Cranes to relate. Time slips away. We must get on with the task at hand."

"You're talking raw sex in the chapel. Okay, better disrobe first."

"Defrock might be a better term," Rob quipped.

After the heavy breathing and the panting had subsided, Judy changed the topic and asked for the present status of the religious world according to the gospel of Rob.

"You've heard the old song, What a Friend we have in Jesus?"

"Who hasn't?"

"Today it can be even more pronounced with a certain segment. It's like Jesus has been rediscovered and he's your best imaginary friend. He's with you all the time. He helps you choose what you eat for lunch, what you wear to work or play. At any time there's a choice, you might consult him. So that's your modern Jesus, but not so modern."

His statement puzzled Judy and she asked what's so different.

"The difference is that in the past we prayed to God and to Jesus. Jesus didn't travel along with us. Today, to certain people of both sexes and conservatives or liberals alike, Jesus lives. He's a real person. He's a companion. He's alive and wants to be BFF."

"But does he want you to follow any particular path? Is he a teacher? A leader?" These questions had always troubled Judy. Religious leaders often talked in absolutes, but was there an absolute? Is there a rock?

"That, my questing daughter, is a good question. The best of questions. Jesus said, 'Follow me.' But he doesn't say with any accuracy how to do that. Some of his parables are nonsense to our ears. They probably had some meaning to him. Times have changed. So love God and do right. That's the best I can tell you."

"You're just like the rest of them. You raise more questions than you answer. When will my sojourn be complete? Will there be no peace for me in this world or the next?"

"Let's hope not. To be totally at peace would mean one of two things – you'd either be totally bored, or you'd be dead. But now you must go to the Cranes and comfort Maude. I'll warn you, you'll find the old man in extremis if that Latin phrase makes any sense to you."

Jude replied somberly. "I think it means near death."

"Exactly."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Her work done, Judy waited until evening to visit Maude. There had been enough time for her to get settled in her old surroundings. At the gate, Judy alighted from her fragile car and pushed the speaker button. A few words and the gate swung open.

The circular drive was plenty wide to park and to permit other cars to pass, if there were to be any. As Judy alighted from her car, Maude appeared on the front porch with only a slight limp. The two engaged in a long embrace at the top of the porch stairs. Such overt signs of affection no longer bothered Judy. She had become quite the fatalist.

Once inside, the exuberant Maude led the way to a cozy sunroom where they both took comfortable chairs. "Would you like a drink, or maybe something to eat?" Maude inquired.

"Thanks, but no. You have such a nice house and this is such a pleasant room," Judy said, looking around at the vastness of the place. From her seat she could see two very large rooms and a curved staircase leading to the second floor. All of the appointments seemed in the best of taste and cried out "expensive."

"You do seem to be fit," Judy said.

"Never better. Mom and Dad simply kept me at the hospital to get me out of the way. I could have been home a week ago. But, no matter. Here we are together, and I couldn't be more happy."

"I'm glad, Maude. Rob's kept me up to speed on your progress. I guess he haunts those hospital corridors, ferreting out sick Episcopalians."

Maude laughed. She was in high spirits and bubbling over with the excitement of Judy's visit. Although to Judy it seemed a bit over the top. Then she remembered Rob saying Maude wanted Judy to come and live with the family in this big house. It crossed her mind that it was a mansion, but it could be a prison.

She sought a neutral topic. "Rob said you're planting a shrub in honor of Brother. Is there an occasion?"

"It's a wisteria. Brother loved that climbing plant and its cascading blossoms. I mentioned Brother, but I hadn't told you he died, did I?"

"Well, no. But that's such a sad topic. He must have been quite young."

"He was. His death was something of a mystery. We think it involved a whale."

Judy considered that statement for a moment and finally repeated the words, "A whale." After a pause, she added, "One of those huge sea creatures. I know they're not fish. But quite large."

"Yes, a whale. Since he was twelve, Brother attended a whale camp every summer on an island. It wasn't just about whales though. They also studied seals, porpoises and puffins, all indigenous to the region."

"And where might that region be?"

"Oh, the island. It lies somewhere between Maine and Nova Scotia, a very invigorating climate, even in the summer time. I suspect it might have been too invigorating. You see the camp was, and I suppose still is, co-educational. When Brother was fifteen he had a fling with an older girl, maybe just a year or two older. Brother was always beyond his years, precocious one might say."

Judy was attempting to follow the conversation with interest. She inquired if this fling, or affair, might have involved pregnancy.

"Indeed it did and the girl involved gave birth to twins."

"Full term infants?"

"Exactly. I don't know their sex, but I heard they were identical. Now the girl was not an American, or even a Canadian, as if that would be some sort of bad thing. She was from one of those Scandinavian countries, maybe Sweden, where such goings on are considered simply part of life, and newborns are welcome no matter how or where they might appear."

"That's one way of handling such an event, with no ripples, no hard feelings, no demands for marriage that might screw up young lives, no problem. Do you pay child support?"

Maude smiled at that question. "Oh, no. Probably everyone who attends the whale camp is from an affluent family, even across the water. There are plenty of rich folks over there. They were very pleased with the pair of babes, and I'm certain they're getting the best of care."

Judy hesitated, but then asked the obvious question. "You have little or no contact with the overseas family?"

"Yes. That was the decision. Let bygones be bygones. Don't interfere. The girl's family has a right to privacy without us horning in claiming some sort of relationship."

"I see," Judy said thoughtfully. At that point an old man hove into sight wearing what appeared to be a blue bed sheet.

"Here's Daddy," Maude exclaimed, clapping with glee as she sprang from her chair. She gave the old man a warm hug, then turned and introduced him to Judy.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Judy. Maude has told me about you. You're always welcome here. Treat this house as your own."

"Well thank you, Sir. Maude and I are the best of friends."

"Please, call me Daddy. Do you ever drink alcohol?"

Judy smiled at such a question so soon in the conversation. "Occasionally, but not to excess."

"You don't go in for drunk dialing then."

"No, Sir. I mean no, Daddy. I try to keep my wits about me." She wondered where this was leading.

"When I was young, Judy, we had a drink called seven-seven. There was a whisky with the name seven in it, then we mixed it with Seven Up, a common soft drink."

"I'm familiar with it."

"Seven-seven?"

"No, Seven Up."

The old man smiled broadly, standing there in his strange attire. "Well I've done that drink one better and I'll show you in just a minute." He turned and left the room.

Maude giggled and said, "Daddy likes to show off his knowledge of what he calls mixology. He'll be right back. Please try to please him. He simply enjoys a good time."

Judy didn't know whether to inquire about the blue bed sheet or not, then thought she would let it ride as Daddy came back carrying a tray. Placing it on a table he lifted a glass that he said contained Seven Up and a little ice. There was also a spoon and a bottle half filled with what appeared to be whisky.

Placing the spoon on top of the liquid in the glass, he carefully poured in a little whisky. Placing the bottle and the spoon back on the table he announced that he had poured a proper shot into the glass, just over an ounce.

He handed the glass to Judy and said, "Now take just a small drink, no more than an ounce or so."

She hesitated for a split second, and then decided she'd better go along with whatever it was. After drinking, she pulled a wry face and almost sputtered, "That's potent stuff."

Daddy laughed. "See what I mean? The cold drink chills the whisky, which makes it more drinkable, but you can do this all evening, and if you're careful, never get any mixer in your mouth."

"Just pure booze," Maude said, clapping her hands in glee.

"That's right," Daddy said, pouring himself a shot and knocking it right back. "Care for another, Judy?"

She smiled, but declined. "Too rich for my blood. I'm more of a light beer drinker."

"Well, when you're old and housebound, you have to manufacture your own fun. A drink of whisky in the evening, my books, a few TV shows, life is good for as long as it lasts. What do you think of the trick?"

"Five stars for entertainment, half a star for an enjoyable cocktail hour. It's something like John Wayne, or the like stumbling into a bar and demanding three fingers of red eye. Maybe three shots of booze topping off a mixer would make for a short evening for someone like me. I'm no John Wayne in frame or otherwise. But I like the trick. You're a fun guy."

Maude hugged Daddy again. "You're the best Daddy I ever had."

He gave Judy a short hug. "I've looked forward to meeting you. Take good care of Maude. Now I'll leave you two alone." He picked up the tray and left the room.

Judy wondered what the, "take good care of Maude" remark meant. Were they billed as lovers? She seemed to be accepted into the family, but was that a good thing? And why the blue bed sheet? No matter. Roll with the flow, or was it go with the flow, or don't be defeated by the flow. Maybe best to avoid the flow.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

What became known as The Great Rabbit Scare, or the Funny Bunny Hop, depending on who was attempting to crack wise, swooped down like a dark and dismal cloud on the Elegant Eatery.

Someone had found shotgun pellets embedded in the rabbit meat, embedded in the rabbit stew, a specialty of the house, adored by many regulars and the pride of the chef-manager.

This person, name unknown, had turned the portion over to the county health department who dispatched an inspector to report that the restaurant would likely be shut down. Said inspector had been the recipient of various bribes, or maybe better to say gifts, from the restaurant, but he maintained, "I'm just doing my job."

How many atrocities had been committed throughout history by someone who said, "Just doing my job."

The eatery employed quite a number of kitchen staff, wait staff and so forth on various shifts and whose sole support depended on the restaurant. Then there was the small but loyal following of regular customers plus the transient trade. Add to that the vendors, or suppliers. So the inspector was on the threshold of disappointing a considerable quantity of citizens who could care less about a few buck shots in a stray rabbit.

The inspector, who regularly had lunch in the kitchen of the EE, did return to the county offices and sought to permit the EE to continue with a promise to sin no more, but to no avail. There would have to be hearings and evidence and the possibility of a lawsuit from an aggrieved customer.

As it happened, the inspector returned with a cease-and-desist order just as Judy popped in to begin her shift. Instantly, she realized the seriousness of the matter, no less than that of life or death to certain individuals, or something akin to that.

The wheels moved in her head, prompting her to confront the inspector. "This shut down is totally unjust. You have no right to do it," she asserted.

"On the contrary, Judy (she was well known to the inspector) there is a law, maybe a bundle of laws and ordinances about serving the meat of wild animals. There is no system to inspect such meat. If there was, one buck shot would likely be eliminated during the process."

"Certain things are overlooked now and then. The law smiles on the generous person."

"Wild meat is wild meat. To bring down a rabbit with a shotgun and then serve it to an unsuspecting patron is considered unlawful."

"But that is not the case. I happen to know what happened. I myself spoke to the vendor."

The inspector chuckled. "He explained how buck shot lodged into the meat of a legal rabbit?"

"He did. Take my word for it."

"I would very much like to take your word for it, Judy. You are a good person and a prime waitress. But I cannot simply carry your word back to the county department of health. A little something beyond that might be needed."

"Indeed, then," Judy said, "I shall offer a brief explanation. As is commonly known, these rabbits that are a key ingredient to rabbit stew are grown on a farm not far from here. Incidentally, you will be doing great damage to that farm, as well as to many others, if you close this restaurant."

"There must be more to your story," the inspector insisted.

"Of course. A rabbit escaped. Whether on its own or assisted, is not known. So it hung around the enclosure as a bad influence. That free rabbit, although it had to forage for its food like any other wild beast, could have triggered a general rabbit riot, or some form of civil disobedience among the ranks of creatures meant for the stewpot. So it was shot down as one might execute a terrorist."

"And later marketed?" the inspector inquired.

"Yes, possibly a poor decision, but still, it was not an unruly wild rabbit. It was in fact a resident of the rabbit farm, gone astray."

At that point the manager-chef got into the spirit of things and hopped into the conversation. "Can't you see, it had to be killed? It was flaunting its freedom and encouraging others to make a break. It could have gone off and lived a decent life and no one would have been the wiser. One less hare to care for. But, no, it had to make some sort of political statement. Sadly, often the way of all flesh."

"That explanation might seem fanciful to some, but it has a certain merit," the inspector agreed. "A rabbit farmer would not risk his business by tossing in a wild rabbit with many of the domestic breed. I will carry that information back to the board of health, and the restaurant can remain open for the present. I would advise that you get with the rabbit farmer to coordinate your stories. There might be a further inquiry even though both the county powers that be and I have no interest in closing down this establishment. The contrary is true."

So Judy earned a feather in her cap by heading off what seemed to be certain disaster for the Elegant Eatery and painful loss for the rabbit farm.

You would have thought that would have been the end of it, but a newcomer to the EE, a youthful busboy on a gap year, immediately took up the fallen rabbit's part and attempted to inflame the rest of the staff. He pictured it as a martyr for a righteous cause. And that cause is freedom.

He likened it to the civil rights movement that jarred the Southland out of its Jim Crow mold, to the great Wall Street sit-ins, and to the foundation of the Tea Party, both old and new. The young man's name was Arthur, but he wanted to be called Che to the extent that he penned it on his forehead with a felt tip. Of course he did it looking in a mirror, so it was backwards. He talked of Mao heading the Long March and Gandhi leading the peasants to the sea to gather salt.

He was the talk of the restaurant and greatly admired the sound of his own voice. The manager-chef was impressed and promoted him to permanent dishwasher.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

When next Judy encountered the Reverend Rob, she questioned him about the Crane household. In the interim, she had visited several times, had always been treated well by the mother, although their meetings were brief, and the father, who insisted on being called Daddy, always had a smile and a joke. His attire did not change. His blue bed sheet seemed always fresh and clean.

"Does he have a reason to wear that sheet?" she inquired.

"He wears the sheet and Depends."

"Depends?"

"A type of adult diaper worn by the geriatric set. He claims to be channeling Gandhi, the Indian mystic or esthete."

"You mean he talks to Gandhi?"

"I don't know. I think he tries to be like Gandhi, or in fact be Gandhi. It's more a matter of trying to be at peace with the world while not having to worry about one's attire."

"Now that makes sense."

"Perfect sense. Also he's dying."

"Aren't we all?"

"Of course. We were born to die. Depressing, isn't it. But he's dying a bit quicker than the rest of us. So is the missus."

"They're diseased?"

"That's one way to put it. Sounds a bit crude though. Like unclean."

Judy flashed a coy smile. "There's something going on here I'm not in on."

"It happened in Africa. People who have too much money often attempt to spend it in strange ways. They took a Heart of Darkness theme trip, a cruise on the Congo River. Of course they were occasionally ashore and made the mistake of wading in still water. Apparently flowing water is okay, but still water has these things in it that bore into the body."

"Parasites."

"Yes, a form of parasite. Once inside the body they attack an organ. I suppose they live off whatever organ it might be, and it's a random choice. In their case, the organ that was attacked happened to be the brain. That's the worst scenario, and nothing can be done about it."

"What a horror that must be. Is it painful?"

"Apparently not. At least not in the early stages. Since it's a rare thing for an American, and the state of medicine in Africa isn't the highest, there's not a lot known about the condition. I think it's called schistose, but I'm not even sure of that."

"Is the old man taking anything for it?"

"He seems to be using alcohol with some abundance. There's nothing to be done according to the doctors. So it's just as well that he's mildly intoxicated at least for part of the day. If there is pain and if he becomes bedridden, of course they'll make him as comfortable as possible. The Cranes don't want for money or doctors."

Judy was thoughtful, then said, "Maude's mother at first told me to avoid her daughter, but now seems to encourage our getting together. Might the change of heart have something to do with the illness?"

"I'm guessing it has everything to do with it. Maude has never had close friends. This might be partially the mother's fault. She's a bit standoffish. So Mom and Dad are bound for that big country club upstairs. And you're it."

"I hope you're not laying the responsibility on me that I think you might be laying on me, Rob."

"We're in this together, Judy. They also depend on me. They would like us both to be surrogate parents. Rightly or wrongly, they look on us as being more responsible than their daughter. This Brother business and the wisteria plantings is not an indication of overly mature individuals. They were born to money. They did not earn money. You might remember what Gandhi said about that – unearned treasure, simply sinful."

"But who'd refuse it?"

"A rare individual, a hermit type. Not me, and I don't believe you would register disdain."

"You got that right."

As it came to pass, the old man proved to be a tough old bird, and several weeks after Judy and Rob had their conversation, Mrs. Crane passed away suddenly. One morning she simply did not wake up. As a comic might put it, she woke up dead.

She had mentioned a final wish several times in recent weeks, not that she was expecting to cash in any time soon. She wanted to be buried with her parents at Riverside Cemetery. This seemed easy peasy because she was to be cremated, and there was only the small urn to be placed under the earth. But the powers at Riverside said absolutely not. A full plot was necessary for even interring an urn and there was none available in the crowded section her parents occupied.

What to do? Maude, Judy and Rob put their heads together and decided to inter the urn by stealth between the two parents. It would be a carefully worked out night operation. First Maude visited Riverside and made note of the exact location where her grandparents were resting.

Rob visited a hardware store and purchased posthole diggers. They had to be sturdy and new. The plan was to abandon them somewhere in the cemetery in case the police made a surprise visit. Motoring around a cemetery during the night might raise eyebrows.

It was Judy's task to locate a stout sharp blade to remove a ring of sod as a prelude to Rob's burrowing the hole. Maude would lovingly, reverently, place the urn in the hole, Rob would refill it and brush away the excess dirt, and Judy would replace the sod. They would drive some distance through the cemetery, abandon the posthole diggers and be off.

After carefully checking the phases of the moon, a night was chosen. There would be a half moon, enough to give adequate light. With Mrs. Crane enclosed by the decorative urn on the mantelpiece – really an attractive addition to the total décor – the night finally arrived.

They had agreed to wait at least an hour after sundown and perhaps even later, a time when it would be fully dark. As they waited, snacking on popcorn and drinking twenty-five-year-old scotch with water, they agreed the drink was exceptionally smooth, had a smoky, earthen taste and went down exceptionally well. So well, in fact, they were all a bit tipsy when they piled into the car along with the urn and posthole digger and set out for Riverside.

The night was fully dark, save for the half moon, just risen, which gave a faint light. Rain had fallen earlier, and now there was a slight mist that seemed to come and go, lending a ghostly appearance to the silent location. Maude was disoriented by the dark scene and could not be certain of the exact location of her grandparents' plot. The cemetery was large and had a series of looping roads. Rob managed to drive on all of them twice with Maude peering out an open window.

They had been in the cemetery for perhaps a half hour, now driving rather aimlessly, and regretting they had left the scotch at home, when the police arrived. They were easily overtaken and pulled over.

It was an older officer who demanded to see Rob's driver's license. Rob sought to feign sobriety and handed it over.

The officer examined it and said, "We had a complaint about a car driving around the cemetery at an odd hour. Obviously, you fit the bill."

"True," Rob replied. "But this is private property."

The officer nodded in agreement. "But there's something odd about driving around a cemetery after dark. There has been vandalism." Fortunately the urn and posthole digger were concealed in the trunk.

"We are not vandals, officer. I'm assistant pastor at Holy Blood Episcopal church. I've officiated at funerals here, and you might say I'm making an official visitation."

"Visiting the dead," the policeman said.

"Are you a Christian?"

"I am."

"Then you believe in eternal life."

"So I've been told, but I don't see any signs of it in this cemetery, other than you three. There seems to be an odor of alcohol."

"I suppose you can arrest us, or let us go. It's your call."

The officer smiled. Through the mist a soft rain had begun to fall, perhaps influencing the officer's decision. "The ball seems to be in my court. As a Christian I will say go and sin no more. Whatever it is you're up to, you might want to rethink it."

And so the night's exciting episode ended without serious incident.

Three days later, Ron told her that he and Maude had worked out a solution, if she could be at Maude's house at seven thirty the next morning. Rather than ask the details she simply agreed.

The three of them, along with the old man, had coffee, toasted bagels, butter and peach preserves – along with a great deal of good humor from the old man. Then the three of them set out for the cemetery, the posthole digger and urn still in the trunk.

As they drove onto the grounds, Judy quipped, "We are bold as bandits."

"Not really," Rob said. "I have a secret weapon." Maude grinned. This time they drove directly to the double plot where Maude's folks were buried. Judy cut the sod from the ground according to plan. Rob went to work digging a hole.

"We should have been able to do this with a half moon," Judy said.

"Remember we were half in the bag," Maude replied.

The hole was plenty deep, and they had just lowered the urn into the ground when the caretaker arrived in his truck and inquired as to what they were up to.

"We are reuniting my mother with her parents," Maude said. "They are resting here as they have for years. Now Mom will share their eternal rest."

The caretaker scratched his head and said he had no official notification of such an act. In fact he allowed that there was no empty plot here as this section had been filled for years.

"To the contrary," Rob broke in. "I am a minister of the gospel and am presiding over this burial. The deceased occupies a small, decorative urn, and there seems adequate room in which to inter same."

"Yeah, true, but we have certain rules here. This is sacred ground." The man thought a moment, then corrected his remark. "This is not sacred ground. This is sectarian or non-sectarian ground. I get the two words mixed up. If this was a Catholic burying place it would be sacred ground and neither of these two Cranes could be buried here. Well, maybe one of them. You see, I'm familiar with some of those buried here, and the Cranes fall into the category of murder-suicide. Catholics don't allow that sort of thing on their sacred grounds."

"You don't understand," Maude said, seemingly on the verge of tears. "My grandmother was dying of cancer and in total pain. The only time the pain subsided was when they knocked her totally out with drugs. Some life, huh?"

"Not a good life," the caretaker agreed. "But her husband gave her the permanent sleep with a few shots to the head, thus becoming a murderer-suicide. That 'cause he offed himself at the same time."

"Which means she was blameless."

"Which means she may have been blameless, but the Catholic church has rules directly from the Vatican in Rome which say that she may have been in on the deal, thus disqualified for certain things, including Heaven. Anyway, what you are doing seems to be illegal. So what do you have to say to that?" He seemed defiant.

"Here is our permission." Rob withdrew a white envelope from his trouser pocket and handed it to the caretaker who first examined it on the outside, saw nothing, then removed the contents.

After counting ten bills, the man said, "It seems to be one thousand dollars."

"Adequate, I believe, to dispose of a small decorative urn."

The man was thoughtful. "I suppose. How do you mean to dispose of this envelope and its contents?"

"We, our small group of mourners here, we have completed our ritual and will be on our way. If you would do us the service of handling the envelope, we will be forever grateful. There will be no future contact with you or the cemetery."

With that, the caretaker shook hands all around, climbed into his truck and departed.

The old man's downward spiral seemed to gather speed once his spouse was gone. Judy, aware of some responsibility, was a frequent guest to the household, sometimes staying over, all the while continuing her sugar daddy obligations.

This multitasking ground away at her. The Elegant Eatery kept her on an even keel. It offered her a stable schedule. She would show up, work, and then be off work. She enjoyed her conversations with Tyler Morris, the old property owner who dropped by the EE frequently and always reminded her that she could be living in queenly fashion in one of his apartments.

The weekly schedule, or lack of it, was hectic, balancing her sugar daddies with perceived obligations to the Crane household. Her first positive step was to drop Gary, the dentist who had proposed marriage. It was just too much for her.

She did her best to part on good terms after a Sunday morning rendezvous, but he was disappointed as she guessed he would be.

"Was it the marriage proposal that got to you?" he asked.

"It's simply life, Gary. My feelings are totally conflicted. I enjoy your company, but my decision is final. I hope you'll understand. I could say I'm going to move on, or I could say this or that. But I need to uncomplicate my life, and you're the first step. You've brought me joy. We've had fun together. Although apart, we'll remain friends. If I have a toothache, I'll think of you."

Gary laughed. "Think of me as filling a need."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

After unloading Gary, Judy felt her life was still conflicted. Her goals had been dancing around on the horizon, some up in the air, some disappearing. For years she had planned to gather money, maybe borrow it, and earn a college degree. She had grown increasingly wise simply by chatting with diners at the EE. Even for college graduates with a single degree, jobs were not easy to come by.

She thought she had almost enough money to begin day trading if she exercised caution. She had been talking to Alan Cecil about it during her weekly sessions. He had recommended books that she had purchased at a discount online. So far she had read only a few pages. So what to do?

Sorting through her options she decided to uncomplicate her life even more by getting rid of Herb, the car salesman. Their string had just about run out anyway, there had been minor tiffs, and they had simply grown tired of the relationship. So that was no problem. So she was down to two sugar daddies, Rob and Alan, and with extra time on her hands.

For years she had meant to check out family history. She had inherited an old leather suitcase containing odds and ends of family memorabilia, including a series of letters her great-great-grandfather had written to his son. So one day after work, when she had no particular agenda, she sat down to sort through the correspondence. It seemed an odd thing to do after all this time, but she needed something entirely different in her life. The letters would transport here back to a different and perhaps a more simple time.

The grandfather's name was Sanford Brent and his son was named Newton. Both were doctors, although Sanford had mainly farmed, with the help of a passel of slaves, in rural Kentucky. Newton was in the practice of medicine across the Ohio River in Indiana. The Civil War had ended, the slaves were long gone, Sanford was close to eighty and neither he nor his wife was in robust health.

His letters spoke mostly about the weather and his feeble condition, plus Newton's mother's condition, which was in fact bedridden, often praying for death. They were among the majority in that era and at that place who were firmly convinced they were bound for a better place when overtaken by the Grim Reaper at harvest time.

Sanford seemed preoccupied with the weather and his health. Plus he spoke of friends and neighbors who had been fixtures in his life for many years. He also wrote of his inability to hire help to care for his wife. One point of unusual interest was the almost-80 Sanford chiding his son, a full-grown man and a medical doctor, over the care of a horse. The letter, dated January 21, 1878, read:

"You said you had bought a horse for $85. He ought to be a pretty good horse at that. Now see that you take good care of him. I know that you are rather a poor horse master. You ought to take some lessons from George.

"See well to every part of your horse, the feet and legs particularly. If the feet and legs fail, he is of very little account. But as long as the feet and legs are in good order, he may do. Feed regularly and water and never fail to curry well, especially with cloth and brush.

"People will not think much of a doctor who lets his horse run down. Let the man that you got him from see that you have improved him. See that everything you lay your hand on be the better of it. Be particular about your boarding place; board at some reputable house and have very few confidantes.

"Pay attention to reading the best Medical books you can get. Without reading closely, you will run down. Keep yourself properly posted."

At this point the letter digressed to chat about people Judy was unfamiliar with. Then it picked up again with more advice:

"Keep me advised how you are doing. Keep the best company or none. Read the Bible and attend the Methodist church if there is no Presbyterian preaching. Attend others occasionally, show that you are no bigot. Get into no disputes on religious subjects if it can be avoided."

At this point he mentioned a young woman or girl named Eliza, whose name popped up frequently in the letters. Judy suspected that Newton had been married, had children and his wife had passed on. Perhaps Eliza was living with his parents. As the years passed, she did seem to grow and prosper.

Here are the last few lines of that particular letter:

"Have no care about Eliza. She is cared for very tenderly. Godliness is profitable to this life as well as that of course. Get along in the kindest manner possible with others. Your old feeble father, Sanford Brent."

Judy skimmed all the letters and made a promise to go over them again. It was surprising how times and language change so little. Sanford often mentioned not receiving enough mail from Newton. The mail service at that time and place seemed to be good. Then there was the old man's penchant for offering solid advice to his son even into their senior years.

There had been a letter to Newton dated March 12, 1889 which read:

"Harriet married a Presbyterian preacher on the 16th of January, and they stayed here until this day two weeks ago. They took what they had and went to Trenton, Illinois to settle there. We are left with a good deal to do and no one to do it save Eliza and myself."

Harriet was the youngest child of the family, born in the late 1840s, and must have been fairly old when she married. Even so, she bore a son about 1894 who was Judy's great grandfather. The Presbyterian preacher had been married previously and had one son, Pete.

Pondering these letters and a small portion of her family history, Judy wondered what lessons she might take away. She could think of none other than that life was fragile and the paths of glory lead but to the grave. Also, Sanford put her in mind of Polonius, the cunning windbag in "Hamlet," giving advice to his son. She wrote it off to the frustration of old age, the certain sense that you would soon be dead and have to give up all the small components that had made up the entirety of your life.

Sanford seemed to have a firm belief in his religion, that Jesus would take his hand and personally conduct him to the Promised Land. What did she have? An array of news and social services that were not available in rural Kentucky in those days after the Civil War. There were other religions, but were there other Gods? Lower case gods, kitchen gods, gods that lived on some mountain and could care less about we lesser creatures. Eternal Father hear our plea!

Judy wrestled with her own mortality. She had a good mind that had carried her thus far. She was extremely attractive and dripped a subtle sexual quality. So this was skin deep. Her dentist sugar daddy had placed her age at twenty, but in truth she would never see or pass that mark again.

She took passing interest in beauty products as seen on TV or in publications. To purchase said products or procedures she believed would be misspent dollars that might be needed for day trading or some other interesting process. The dream of day trading to her meant much more than simply earning dollars to spend on life. It meant immersing herself into a culture, into a stormy sea of reality and risk, the very intensity and notion of sink or swim.

Of course her plan had always been to swim, to trip lightly over the waves while garnering tons of that basic building material for a pleasant and fruitful life, possibly to age into a pleasant cougarhood, but in reality find that perfect storybook mate and let the years float by like midsummer dreams and cotton candy clouds. Her true goal had always been independence, an end to the struggle here below, an end to relying on others, a comfortable place above the fray.

She knew that the role of each individual on Earth should be to radiate goodness and light, while filling each person touched with confidence, fellowship, a cheerful spirit and hope. Leaving each soul feeling better than before they met. Yet many times she longed for something simply for herself.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When the end came for Mr. Crane it came without advance fanfare. He simply did not wake up one morning. The housekeeper found him and alerted the doctor who arrived before Maude was out of bed. The old man was an early riser, and the housekeeper became suspicious when he didn't bustle into the kitchen for his morning coffee.

His death was anticipated and thus not a great shock. However, he was missed by all who knew him, and there was a brief ceremony on the eighteenth green at the Country Club.

Judy suspected that the old man had simply grown tired of life and may have been the architect of his own demise, not an uncommon happening. There was no autopsy and no questions asked. Cremation followed like a shadow.

Maude became head of household and, with the help of the housekeeper/cook, life went on. There was a question of what to do with the ashes, a remarkably large box full.

Maude, Judy and Rob, who had become quite compatible, pondered and kicked the question around over cocktails for several evenings. Ultimately they bought a case of the smallest canning jars possible and, working on the kitchen counter, carefully spooned the ashes into the jars.

Maude had large, clunky purses, but Judy usually carried none. Maude equipped Judy with a purse and Rob with her Dad's briefcase. Two jars were placed in each carrier, and the three of them set out for the Country Club early one evening.

"Shall we do our deed before or after dinner?" Rob questioned.

Judy had no opinion; as usual the club was foreign territory. Maude said, "My Dad's in those jars and he wouldn't want me to proceed on a sacred mission without some fortification."

"Wine or booze?" Rob questioned.

"Both. I'll have a scotch before dinner and wine during. You're the driver, so stick to wine."

"Jesus would approve," Judy tossed in.

They had rack of lamb and two bottles of wine, one red, one white. After dinner, they walked into the brief gloaming, moving fairly quickly to get the job done before full dark.

At the first green, Maude did the honors. "Goodbye, Daddy," she said emptying one jar of ashes into the sand trap. "You've been here many times before, and now a part of you will rest peacefully through eternity." The other two followed suit with one each of their jars. This act was repeated on the second green until all six jars were emptied.

By that time night had come crashing down and they were over a hill from the club house. Rob was the most sober and locked arms with a woman on each side of him and started back in the direction of the club. Maude fell to her knees a couple of times and finally said, "Damn these heels. I got to get out of these shoes."

The three of them sat on the grass while she struggled with her shoes. "I had sex on the third fairway once when I was in high school," she told the others.

"Did you enjoy it?" Judy questioned.

"I did. It was quite the thrill for me at that time. Danger of discovery, possible pregnancy, a zillion other thoughts. It was hard to concentrate on the act itself. But taking one consideration with another, yes. I don't think we should do it now though."

"Be a bit awkward," Rob said. "The three of us and all."

"I suppose," Maude said. "And then it's more fun sober."

"Reality breaks in," Judy said. "My suggestion is that we have a few more jars of ashes."

"Quite a few," Rob said.

"I suggest," Judy continued, "we do a dawn patrol thing and come out at daybreak for the remainder of the holes."

"That's a swell idea," Maude agreed. "We could bring a picnic."

"Your Dad would approve," Rob said.

Maude struggled to her feet, grinning like a Cheshire cat, "He'd love it. Upward and onward, lead on, Sir Davis." With Rob as a compass, they struggled back to the club for a nightcap.

Over a drink and snacks at the club, Rob asked if Maude had sex on the fairway or in the rough.

Maude giggled and said it was rough, "But the grass was short, so the fairway I guess. There were mosquitoes, maybe chiggers and other icky things. We weren't wearing much, but the little we had on we had taken off. You can imagine the scene."

"I'd rather not," Judy said. "Were you bitten?"

"I was smitten, but also attacked by flying insects. I counted a few bites in the shower. Those were the days." She grabbed a handful of small pretzels and remarked, "You'd think they'd have cashews."

"They're forever running out," Rob said. "I haven't seen a pistachio around here in donkey's years."

"I love pistachios," Judy said, "but only if they're still in the shell."

"Why not shelled?" Maude inquired.

"I just gobble them up. Shelling slows the process and adds to the enjoyment. Anything you work for is more appreciated. It's like an act of love."

"Speaking of acts of love," Rob interjected, "what happened to the lad you had sex on the links with, Maude?"

A shrug and a sigh, then, "Married with two children. Almost everyone I know is married with two children. Why two? It's a mystery."

"One is not enough, three would be too many," Judy said. "The times I've been here with you two I haven't seen many toddlers or otherwise streaking about. Are they taboo?"

"Monday night," Maude said. "Kids night. Best to avoid it." She paused for more pretzels, then said, "Did you hear the outcome of that experiment? Which is more painful – a woman having a child or a man being kicked in the nuts?"

"Scientific?" Rob inquired.

"Certainly. A woman had a baby and a man was kicked in the nuts about the same time. A year later the woman said she was thinking about having another baby, but the thought of being kicked in the nuts again never entered the man's head."

Judy pulled a face and suggested, "Let's call it a night."

In the days ahead the three of them often thought of Mr. Crane's termination. For some reason, Mrs. Crane was soon forgotten, but not the old man. The sight of a blue bed sheet would cause a host of memories to come flooding back.

His death seemed to hang in there, circle above like ebony vultures seeking carrion. What is it about death that has long fascinated the human race? Great stories such as Tristan and Isolde, or Romeo and Juliet must only end in death.

The murders of Joan of Arc, Socrates and Lincoln left their indelible mark and in a way lent them eternal life. Not to mention Jesus. A kiss or a goodbye gains importance far beyond the act if it is the last one. That word "forever." And the veil hiding the mystery of the great beyond.

Always a favorite in literature, Judy recalled fragments from a verse: "The man whose laugh is loudest in his cups... rises and goes away... from mirth into a shroud without a word."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

There came a time when the lawyers had squeezed their last dollar out of the estate and the will was read. The money was considerable, but no surprise to Maude who already had an adequate trust fund. The surprise was that Judy had been left half a million dollars plus any funds needed to pay taxes, thus leaving her with the full half million.

This took the starch out of Maude, who was reduced to tears almost immediately. Both Judy and Rob had attended the reading, Rob because he was given a sea painting he had admired, and Judy at the lawyer's request.

Maude finally blurted out her concern, which had nothing to do with Judy's good fortune, although it did. "You have enough money to make your way in life and you will desert me," she sobbed.

"You misjudge me, Maude. I love you, and Rob loves you. I grieved for your father as you did. Now the three of us each have money. I have some money now, or will, but probably not as much as either of you. My education isn't on a level with you two. But I do feel a measure of economic equality, even though I remain in a state of mild shock. Many unusual things have happened to me in recent weeks and months."

"You likely need to center yourself," Rob said. "And that might apply to Maude. We should all step back and take a deep breath. Let me suggest we meet at the Holy Blood chapel at five, talk things over, or not talk things over, then hit that new Thai restaurant for chow?"

So it was decided. The three of them would soldier on with hope in their hearts. Poor little rich trio.

In that dimly lit atmosphere of the chapel where the light filtered through stained glass, they were thoroughly bathed in spirituality, and the three felt united by an unseen hand. It was akin to a marriage ordained at the dawn of time. Each had the feeling of merging with the other two. What to do? What to say?

It was Judy who spoke first, reaching into her past. "I've never told anyone this, and I'm really not ashamed of my family and early years, but we didn't have money for luxuries. I always wanted an imaginary friend, but felt we were too poor."

This brought a smile to Maude's face, and she seemed slightly startled. "An imaginary friend doesn't come with any freight. They're free."

"You would think so," Judy responded softly, emotionally moved by the setting and her confession. "But I had a much better off actual friend in grade school, and she had an imaginary friend she would tell me about."

"You thought because her family had more money than yours that she was entitled to such a flimsy creature?" Rob inquired.

Judy shook her head. "It was because she would buy her imaginary friend gifts, items I couldn't afford."

"A high maintenance made-up friend," Maude observed.

"I suppose," Judy agreed. "Of course I'm wiser now." She turned to Rob. "Do you think such a trauma can create an invisible scar?"

The question puzzled Rob, but as a trained counselor he felt bound to fashion an ambiguous response. "Anything that impacts your life can do a certain amount of harm to the soul if you permit it to do so. That is not to say that such a minor wound would amount to permanent baggage."

"I think you're perfectly normal," Maude tossed in.

"I tend to agree," Judy said. "Long ago someone said we are all shades of gray. Which shade is hidden? But who really cares."

"Then you think you've put this lack of an imaginary friend thing behind you?" Rob questioned. "Because if you think you have, then the act is complete."

"By talking about it to you two, my good friends, it has definitely vanished as an issue. In fact I feel free now to have an imaginary friend."

"But you also have us," Maude said.

"Imagination," Judy said, "is funny. It makes a cloudy day sunny."

"That's poetic," Maude opined.

"It's a line from an old song."

"What a memory you have," Rob grinned. "You two up for Thai chow?"

"Over curried fish and chicken and Pinot Grigio they discussed future plans."

Judy had already taken steps to dispose of sugar daddy Cecil and had informed Rob that that part of their relationship was over. He seemed disappointed and said perhaps they might simply date with no exchange of assets. She told him she wasn't opposed to the idea, but neither should do anything that would threaten their relationship with Maude. Thus they left the issue hanging.

Maude suggested after all estate and house matters had been cleared away, the three of them might take a trip. It might be a motor trip through North America, or a plane-train trip through Europe and maybe Asia.

Rob was in agreement and said, "It would seem the world is our oyster,"

"Shucking time," Judy agreed. "While we're young."

"While we're young, there are songs to sing," Rob said. "Also a line from a song."

"We must be more original," Maude interjected, then asked Rob to pour more wine and order another bottle. She deferred to him.

Judy drained her glass and said, "I too have envisioned such a trip for the three of us. But I have added a dimension." She fell silent, turning her attention to the curry.

The other two eyed her with curiosity, but refused to pry. They attended to their food. The wine came and Rob refilled the glasses.

Coy as a cat, if cats are coy, she eyed them both and whispered, "You may wonder about that dimension."

"Wonder we might," Maude said, "but we would never ask."

"Then I'll volunteer. Our trip might be, should be, to add an element of interest, a quest."

"The grail," Rob said. "I've always wondered about that."

Maude narrowed her eyes and allowed, "We must ferret out and slay a dragon, preferably one that is menacing fair maiden, or bucolic community."

"You two are such romantics," Judy said. "I propose a modern-day quest. We hit the road as bounty hunters."

After that proposal they babbled on for the better part of an hour and concluded what all agreed had been a very satisfactory evening.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

In the weeks ahead the three realized the pitfalls of the arrangement they contemplated and agreed to deal with them in an adult manner by ignoring them. They considered the Mormon life with Rob being the husband and master and the two women subservient. This was quickly discarded, and sex was at least for the present ignored.

Maude felt she should hang onto her home partly because of her aging housekeeper/cook. The three of them would use it as their headquarters in the States. While traveling they would strive to find two-bedroom suites and would not be adverse to the three of them sharing a room like happy campers.

No matter how the arrangement was sliced up, it continued to resemble a three-way marriage with all the quirks and oddities embedded in such a situation. They agreed that any member could drop out at any time.

Maude and Judy sometimes spoke privately about Rob's seeming obsession with the repetitive nature of life. He would talk at length about toothpaste. The purchase of toothpaste, the using of toothpaste, the ending of the tube, then the necessity of purchasing more toothpaste. The process repeating itself time after time.

He had also heard that there were individuals who never brushed their teeth, used mouthwash instead, and others who flossed excessively. Dental hygiene seemed never far from his mind. The two of them wondered if such an issue might lead to a blowup.

Judy seemed serious about the bounty hunter project and had already started to look around the Internet for major criminals to track down. Maude had suggested Jack the Ripper. Judy pondered that notion and wondered if there would be a reward, an essential element in the bounty hunting game.

Maude was truly surprised when Judy assured her that she, Maude, would marry Rob one day. This was partly because she had considered sharing her life with Judy. There seemed to be conflict a there, and Maude asked how Judy might know such a thing.

"I read a lot," Judy explained. "You and Rob are both Ivy Leaguers. I'm from that great unwashed set. It's an unwritten rule that you must wed to perpetuate your elite class. The schools that you attended might be called a dating service, almost an arranged marriage mechanism. I mean no offense."

"None taken," Maude said, a bit downcast. "You know you're my very best friend, Judy. We can travel together. We don't really need Rob."

"That's true, and we might do that. But you would be betraying your class if you married beneath yourself. It's like a genetic thing you have. For you, I'm simply substituting the term Ivy Leaguer, there's probably a better one known to sociologists, but there's an underlying desire for perpetuation. You might not even like it, but to resist it would be like swimming against the tide or to resist an all-powerful magnet."

"I don't think Rob thinks that much of me."

"I don't know Rob's mind," Judy conceded. "But if not Rob, then some other country club type will come along when it seems that marriage is inevitable. You might barely tolerate one another. Your basis for a sound, enduring marriage would rest totally on class. And it would work. Your spouse would be a Wall Street type and you would plan garden parties and have a steamy affair with your tennis coach."

"Who would my husband fuck?"

"His secretary or an intern, or more likely, both."

Maude chuckled. "At the same time?"

"Probably not. Each should think it was more than just sex."

"A grand illusion."

"Charades. With all parties participating. But through such a marriage you would continue a long line of existing inequalities. You might say," Judy continued, "these elitists tend to gravitate together, gated communities and the like, pricing others out, a type of self-segregation, super-rich ghettoes."

"That's not what America's all about," Maude complained.

"That's exactly what it's about," Judy said. "How many truly important people have you heard of who lack either a Yale, or Harvard degree? But there is a meritocracy. Oh, well, I shall probably never marry."

Maude giggled with delight at that statement. Judy would be all hers for the foreseeable future. Then she thought, jeez, half a million should catapult Judy into the elite set. And after all, we can only live one day at a time. We few, we happy few, we bounty hunters.

Things seemed to be going quite well for the next few days. Rob resigned his job, or was it a calling? Judy quit the Elegant Eatery among a tsunami of tears and hugs. Sleeping arrangements were made, and the three of them, plus the elderly housekeeper/cook, shared Maude's dwelling.

Hours were spent over drinks working out what to pack, or more like what not to pack. The conclusion was obvious from the start. Each would take a small wheeled carry-on, avoiding the numerous pitfalls of being over-bagged.

Judy made the mistake of telling Maude that she loved Rob.

This statement hit like a star fire rocket if there is such a thing. "What about all the talk that Rob would marry me?" Maude demanded.

"Oh, I don't love him in a romantic way," Judy replied. "I love it that he's one of us. I love you too. I suppose it's a platonic sort of thing."

Maude would have liked to ask if Judy loved her in a platonic way, but decided not to. It had been a false alarm, but she was in a fragile mood.

It took some time, but Judy finally came into her inheritance. A couple of hundred thousand was in real estate that kept increasing in value. The property management firm that handled the holdings would pay at least twelve to thirteen percent annually.

Stocks and bonds made up the bulk of the remainder, paying between eight and ten percent annually. Less than a hundred thousand was in cash. Judy had been reading up on the stock market to sharpen her day trading skills. She was extremely cautious, but with her sugar daddy money she had already purchased a small amount of mining stock, principally because the company owned a precious metals mine called the Lucky Hamster. Now who could resist that?

Thoughts of day trading were fading fast. She was now scouring the world for wanted criminals with a bounty on their head. The mere thought of it made her heart dance. She wondered if her partners took her notion seriously. She hoped not. She checked out insurance companies forced to make large payouts for stolen jewels, paintings and other valuables. Early contacts seemed to bring enthusiastic responses. Help, particularly well-financed help, from any source was welcome.

At long last, the big day came. Carry-ons in hand, or actually dragging them, they hit the airport and boarded a plane for JFK. A rush of excitement, the adventure was afoot. Once airborne, they were given a small pack of pretzels and a cup of bloody Mary mix. Is this living, or what?

CHAPTER NINETEEN

At JFK, the trio took the train to Penn Station, then a cab to their hotel. As the chief bounty hunter, Judy had assumed temporary control of the group. She had always yearned to visit the Russian Tea room. She had booked a two-bedroom suite right next to it.

The hotel, the Salisbury, was also near both Central Park and Carnegie Hall and within walking distance of Times Square. Thus they settled in to explore the city that never sleeps at their leisure. It was Judy who was new to the Big Apple. The other two were quite familiar and comfortable with the city.

With her list of top-level thefts, Judy was anxious to visit a few art galleries. The list was daunting, but she picked the area called Chelsea, once a major gallery hub, but now in decline for a couple of reasons. First, the entire art gallery scene seemed to be in malaise, attendance had dropped sharply. Second, rents in Chelsea were on the rise and had forced galleries to either close for good, or move to cheaper locations.

Gallery owners conceded that major collectors, who once dropped in on a regular basis, now simply shopped online.

Judy did an online search, checked the phone book and talked to the concierge to produce a list of ten galleries for the three to visit. She hoped that ten sprinkled over a few days would not be too many to spook her partners, both of whom seemed eager to either go along with her plan or humor her caprices.

Their first visit was to the One Ear Less in the heart of Chelsea. The works ranged from traditional to modern to puzzling. While the other two were busy viewing, peppering each work with lively comments, Judy cornered the manager, a balding middle-age man named Greg Blythe, and explained their situation.

Blythe was also the owner of the gallery. Their situation, as Judy explained it, was that they had a house and they had money, but the house had some bare walls, or walls decorated with mundane prints. They were seeking something special, some known works to spruce the place up.

It was obvious to her that he wasn't impressed by the art scene in their city.

"Most people have heard of our town," she said. "But they haven't heard much that's outstanding. But we have the usual things. Libraries, churches, the so-called power group, a couple of festivals, some good restaurants, a good public transit system, civic pride, enough live entertainment, including theater and music. I could go on."

Blythe smiled and said, "I understand. At the moment, I'm dealing with second tier artists, maybe folks on their way up, still not well known. But something comes along now and again. I could even look around for you, on commission, of course."

Judy grinned like a crocodile. "Don't worry about the money, Greg." She nudged him with her elbow and actually winked.

"Where are you staying, Miss, Miss..."

"Blazer. Judy Blazer. We have a suite at the Salisbury. You know it?"

"Of course. Good location. You'll be there for a time?"

"Several days."

"Good. No promises. But if I run into anything, I'll call."

With that the trio continued on their rounds, hitting two more galleries before lunch and two in the afternoon.

As they rode a cab back to the hotel, Maude remarked, "Ninety percent of the stuff we saw today I'd not hang on a wall in our house."

"Closer to ninety-nine percent," Judy laughed. "But we're bounty hunters, remember."

"Of course we are," Rob agreed. "Now about dinner..."

Tired after the day's activities, they took brief naps, and then over drinks decided to grant Judy her other wish, dinner at the Russian Tea Room, handily next to the hotel.

Seated in the grand venue, a watchful eye out for celebrities said to arrive in wholesale lots, they decided to marinate in the epicurean delights and atmosphere by each ordering a different dish.

The appetizer came first, but not really. First they ordered wine. Maude, a glass of Misterio, a Malbec from Mendoza, Argentina; Judy, a glass of LeFredis Pinot Grigio from Friuli, Italy; and Rob, a half bottle of Veuve Clicquot Ponsarin Brut.

Of course that was only the first round, and then on to the appetizers. They checked out the Red Borscht and decided that was passé.

Judy ordered the Pelmeni Siberian style – beef and foie gras filled dumplings in consommé finished with black truffle oil. Maude opted for the Blinchik, a stuffed crepe with cabbage, mushroom and beef, served with sweet and sour tomato marmalade.

Rob gave in to the House Cured Salmon Gravlax – a duo of vodka and dill marinated and mixed peppered gin gravlax served with potato blini and sour cream spiked with fresh horseradish.

They could have been satisfied with just that, but no, this was a night to remember. On to the entrée. For Maude it was Boeuf a la Stroganoff, Judy ordered Kulebiaka, and Rob, a dish he had heard of previously, Chicken Kiev.

The check with tip exceeded $500, and they trudged back to their suite and fell into their beds without even a traditional nightcap or a fare thee well.

During the next three days they visited a few galleries, but generally made the tourist rounds, a boat trip around Manhattan Island, the Statue of Liberty, restaurants, sandwich shops, steamed clams, night spots recommended by the concierge, tips for the concierge, getting to know one another a little better, avoiding thoughts of romance. Things were advancing swimmingly.

Then the owner of One Ear Less called Judy early one morning. "I've learned of a person, an individual, who has at least one work from a well-known artist for sale. If you'd like, I'll give you his number."

She did like and she obtained a number and a single name, Brook. Greg Blythe told her if a deal was made, Brook would compensate him. That day Brook did not answer his phone, and there was no recording device. He did pick up early the following morning.

"Brook, my name is Judy Blazer. Greg Blythe said that you might help me. Me and two friends are looking for some really good works of art for our home. Paintings, not sculpture or pottery."

"You an art major?"

"Far from it. I'm a former waitress who inherited money. My friends were born with it. We do have assets."

"You've read about art, though. Greg told me the three of you are gallery crawling."

"I suppose you might say that. We're mainly tourists. Seeing the sites, you know. Very likely we'll go to Europe next. Could be Asia. Three people out to see the world."

"I'd like to meet you," Brook said.

"All three of us?"

"No. Since you're the one who talked to Greg, just you would be OK. Then you can pass the word."

"Sounds OK. Where and when?"

"You're at the Salisbury?"

"Correct."

A sandwich shop a couple of blocks away. Go out the hotel and turn right. It's called Eddy's. How about this time tomorrow? I've got to work, you know."

"Fine. Let's hope we can do business."

"I hope. I think you'll be pleased."

CHAPTER TWENTY

The excitement showed when Judy told the others about her meeting. "I have one preparation to make before I meet this Brook."

"Ah, danger," Rob said, his eyes lit up. "You want me to trail you?"

"Hmmm. No. That would be too obvious. But you and Maude could be in the restaurant eating breakfast when I arrive. Then you could leave. The idea would be simply to get a look at Brook."

"Look at Brook," Maude giggled with delight.

Judy rolled her eyes, then said, "Look at Brook. Yes. Well, it might be nothing at all, but there is something of a mystery here. Two people trysting in a coffee shop, a place called Eddy's in this, the city that never sleeps."

"Add creepy music," Rob tossed in.

"Well, I'm excited," Judy said. "Time will reveal its innermost secrets."

Judy arrived first at Eddy's the following day. At least she thought she did. Rob and Maude were already there and had plates of bacon, eggs and home fries on their table, along with cups of coffee. Judy took a table for two some distance away. When the waitress approached she ordered coffee.

There had been no recognition code, but Judy assumed Greg had given Brook her general appearance. Coffee arrived, then a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, dropped into the seat across from her and announced, "I'm Brook."

"I'm Judy."

The waitress returned and he ordered coffee, then remarked to Judy, "I've had breakfast."

Judy nodded and said, "A good breakfast sets the tone for the day."

"So I've been told. Greg said you and two friends live in some sort of group house and want to decorate the walls with good art."

"That's true. Something of value. Something we could take pride in. You might say known artists."

"This is not a hippy commune type thing. You do have some assets?"

"Indeed. My friends, Rob and Maude, were born to money, country club types. I've known them for some time, then recently inherited enough to live on. So we're traveling, doing the tourist bit and looking around for art. You might wonder about the house. Maude's parents died recently and she decided to keep the house because of an old housekeeper-cook who's like a family member. So the three of us decided to live together, at least for the present."

Brook smiled. "Yes, times can change. Spats, fallings out, all sorts of unexpected human things. You've heard of the Impressionist School of art?"

"French, late 1800s into early 1900s."

"Correct. An artist named Edouard Manet is credited with starting it about 1863 with a painting called Dejeuner sur L'herbe."

"Don't know it. I've always liked The Boating Party."

"One of the best known," Brook replied. "The Manet work kicked up quite a stir by breaking the fairly rigid traditions such as those set by The Academie des Beaux-Arts. The imagery was loose, colorful palettes, rarely black or gray, landscapes, scenes from daily life."

"It's a wonder it faded, but those things happen," Judy said. "What followed?"

Brook shrugged. "Everything, I guess. Cubism, Abstract, on and on to the mishmash we have today. I don't mean to offend, but I am curious, are you three in a ménage a trois?"

Judy laughed slightly. "In no way. Possibly the opposite. There is no sex involved. Up to now anyway. As you mentioned, we mortals are ignorant of the future." She was beginning to like Brook. He was maybe 5-foot 9, medium build, sandy hair, which seemed to be thinning, blue eyes, not flashing blue, just run of the mill blue.

"Back to art. You must think I'm either a con man, or something of a mystery, meeting this way."

"I'm guessing whatever, you're game, we're talking Impressionist paintings."

"That's the general idea. I have a line on one or more works. At auction they would sell for millions. But from a private person, I might be able to arrange a bargain."

"From a private person to a private person," Judy said.

"To three private persons, if the money is there."

"That, or these paintings are in your possession?"

"No. They must be picked up at a place that is not out of the way."

"In Manhattan?"

"In Paris."

"Ah, their original home."

"Exactly."

"How authentic? They are authentic, aren't they?"

"You must trust me."

"Somehow I do. Can you drop a few names?"

"Degas, Monet, Liebermann."

Judy had heard of Degas and Monet, but not Liebermann. She repeated the three names in her head in order to remember. "I must talk to my friends. I have a good impression of you. But there are considerations when money might be exchanged. If there is a possibility of copies, that is fraud. I'm thinking any obstacle can be overcome. Would it be possible to meet you here tomorrow at the same time?"

"Hmmm, maybe not here." There was distrust in his eyes. "I could call you at this time in the morning and arrange another meeting place. How would that be?"

"Perfect." She extended her hand and Brook shook it. "We can be partners." Both smiled and possibly had the same thought, partners in crime.

The day was fairly young and Judy sought to follow up on a wheel she had set in motion. Rob and Maude were somewhere exploring on their own, but they called late in the morning and the three lunched together on steamed clams and crunchy bread.

After a post-luncheon nap at the hotel, Judy gave a rundown on her meeting with Brook. "Incidentally, I found out who he is and where he lives."

"I thought we were dealing with a crime figure," Rob said."

"Not the top of the line," Judy returned. "More of a starving artist, a frustrated starving artist. I rather like him." Maude's ears perked up at that statement and she was about to question what sort of shine Judy had taken when Judy continued. "I got a private eye out of the phone book, called him, gave him Brook's phone number. It was a landline to some sort of shabby rooming house where our man lives. He asked around, identified him and trailed him to the coffee shop."

"Elementary, my dear Watson. Really amazing," Rob said with some admiration.

"Anyway," Judy continued, "He mentioned three Impressionist artists –Degas, Monet and Liebermann."

"Degas did all those dancers," Rob said. "Mostly young girls in those frilly ballet type skirts. A Degas original would be worth big bucks."

"So would Monet," Maude threw in. "I spent part of a semester on him in college. He did seasons like spring and autumn, also something about red boats, Waterloo Bridge, a train in winter. The lists goes on and on. But who's the kraut?"

"I checked on him," Judy said. "He was a leading Impressionist in Germany, lived up until 1935, apparently had a gallery or dealt in art in some way and I believe made mostly prints."

"I've seen his work," Rob said. "All those insane German titles. And speaking of Germany, I've got a stop on our future horizon. Top of the line food in a relatively small Black Forest town."

"Heavy and gaseous, I suppose," Judy chided. "Sauerkraut, potatoes, the worst of the bratwurst and knackwurst topped with liters of beer served by robust Rhineland beauties."

"Far from it," Rob said with a wise grin. "Baiersbronn, population of maybe 1600 has a three star Michelin restaurant. A nearby rival, the Schwarzwaldstube also has three stars – the same number of three-star restaurants as in London and twice as many as Chicago. Poland has a single restaurant with one star. The German community also has a one-star restaurant and a thirty minute drive away there is a two-star in the Hotel Dollenberg."

"How can you remember all that stuff?" Maude questioned.

"I did prep school partly in a German speaking area of Switzerland. They speak German, and it comes back to haunt me."

"They're into money, aren't they?" Judy asked.

"You mean Zurich, yes. Big bucks, lots of money. The type we bounty hunters will be into."

"You may jest," Judy replied, "but wait for a day or two. You may think you're on top of the game, but I'm way ahead of you."

"Lead on."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

On time, Brook called the following morning and suggested Judy walk directly from the hotel into Central Park and he would find her.

That's exactly what happened, more or less. She found him. He was seated on a park bench and she sat down beside him. "Long time no see, Brook. That's Chinese English."

"A little levity to start the day."

"Why not. I'm guessing you've had breakfast."

"Coffee and everything. You were saying?"

"Yes, I'll come to the point in an upfront sort of way. I know who you are, Marlin Bobrook, late of Atlanta." If he was shocked, he took it very well.

"Very late. It's been some years. You a cop?"

"No. I can help you and help myself. I've done a bit of checking. You're an artist, a fairly good one, but with the competition these days and galleries tottering everywhere, just name stuff selling, you're struggling, possibly one of the starving varieties."

"I've a variety of jobs. In this neighborhood a big one is dog walking. So I feed myself and have a trifle left over for beer."

"And skittles."

"Whatever those are. How can you help me?"

"For openers, everything I've told you is true about the three of us. We are at the Salisbury and you're welcome to visit and meet the gang. We started this tour with my idea, and the others tried to humor me, kid me along, as bounty hunters. I have a list of high-value stolen property including your Impressionists."

Brook seemed to gasp slightly at the phrase bounty hunter, but quickly recovered.

"Now we do a turn around. You have the pilfered art. How did you get it, and who knows? At least you know where it is. We, and you can be included in this if you like, go to London, visit the insurance company, collect two or three hundred thousand for recovering the lost property, divide it among ourselves with you getting the largest share. Take the Chunnel train to France and have a couple of good meals with wine. How does that reach out and clutch at your heart?"

"Like a dream come true. I'm actually too nervous to steal. I have the tender heart of an artist."

"The paintings are safe?" Judy questioned.

"I believe so. Within walking distance of the museum where they were on loan."

"You buy my plan?"

"Right down to the ground. It's like my fairy godmother ascending from the skies to shower me with diamond dust, or a reasonable facsimile."

"If you trust me, and I believe you do, how about having dinner with us tonight?"

"It's the best offer I've had this year. You'll pay?"

"You bet. Meet us in the lobby at seven."

"Dandy. I get too hungry for dinner at eight."

"Me too. See you then."

As it came to pass, Marlin Bobrook fit like a calfskin glove. Rob enjoyed his company, and Maude seemed quite taken with him, which pleased Judy. She had someone else to make cow's eyes at other than her original two companions.

The foursome flew off to London and booked a two-bedroom suite at the Kensington. They first considered the St. James, but it and others up the line, were simply too expensive for simple American tastes. Maybe they could tell the difference between Egyptian cotton sheets and Sears and maybe they couldn't. Marlin could bunk in with Rob. Thus the trio became two interchangeable couples with no heavy breathing.

The task of dealing with the insurance company was left to Judy. She had fought life's battles and had the down-to-earth sense that both Rob and Maude lacked. Marlin would be kept quietly sequestered to the extent possible. He had yet to reveal the exact location of the paintings.

While her three jolly companions were seeing the sights, starting with a Greyline tour of the city, it took Judy half a day to go through the chairs of the insurance giant and come up with a person capable of making a deal. His name was Peter Henderson.

"Mr. Henderson," Judy began, once in the great man's presence, "it's my understanding your firm insured three French Impressionist paintings on loan to a French art museum. These works of art seem to have disappeared some time ago."

"That could be true, Miss..., what did you say your name was?"

"Blazer, Judy Blazer."

"Miss Blazer. How would you come by such information?"

"Really, Mr. Henderson, it's common knowledge."

"Not all that common. You are an American."

"Does that mean I'm sub-human?"

Henderson waved his hands in the air in protest. "Not at all. I simply mean you seem to be a tourist. Is that correct?"

"You're placing me in a box, aren't you? A tourist box. I'm a tourist. That's it from A to Z. Simply a tourist. Is there a smart insurance executive in the building?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"I've come to help you recover the paintings. Has the claim been paid yet?"

"That information is confidential."

Judy rose to her feet. "Then I suppose my information is confidential. If you prefer to pay the claim rather than recover the paintings, then Degas, Monet and Liebermann are simply down the drain, or maybe in the hands of an extremely private collector." She started out of the office, but he rose and asked her to remain. He was an older man with thinning silver hair, erect, a military posture, a perfect fitting midnight blue suit.

"I've been rude. I apologize. The claim's been held up. It hasn't been paid."

Judy returned to her seat and Henderson to his. "Perhaps we can do business," she said. "Frankly, my friends and I are not paupers. We started our travels as bounty hunters. That was my idea, almost a joke. Then we did stumble on the art. But a price must be paid."

Henderson was pensive and seemed to reflect. "I believe you, Judy. You don't mind if I call you Judy?"

"Not at all, Peter."

This brought a slight smile to his face. He was British and many years her senior. "A situation like this is always delicate. There is always a possibility that we are dealing with one or more art thieves. You understand, don't you?"

"Of course. You have the choice of recovering the art, or walking away. Perhaps you must explain to the police, would that be Scotland Yard?"

"New Scotland Yard."

"They will roll me into custody and find out that I was working as a waitress in a no-star diner on another continent when the heist was underway." Her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward. "Was I pulling the strings? Am I a puppeteer?"

"You're a very beautiful woman, Judy." This out of nowhere.

"I see. Attractive." She tapped her head. "But nothing up here."

"I didn't say that."

"You haven't said much of anything. You need room to think and, perhaps, consult. What if I come back tomorrow?"

"That would be good. Ten O'clock."

"Nine. I'm an early riser."

"See you then."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Judy smelled a rat, or at least a gathering of mice witches. She took appropriate measures, dispatching the boys far and away, plus suggesting to Maude that she engage a lawyer first thing tomorrow. Everyone was on board for the next phase of the adventure.

When Judy was ushered into the executive's office the following morning, she found Peter Henderson along with two other men.

"Miss Blazer," Henderson began, "this is Eldridge Morse, our CEO and this gentleman is Inspector Parson from Scotland Yard. I conferred with Mr. Morse and he suggested this meeting."

Judy took a careful look. All three of the men were dressed fastidiously. An empty chair was placed more or less in front of them and she sank into it and asked, "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"You can tell us where the paintings are," Morse said calmly.

"I don't happen to know," she replied "I offered to help Peter here recover the art works. That's as far as I go."

"You must have had a reason for such an offer," Morse said.

"I did, but that seems to be ancient history now."

"Why so?" Morse questioned.

Judy grinned. "Apparently you're about to have me taken into custody, possibly incarcerated for months or years. I see little percentage in playing the good Samaritan."

"It might save you from jail," Morse countered.

"I don't know about your laws over here. I'm an American tourist. I've heard this country's been taken over by Muslims. Is that true?"

It was Morse who smiled broadly. "Not yet. We may be moving in that direction."

"Then you've not adopted their laws yet?"

The inspector frowned, but said nothing. Henderson seemed frustrated and said, "We'd simply like to know about the three works of art."

"I'm simply not up on that. I simply said I could help locate them."

"For money," Morse interjected. "You offered to sell them to Mr. Henderson."

"Where in the world did you get such an idea? I told him if we helped him regain the items there would be a fee. A fee for time spent, such as yesterday's and today's meetings and sundry other expenses. If Peter told you differently, he's twisted the truth." She turned to Henderson. "Did you lie to them, Peter?"

"No. I mentioned no arrangements other than the word fee. This whole police thing wasn't my idea."

Judy seemed full of good cheer. "You seem to be the bright one. My offer of course is null and void. Perhaps for the best. I don't know where the missing items might be and perhaps that's the way to leave it. Unless the good inspector, who doesn't seem gifted with speech, has other ideas." She fixed her gaze on Inspector Parson who looked away. A beautiful girl in her prime, she had a way with her.

She rose to go just as a uniformed officer burst into the room accompanied by Maude and a strange middle-aged woman.

"I found these two in their hotel room at the Kensington, Inspector. I brought them here straightaway, just as you asked."

The inspector nodded and finally spoke. "Who might they be?"

"This one's the woman, Maude Crane," he said, checking a small notebook and indicating Maude. "The other one claims to be her attorney, but she refused to show me any identification."

"Weren't there two men?" the inspector questioned.

"Only these two, Sir. Me and my partner searched the hotel room."

"Without benefit of warrant," the attorney said. "You caused your patrolman to commit quite a breach of the law. My card." She handed the inspector her card and he examined it for a long moment.

"We had the belief a crime had been committed," he allowed.

"A judge will have to rule on that," the attorney said. "We are a nation of laws. It might bring you pleasure to abuse American tourists, but we are not heathens without the law."

"We believe they've used the Kensington for some sort of criminal front. A grand hotel to impress this insurance company. I feel justified in ordering this officer and his partner to bring the other gang members to justice. They apparently have in their possession three very valuable works of art and are attempting to market them to this firm that originally insured the items, perhaps worth millions. But where are the two other miscreants?" He looked at Maude.

The attorney said, "I've ordered my client to stand mute."

He directed his gaze at Judy. "I'm guessing that tourists would be touring at this hour," she said. "Why don't you try the British Museum?"

At this point Henderson's secretary entered the office and announced that she had the information her boss had been seeking. He asked her to read it aloud.

"The woman Maude Crane is the sole survivor of the Crane millions. It's a fabulous amount of money, maybe hundreds of millions in U.S. dollars plus stocks and bonds. The other woman, Judy Blazer recently inherited more than half a million from the Crane estate. She already had some money, but I have nothing on that.

"One of the men, the Rev. Robert Davis, an Episcopal minister, has both a trust fund worth millions plus various financial holdings of his own. I've yet to run down the fourth member of the party, but I thought these figures might interest you, Sir."

"They certainly do. Good work. Forget about the fourth man."

Judy spoke up and suggested to Maude, "If they arrest us please have your attorney notify the American embassy that the police are holding two American women for no reason. She might also alert Washington. I know your and Rob's families have made generous political contributions over the years."

"That won't be necessary," the inspector said wearily. "You are both free to go."

"And we will talk again," Peter Henderson said to Judy.

"You must be joking. Pay off the policies. Forget we ever crossed the pond. Let no good deed go unpunished."

Henderson called early the next morning, as Judy knew he would. He invited her to breakfast. She asked him to come to the hotel. There was a dining area on the mezzanine with the full English breakfast, an omelet station and the usual complement of fruits and pastries.

She and Maude were both there when he arrived. She had searched the room with her eyes to see if any obvious police types were present. She saw none. Greetings were exchanged and few words spoken. Toward the end of the meal, Maude rose and asked Henderson to come with her. He appeared puzzled, but complied. Judy watched them go and waited to see if they were followed.

When Judy returned to the room, Maude was watching CNN. Henderson's clothing was piled on one of the beds.

"He's in the shower, just as you suggested. I pawed through his clothing and didn't find anything that looked like a recording device. Shall I ask him to come out?"

"Why not."

A few minutes later Henderson came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. "This was totally uncalled for," he stated. "I just want to talk."

"It's a chilly day," Judy said. She handed him a blanket. "Wrap yourself in this and we'll talk on the balcony."

Henderson's eyes widened, but he said nothing. After taking seats on the balcony, which afforded a great view of that part of London, Henderson muttered, "This is stupid."

"Calling in the police inspector was stupid."

"Not my idea."

"I thought that might be the case," Judy said. They had ordered a pot of coffee earlier and Maude sat quietly by sipping a cup.

"We've gone to a lot of trouble," Judy began. "You can have the art work for $300,000."

"That's a lot of money," Henderson replied.

"Really, Peter. It would seem to be, but it's not millions. Would you have to pay the value of all three? And is the third one a print?"

"I think it is," he replied. "An original print, maybe the only one in existence. And yes, there was adequate security. So we are liable for the entire amount. It happened in France. So some things we'll never know."

"But that's it, $300,000," Judy repeated.

"When the three items are returned."

"In advance."

"Impossible."

"Possible," Judy insisted. "You know we have the money and you know we're not criminals. So have your lawyers write up an agreement. If the artwork isn't returned within thirty days after the money is paid, we return the $300,000. Both Maude and I will sign for it."

"Thirty days. Seems a long time."

"It is, Peter. That's simply in case something goes wrong. We should be able to complete the job in ten days. I'll open a Swiss or German bank account and you can deposit the money there."

"Why not British?"

Judy laughed. "We don't want Scotland Yard poking around. You're not on such intimate terms with the Swiss or Germans. They're all business. No nonsense."

"Ah, yes," Henderson replied sarcastically, "We Brits and all our nonsense. The plan seems solid enough. I don't think Scotland Yard's going to bother with us. The good inspector seemed properly shocked over that financial report." He turned to Maude who had just drained her cup. "If you're seeking a husband I can turn up a few candidates."

She smiled sweetly and said, "I'd like to be adored for my mental ability. You do look fetching in that blanket. Is it the newest style in blighty?"

When he had gone Judy asked Maude if she had trouble getting him to take his clothes off.

Maude laughed. "Some. But maybe he's something of an exhibitionist. I did have to convince him to take a shower. Something for him to do while I went through his things. I do think they just want to get the art back now, and the amount is a small price to pay."

"But there you were, alone in a hotel room with a naked gentleman. Was it thrilling?" Judy was enjoying herself. Maude enjoyed the simple things in life.

"He's fairly old, but he reminded me of a therapist I once had. We were quite into one another."

"You had sex?"

"No. Unfortunately he died before anything dramatic happened."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He's in a better place. I hear from him about once a month."

"From over there, the better place?" Judy wondered where this was going.

"I suppose. It's always an early morning dream. He has the strangest tales." She laughed, as if to herself. Judy decided to drop the topic and helped herself to a cup of cold coffee. She must contact Rob and Marlin who were somewhere in northern England or Scotland. Arrangements had to be made.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The end game went fairly well. Rob and Marlin returned. Henderson showed up with a legal paper to be signed. The insurance company realized they were buying back the artwork from a thief, probably Marlin, but there was no chance of either prosecuting or recovery while working with the French authorities.

Rather than wait to place the money in a yet-to-be opened account, Judy was handed a check. The four of them decided Marlin should have half the money – Rob and Maude ruled to give Judy the other half.

Then it was off on the Chunnel train to Paris and a suite at the ancient Hotel du Louvre, near both the Seine and Rue de Rivoli. On a whim, Rob had booked the Suite Pissarro, which had been occupied by the artist Camille Pissarro in 1898.

Always the starving artist, Marlin Bobrook said he would prefer a hovel, or artist's loft on the Left Bank rather than what he referred to as "bourgeois degeneracy." As it happened, despite the luxury of the suite, it had only one bedroom, which meant that Marlin and Rob had to immediately move to the third-rate hotel where the artwork was hidden.

A pair of odd circumstances had come together when Marlin had the opportunity to lift the artwork from the gallery. He was working as a drywall helper for a contractor who had jobs going in both the gallery and the nearby cheap hotel. Everything was being moved about in the gallery, resulting in minor chaos, and much of the work was being done at night.

Generally, as honest as an Atlanta man can be, Marlin spotted the opportunity to toss a drop cloth over the three items and cart them off to the hotel. He spent the remainder of the night dry-walling them up in room 385.

When Rob and Marlin showed up at the hotel, baggage in hand, Rob told the clerk they would like to book room 385.

"I'm afraid, Sir, it is occupied. We have many rooms almost identical. Might you be interested in another?"

"Of course, but we will be staying for several days. If 385 becomes available, could you save it for us?"

"That is possible. But why that room?"

"Sentimental reasons. I spent my honeymoon there."

The clerk eyed the two men and questioned: "You two are married?"

"No. Sadly, my wife was killed." Rob's brain went ballistic to add a colorful, yet believable twist to the story. "During an African safari. There are ferocious wild beasts, extreme temperatures and evil insects that attack the body down there plus a savage race that defile their bodies with crude tattoos and other embellishments. I would not recommend it. Nor would you enjoy the cuisine."

"I understand completely, Sir." The clerk had the whimsical temperament of a poet and sought to respond with a tale equal to Rob's. "I believe 385 is occupied by a disreputable prostitute who seldom pays her bill, but is a favorite of the arrondissement gendarmes, thus permitted to remain. It is within my power to ask her to move to another room, perhaps on another floor. Unless you would require her services."

"No, the room itself will sooth my soul. Do you take credit cards?"

"Of course."

Marlin gathered his equipment while they were in their second-floor room – a small can of mudding compound, a wide blade used for that purpose and a sharp blade.

When they moved to 385 the following day, Marlin cut a chip of paint from the wall and sent Rob out to purchase a small matching can of paint. "We should have this done by nightfall," Marlin told Rob.

"Of course the mud and the paint must dry," Rob observed.

"We can borrow a hairdryer from the desk. No problem."

Long before dark, a portion of the wall had been removed, the three artworks extracted and placed under the bed, still covered with a drop cloth, the wall replaced, mudded, dried and repainted. Judy was informed and in turn called Peter Henderson to suggest he immediately come to Paris to pick up the three expensive items.

Henderson and a pair of assistants arrived before noon the following day and went directly to the Hotel du Louvre where Judy redirected them to the sleazy hotel, which housed the Impressionist works. While they were going to that hotel, where Rob met them in the lobby and presented them with the room key, Marlin was en route to the Hotel du Louvre.

That night, now housed in a two-bedroom suite at the same hotel, the four held an in-room celebration complete with roast fowl and champagne.

Marlin announced he would fade into the Left Bank, resume his artistic career, sin no more and rise to wealth and honor.

Maude was wistful. She had become attached to the artist even though their encounter had been fairly brief. They did agree to exchange emails. There are things even the struggling artistic soul cannot do without.

When he was gone, Maude confided to Judy that she had fallen for Marlin partly because he was a thief. "And not just your commonplace thief," she insisted. "Far from garden variety, but your clever thief, your high stakes thief, a thief with the ability to pull off a major heist and walk away with the swag and resume his chosen lifestyle."

"With our assistance," Judy thought to herself. But she did not dwell long on that topic. The wheels in her head were spinning toward their next adventure.

After breakfast the following morning, the three of them discussed future plans. They agreed that for Judy's sake they must spend time exploring Paris, the sewer system, the catacombs, the tower, the nearby Louvre, Notre Dame, various restaurants and so-forth. Then it would be south to Lyon, mostly for food.

Rob was still eager to drop by that small Black Forest German community, Baiersbronn, seated in an area of remarkable Michelin star restaurants.

Maude countered that she would like to find a small fishing village, maybe in Italy or Spain, dress like the local peasantry, or fisher folk and live their lifestyle for a time.

"Is there any special reason?" Rob inquired.

"Maybe. Five-star hotels tend to insulate one from the common populace. Also, you know I love anchovies. I read where they come from Cincinnati, Ohio, but I don't believe that to be the case."

"I'd agree with you there," Judy said. "I think they were probably distributed by a firm in that Ohio River city, but actually came from elsewhere."

"Where might that elsewhere be?" Maude asked.

"I think many come from Morocco," Rob said.

This caused Maude to chuckle. "Years ago, I toured Morocco. It's mostly desert. I rode a camel. As I bounced along on that beast's back do you think we kicked a few anchovies?"

"Tourists mostly visit inland, so I've read," Judy said. "But there is Casablanca on the coast and a considerable stretch of coastline. I'm guessing those hairy little fish can be caught in many places."

"Truly," Rob agreed, "and has anyone ever seen an entire anchovy? They do seem to be hairy and quite salty, but the only form I've seen them in is filets. Sometimes they're rolled around capers. I've always wondered if they're naturally salty."

"They do come from salt water," Maude said. "But where do the capers originate?"

"They too grow along the Mediterranean," Rob said. "I've heard Greece, but they very likely grow in other places. The Med has a certain climate favorable for certain things like capers and grapes."

"I don't want to go to a fishing village in Morocco," Maude said. "I'd settle for sardines. Do any of you know where they come from?"

Judy acknowledged she had sometimes lived on sardines, often reading the cans. "I've seen them from Maine and I've seen them from Norway. The King Oscar brand is actually from Norway. There's a picture of him on the package. A distinguished old man, mustache and beard, in a military uniform complete with fancy epaulets."

"I still think Italy or Spain, maybe even France, has poor fishing villages with poor but cheerful peasants, interesting dwellings, possibly made from mud, cobblestone streets, dirty neighborhood urchins begging coins, women in black shawls who attend church each and every morning, men happy in their work, mending nets by the docks, a few of them regularly lost to the cruel sea. This would cause the quaint churches with their steeples reaching toward heaven to mournfully toll their centuries-old bells."

They decided to drop the topic for the present. Judy and Rob would do the tourist thing, and Maude decided to nap and maybe shop.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

When Judy and Rob returned from a full touristy day, exhausted and in need of a drink, they found Maude strutting around the suite like the cat who had partaken of the canary. She was obviously hiding something.

"I have news she said. I suggest we eat in. We can order Chinese and wash it down with plum wine."

Rob and Judy pulled faces in unison. "I'll have Pinot Grigio," Judy advised. "Mine will be Pinot Noir," Rob said in defiance.

"No problem," Maude said. "Violate good pairing. I'll keep it from the Great Wall crowd." After much bickering they ended up with a mixture of Lemon Chicken, Lake Tung Ting Shrimp, Sesame Beef, General Tso's Chicken and Moo Shu Pork with pancakes of course. Plus a platter of steamed dumplings. There'd be plenty left for breakfast.

Toward the end of the dinner, Maude checked her watch and made her announcement. "Our next project is to save a Saudi princess. Her name is," at this point she paused to consult a scrap of paper, "Sahrzad, or we would say Scheherazade Karima."

The three of them had imbibed pre-dinner cocktails and were now half down on their individual bottles of wine. Maude's announcement caused Judy to giggle uncontrollably. Rob flashed a foolish grin that hung on. After a span of silence, he questioned, "Where do we find this Saudi Princess?"

"That's the amazing part," Maude said. "She's in the next room, right through that wall." She beckoned toward a solid wall.

Judy giggled again and sipped her wine, almost choking.

"Will we get to see her?" Rob asked.

"Yes, in a minute. But we have been drinking. They're Muslims you know. We mustn't frighten her."

"I'll do my best not to appear menacing," Judy said. "How about you, Rob?"

"I agree totally, keep calm and carry on. We're ready, Maude. Transport her through the wall. Do we make a mysterious sound or sign?"

"They keep her under guard. After 8 p.m., which it is now, she is isolated in her room until 7:30 a.m. She can watch TV, has a few wholesome snacks and can read from the holy book. I forget what they call it."

"No matter," Judy said. "How do we contact her?"

"Our balconies are adjacent. I chatted with her for some time this afternoon. She should be on her balcony now. We drag her across to ours. Maybe you should do this, Rob, although no male non-family member is supposed to touch her. But we talked about this and she's cool with it."

Rob stared blankly for a long moment, then said "Okay, let's go." The three of them made their way onto the balcony. Sure enough, an attractive, olive-skinned, raven-haired beauty was waiting on the next balcony.

"We've come for you, Scheherazade. We'll bring you over."

The princess eagerly grasped Rob's outstretched hands and was transported into his and Judy's arms. Then they hustled her into their suite where they all took comfortable seats.

"I did not tell them your story," Maude said. "Simply that we are willing to give you a new lease on life if you are agreeable. We have this time to talk."

"I yearn for freedom," were her first words, spoken in perfect English.

"What are you doing in Paris?" Judy asked, attempting to get the conversation rolling.

"Dental work. There is a thought that I have too many teeth to fit in my mouth. So the idea is to pull four teeth, two upper, two lower."

"Has this been done?" Rob asked.

"No, but there is an appointment for tomorrow afternoon. That's why I need to escape before that time."

Judy turned to Maude. "Is that possible?"

Maude grinned, happy to be in the driver's seat. This was her plan. "Yes, I have been in touch with Marlin. He will meet us on the banks of the Seine at 6 a.m. and waft our princess away to the artists quarter and trick her out like a French hippy."

"I don't like the sound of this," Rob said. "If there is a sexual encounter."

"No sex," Maude said. "Marlin has been told. If her virtue is violated, any male member of her family can murder her with impunity if she is captured and returned to Saudi."

"Quite a heart-warming custom," Judy tossed in. "Honor killings."

During this exchange, the princess sat silently observing and listening, waiting to relate her story. Now she began.

"As you might know, women have few rights in Saudi. Things like driving or socializing on our own in mixed company. So now my family is picking out a husband for me. Who, I don't know. But whoever saw photos of me, he objected to my crooked teeth. I like my teeth the way they are."

"Will this be a man your own age?" Judy asked.

The princess looked at her and said, "Hah. It will be a Saudi prince, the usual oil-rich type, maybe fifty years of age. He could be liberal and give me a bit of freedom. But more than likely he will be a fat crab who keeps me locked up wherever it is he wants to keep me. He can abuse me, even kill me if he likes, for most any reason. I very likely will not be his only wife. In that case the other older wives can also abuse me."

"I had heard such things," Rob said, "But I didn't believe they were true."

"The picture I just painted is rosy. Speak of bleak house. Things can be much worse, unimaginably sordid. Things that go on behind closed Saudi doors. There are rumors that would make one's stomach do flips. A few years ago I made a flippant remark about Allah and they locked me in a closet for a week. Maude has offered to help me, and to do this she needs the approval of you two."

Both nodded in agreement, and Judy asked, "What's the plan?"

"The princess returns to her room in case someone checks up on her. We bring her over at 6 a.m., and I walk her to the river to meet Marlin. The Saudis sleep late. They have an indolent lifestyle thanks to oil. Marlin takes over and she melts into the student-artist quarter. She will need a passport. He will attempt to purchase one, or we will find one later. He is an artful thief."

"He sounds like the thief of Baghdad," the princess said. "Just imagine. The thief of Baghdad and Scheherazade."

"What about the Saudi keepers?" Judy questioned. "They will raise a great hue and cry."

"Truly," Maude said. "The three of us sit tight, tell the Saudis that the princess told us she was unable to get out of her room for some reason, asked to exit through our suite. So she passed through these rooms very early in the morning."

"So far, so good," Rob said. "I'm an accomplished liar. We train for that in the clergy."

"The Saudis should be chasing their tail for two or three days," Maude said. "They may even attempt to follow us if there is suspicion. But we pack up to continue our tour. We pick up Scheherazade and haul ass, with a careful eye to our back trail. Remember, the princess is a free human being. The Saudis cannot simply grab her away from us. The French did have their revolution and they value freedom. They're not all bad."

"There is nothing bad in France," Rob interjected. "The food, the lifestyle, whatever, all good."

So the princess was passed back over the balcony, and the three travelers returned to their revels, each with his own thoughts, each with an edge of excitement. A new project, high noon with a group of Saudis.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The night seemed short, and they were up by 5:30 a.m. Sahrzad, her name in Persian, emerged onto her balcony at 5:55, and Rob grasped her arms and pulled her over with Judy's help.

They hustled her inside and Maude almost gasped when she saw what the Saudi was wearing. Loose, flaming red trousers that had the appearance of harem pants. "If you want to draw attention to yourself, you've made the grade," she said. "I'll get you something decent."

The princes shrugged and looked down at herself. "What's wrong with this? They're considered stylish in Saudi."

"For street wear?" Maude questioned.

"Well, no. I've never been on the street alone and, yes, these would draw remarks, but in Paris everything is bright and free. I can savor freedom, I can bathe in it, wallow in it."

"Okay," Maude said, "wallow away. But I'll get you slacks and a casual shirt for your getaway. Marlin will fix you up with a freedom outfit."

Judy and Rob stood by in total agreement. Judy asked her if she had something to eat, and she replied that the room was loaded with snacks. "I think they're trying to fatten me up and fix it so I can't run."

Maude led her into the bedroom, and she emerged minutes later looking like an American tourist at her tacky best.

"We're getting out of here," Maude told the others. "The clock's ticking and Marlin may be there even now." She quickly checked the hall, and then pulled the princess out the door and they were gone.

"I'll give them a couple of minutes and then order coffee and croissants," Rob said. "I had a lot of wine last night. My mouth feels like the entire Russian army marched through it barefoot."

Judy nodded, sighed, and dropped into a chair. Then switched on CNN.

Maude returned minutes before room service arrived. "Mission fulfilled. Marlin was waiting. I have warm thoughts about that boy."

"We're both burning with jealousy and desire," Rob said.

"Come now, you two. You know I love both of you to death."

Just minutes after seven thirty there was banging on their door. Rob cracked it open with the restraining bar in place and asked, "Yes?"

An excited, accented voice said, "The woman next door is gone. Is she with you?"

Rob replied, "No."

"You must let us in to check."

"I'm afraid not. This is a private suite."

"Something terrible has happened. Please let us in."

Rob considered the situation, and then asked, "Please explain what has happened."

"The woman in the next room, really just a girl, she is gone."

"How do you know that?" Rob asked.

"We have a woman who looks after her. When she went into the room this morning the princess was gone."

"Out the window?" Rob asked.

"No. Not a suicide. We looked below. Your balcony is next to hers. She could have climbed over."

"She did."

"Allah be praised. Let us in. We must speak to her."

"She's not here. She said she had some difficulty getting out of her room. So she crossed to our balcony. Then out our door into the hall. Perhaps she went out for coffee."

"For coffee? Why would she go out for coffee? We have breakfast every morning at eight. She is a rich young lady. If she wants something she merely has to ask."

"You mean like freedom?"

"Freedom?" the young man questioned.

"Yes, like to be free. To walk the streets alone. Enjoy the sunshine, perhaps stop for coffee. I'm guessing that's where she is. In some coffee shop. A cup of coffee with a shot of cognac. What a pleasant way to begin the day."

"You mention alcohol," the young man seemed indignant.

"Why yes, I'm certain you've had alcohol. Why not her?"

"It is forbidden."

"So you've never tasted alcohol?"

"I didn't say that. Please let me and these two others in so we can look around."

"You think I am dishonest?"

"I didn't say that either. The girl might have lied to you. Made you believe she was some kind of prisoner. This is a serious matter. You simply don't understand. We come from a different culture."

"A good culture?"

"A different culture. Time is passing. I will tell you the facts. I am in charge of a three-man security guard, including myself, to safeguard the young woman. If something happens to her my life would be forfeit. My government would have every right to dispose of me because of my failure. Now does that change your mind?"

"It makes me sad. But the fact remains, the young woman is not here. If you bring a hotel security person, have them call first. Then we'll let you come in for a look. That will at least ease your mind that she's not here."

Minutes later arrangements had been made and the three Saudi guards plus a French hotel cop were admitted. The young man introduced himself as Omar Alkhudair and was eager to get started. Rob said he and the French security man could look around if they didn't disturb anything. The other two Saudis he told to sit on the couch.

The two men looked around the living room, the two bedrooms and bathrooms for the better part of fifteen minutes with no sign of Sahrzad. Maude had thoughtfully hidden the clothing she was wearing when she came over the balcony wall.

After the search, Omar said, "She was here though?"

"Definitely," Rob said. "The three of us saw her. If she was not your prisoner, I'm sure she will return. If she has been a prisoner, perhaps she has escaped like any other caged beast. If you were holding the woman prisoner, perhaps you would like to explain that to this hotel security man and also to the local authorities."

"She is an honored Saudi princess," Omar said, "who was here for dental work. There is an appointment this afternoon for certain extractions."

"Perhaps she fears dental work," Maude said. "I know I do."

"We Saudis fear nothing," one of the other Saudi guards tossed in.

"That's right," the third one agreed. "We are in the hands of Allah."

"Then I suppose," Judy said, "the princess is also in the hands of Allah. So let us all forget the entire matter and let Allah take over."

"If the princess is not found and returned to Saudi there will be consequences," Omar said.

"Nothing that Allah can't handle," Judy replied.

The next morning, they had done away with breakfast in their suite and were about to set out for Montmartre and Sacre Coeur when a light tap sounded on their door.

Judy made a gasping noise and said, "The Raven."

"No," Rob countered. "Ravens only tap on casement windows."

"If you two don't mind, I'll answer the knock." Then she opened wide the door. In strode a French lawyer, briefcase in hand.

Bowing slightly and identifying himself, he said he represented the Saudi government in the case of the missing princess.

"We did this bit yesterday morning," Judy said.

"Yes, but you were the last known people to see her, so there is a chance you know her whereabouts."

"She walked through the room and vanished into the hall," Rob said.

"So it seems, but still you were the last known people to see her."

"Known by who?" Judy questioned.

"Known by the Saudi security," the short, chubby barrister replied.

"A full twenty-four hours has expired," Rob said. "Many others must have seen her by now unless she threw herself into the Seine."

"Not an unreasonable assumption," the short, bushy headed attorney replied. "You see she is unhinged. The Saudi government has declared her mentally incompetent, thus giving any agency, or private person for that matter, the opportunity to seize her and turn her over to Saudi authorities to be shipped back to her native land."

"Do I smell mendacity?" Rob questioned.

"I'm not familiar with that term."

"It has to do with untruth."

"You might say lying," the lawyer replied.

"You get my point."

"You are accusing the Saudi government of making up a story that is untrue."

"You're a brilliant lawyer," Judy said. "What do you think?"

"Fortunately, I'm not paid to think. I try to dwell in reality, and I do have a paper from the Saudi government in three languages declaring the young lady incompetent."

"Why not try for a fourth?" Made said.

"I'm certain they'd be willing to do it in Sanskrit if they could recover their dear lost soul. But my task here is simply to deliver that message. Along with the information that anyone complicit in this escapade might regret such involvement."

His message delivered, knowing full well that time is money, the lawyer bid them goodbye.

They were discussing strategy, when came another tap on the door.

"Not another raven," Judy quipped.

"No," Rob asserted, "The second raven would be perched on our balcony balustrade."

"I hope you two don't mind if I answer the door," Maude said, fitting her action to her words.

There stood and ultimately entered, Omar Alkhudair, not a tentmaker, but a Saudi security person.

"They are sending me back to Saudi and sending in their topflight team," he announced, totally crestfallen.

"Is this bad?" Maude questioned.

"For me, yes. Because I am team leader it is I who have failed to protect our princess. There are various ways they could employ to kill me, none of them pleasant."

"Beheading is quick and I have heard almost painless," Rob said.

"I suppose, if given a choice."

Maude had looked on Omar as a handsome, seemingly intelligent, young man. "Do you have a passport?" she questioned.

"At the moment." He pulled it from a shirt pocket and held it in the air. "When the team arrives from Saudi, probably this afternoon, they will doubtless place me under a form of arrest, confiscate my passport, load me onto a private plane and send me packing, so to speak."

"Like a meat packer," Judy quipped, and then added seriously, "Omar, we must talk this situation over. We can't but feel partially responsible since the princess walked through our rooms. Of course we require privacy. So please let me escort you into a bedroom."

Omar followed her into Rob's room where she took him into the bathroom, sat him on the toilet and told him to remain there until she came for him. Returning to the middle room, she picked up a small, carved figure of Saint Joan from an occasional table, gave it a quick look and said, "What is this?"

"I'd say a knickknack," Maude did say.

"I didn't notice it prior to the lawyer's visit," Judy said.

"Could Omar have brought it?"" Rob asked.

"I think it was the lawyer," Judy said, then put a finger to her mouth to shush the others. Carrying the item to the balcony she stamped it with her heel, and it broke apart, revealing electronic components. They all looked in wonder while she separated the pieces and tossed them one by one over the balustrade.

"We seem to be subjects of interest," Maude said.

"The question is, is Omar trying to game us?" Judy asked.

"Could be," Rob said. They returned to the middle room, and Judy ducked into Rob's bedroom to see if the bathroom door was still closed.

"What if Omar's telling the truth," Maude questioned, adding, "His life may be on the line."

"True. And we would be the ones who helped put it there," Judy said. "We try to save one life and imperil another. He still has his passport, so he can still escape the long arm of the Saudis. But to where?"

"To America, of course," Maude said, and then asked Judy, "Do you think he's handsome?"

"In a middle-eastern sort of way, yes. But this is hardly the time for romance."

"Yes, but that's a plus. I'm thinking he could go to our house. Cook is lonely there by herself. She would welcome a young man to care for."

"It is a solution," Rob said. "We don't reveal anything about the princess. We ship Omar off. The other two agents are apparently blameless. What could go wrong?"

Judy laughed. "Almost everything, according to Murphy's law. And you must remember, Murphy was an optimist. I'll bring him out, and we'll see how the land lies."

Informed of the possible sanctuary, Omar seemed to jump at the chance. "I have little money," he said.

"No worry," Maude said, placing her hand in his. "We'll give you a few dollars. And you won't need any. You'll have board and keep and be watched over by a fine old family retainer."

"What about a visa?" Judy asked.

"Good point," Rob said. "I'll take Omar to the American embassy right now." Maude said she'd come along.

"Don't bring him back here," Judy instructed. "I'll get him an electronic ticket over the phone. Call, and I'll let you know which airport he'll be flying out from. I don't think they can bug my cell phone, but keep it brief, just the airport's name. Then I'll call you with the name of the airline and time of departure. Maude can arrange for someone to meet him."

"You could be a travel agent," Rob said with some admiration. "Off we go."

Judy felt some regret that Omar's ticket would go on her credit card, when it was Maude who seemed to be his secret admirer. When you don't have money and you get it, you like to hang onto it. But, oh well, they had split the $300,000 evenly between her and Marlin. And with Rob's help she had invested the bulk of her inheritance at a high return. She was beginning to feel like a woman of the world. Paris, Montmartre, the city's many pleasures, at her feet.

Things did go right. There was a well-timed flight to JFK and fair connections beyond. The three were enjoying drinks in their suite just after five and tossing around possible eateries, when a tapping came at the door.

No wisecracks this time, Maude simply answered the door. There stood the French lawyer and an older man who could pass for a Saudi.

"May we come in?" the lawyer asked.

Maude asked the others if she should permit them entry.

"Certainly," Rob said, "If they'll join us in a libation."

"My friend doesn't drink," the lawyer said.

"Then have him wait in the lobby," Rob replied.

"My friend says he'll break his rule and have a drink if you have scotch."

"That's great," Rob chuckled. "Come on in and have a seat." Judy said she'd do the drinks for their guests.

When they were comfortably seated, drinks in hand, the lawyer announced, "It seems one of our Saudi security men is missing."

"How careless of you," Judy remarked. "You keep losing people. By the way the effigy of St. Joan you left here this morning is also missing."

The lawyer raised his hands as if he didn't understand, then smiled. "The agent, a young man named Omar, where could he have gone?'

"Why would he have gone?" Maude asked.

"No idea," the lawyer said. The Saudi remained mute.

"Seems to be a deja vu situation," Rob said. "You lost a princess, so called, now a security person. Both of these are free people, although you did say the woman has mental problems, but both could and apparently have, gone on their way. So why the investigation? Do you suspect foul play?"

"That's a possibility," the Saudi tossed in.

"Very good observation. I see two possibilities," Judy said. "Perhaps there are many more. But the first is that these two attractive young people are victims of passion, being in Paris and all, and have run off together for a secluded rendezvous."

"Saudis would not do such a thing," the Saudi said.

"No passion, no amour, no romance. It must be a horrid country," Maude said.

"We have marriages for the purpose of good family life and children," the Saudi said sternly. He finished his drink and Judy refreshed it.

Then she said that the second possibility might be foul play. "Someone, an enemy of the Saudi regime, is picking off select Saudis and doing God knows what with them. So here we are in Paris, a country of law-abiding people. So we go directly to the police and file our report. How's that?"

It was Rob's turn to speak, and he directed his words to the lawyer. "As an officer of the court, I feel it is your duty to go to the police and lay out all the facts in the case. Full disclosure. Don't you agree?"

"The Saudi government has instructed me to keep a lid on it. They don't wish to embarrass the individuals. As you say, maybe they ran off with one another. In that case they will soon tire of their sexual antics and return to the fold, so to speak."

"I suppose a woman of that station in life wouldn't be permitted such an indiscretion without rebuke," Maude said.

The Saudi frowned and worked on his second drink, but the lawyer said, "Why not? Love is for the young, or sometimes for the young at heart. If you can assist us in any way, the Saudi government is willing to reward you."

"My God," Judy exclaimed. "We could be bounty hunters. What an adventure! Release the hounds. The game is afoot."

"If that game pleases you," the lawyer said, handing Judy his card. "Monetary reward would be yours. If you get one or both in your grasp, we can discuss the bounty at that time." With that the two visitors departed, and the three bounty hunters resumed their talk about where to dine.

They took a cab to the Red Mill, but found that they were too early, and it did not have a wholesome appearance in any case. They ended up at a Moroccan restaurant eating an assortment of meat that Rob said appeared to be odd parts of a camel. They were quite pleased, and Maude labeled the dish exotic.

The following night Maude disclosed that "the package" had arrived at its destination. She had asked her law firm to meet Omar and to refer to him as "the package."

For the next two days, Judy had booked tours of Paris and Versailles with a travel agency, leaving the other two to play video games, watch CNN and generally dissipate. On the second day she had the tour guide drop her off on the Left Bank, and she grabbed a cab to the studio Marlin shared with other artists.

She found him making odd marks on a fresh canvas. "Your art is progressing?" she inquired.

"I'm quite pleased with it and my community here. We're a happy lot."

"Do you mean commune?"

"No, we're not organized. Each goes to his separate cell when the day or night festivities terminate. I'm quite a basic cook."

"And your guest?"

"In pristine shape, I assure you. Perhaps not her choice. And I did find her a passport. She is now Boyko Varna, a Bulgarian national."

Judy pondered a moment, and then said, "That sounds strangely like a male name."

"Beggars can't be choosers," Marlin said. "This twenty-four-year-old Boyko had been drinking a bit of absinthe and plunged four stories to his death from a fairly rowdy roof party that had been underway for several hours. As usual, it took the local authorities sometime to get to the scene, and I managed to lift his passport gratis. Quite a coup, eh?"

"I suppose. How does Sahrzad enjoy being a boy?"

"She's taken to it quite strong. Did you come for her?"

"No. We will. Probably tomorrow. I knew I wasn't being followed, so I dropped by to warn her to be ready to make tracks. Where might I find former fair maiden?"

"About half a block away. I'll walk there with you. Since her transformation she's been a magnet for the local hookers. She's such a handsome young man that some have even offered to pay her."

They found her seated on a folding chair outside Marlin's building, chatting with a pair of young women in French.

"She speaks French?" Judy asked as they approached.

"Almost fluent. That's part of her or his charm. The quaint accent."

"Boyko Varna," I presume, Judy said as she approached and shook hands with the young gentleman.

"Judy, I've missed you." She gave her a hug. The two young women seemed dismayed and slimed off down the street.

"You certainly look great, even transformed. How is your new lifestyle?"

"Wonderful. Such a sense of release, of freedom. I feel like Martin Luther King – Free at last."

"Well, we'll try to keep it that way. I think I can come for you about noon tomorrow."

Boyko, or Sahrzad, seemed hesitant. "Do you think I should give all this up?" She gestured with her hands about the general local environment.

"A person must work, or marry well, or do something rather than simply drift. That is a well-ordered life. That is to say if there is meaning to life."

"There wasn't much meaning to the life I've taken. Not quite twenty-five, no great prospects, toppled off a building. What's the meaning there?"

"What do you think the Saudis would do with you if they got you back?"

"My father, or one of my brothers or uncles, would probably kill me. I'd be buried in an unmarked desert grave, not unlike everyone else."

"Omar, one of the security men, did you know him?"

"Of course, a very fine young man. He would make a good husband."

"Because he was the crew leader and responsible for losing you, he was to be sent back to Saudi and very likely beheaded."

"Oh, my God. I wouldn't have left if I had known. To have that on my head."

"We saved him. He's in America at Maude's house. That's where we all live together. There's a cook-housekeeper to take care of him."

She looked wistful. "Could I go there?"

"We're playing this by ear, but now that you mention it, that might be a good jumping off place. We could make a case for political asylum, and you might both be legal."

"I'd love to do something legal," Boyko said. "I'll be ready at noon tomorrow." She turned to Marlin. "Is that all right with you?"

"Doubly so. Having you as a boy or a girl in my small space was equally tempting. Did you see the film Victor Victoria?"

"I don't believe so. It sounds decadent."

Maude volunteered to pick Boyko up the following day. She would take public transit, and then do the same for the two of them. They would all meet near the Air France counter at the airport.

The entire project was a great thrill to Maude because she had initiated saving the Saudi princess from what she believed might be a fate worse than death if such things truly existed.

Maude seemed flighty at times, but she was well grounded in common sense. She had traveled abroad extensively and had no problem locating Marlin, then Boyko.

She was all smiles when she first glimpsed the young princess, almost swept away. "You make such a charming young man! Oh, what shall I call you?"

"Boyko."

"Boyko, of course." She hugged the young princess.

On the way to the airport, Maude explained that the two of them would be rooming together.

Boyko considered this for a moment, then said, "Wouldn't it look better for us two men to room together?"

"Don't worry about those two. I've known Rob for years, and he's never hit on me – that's slang for making romantic advances."

"I know. I watch American TV."

"Okay. That's good. I suppose you're up on most everything. That makes things easier, not like talking to a foreigner. Anyway, Rob's a preacher, a man of the cloth. He counseled Judy for a time. She had some inner turmoil, probably something to do with her job as a waitress."

"She was a waitress?"

"Oh, yes, but now she has quite a bit of money. It's a long story. Or long enough not to relate on mass transit." They were on a bus headed for the airport. "But, anyway, the two of us together, I'm looking forward to it. I'm hoping we'll go to Milan. That's the fashion center of Europe. I'll buy you the finest suits and ties and things and turn you out like a splendid young gentleman. You won't mind that, will you?"

"No. You are my benefactor. You are the one responsible for my escape from literal slavery. I owe you a great deal."

"What you've been through and are going through are nerve jarring experiences. Sometimes, at night, if you are troubled, we could even sleep together. That might calm your nerves. I could be a mother figure."

Boyko thought that one over and thought the opposite might be true, but he or she said nothing.

They found Rob and Judy waiting near the Air France counter. There was a joyous reunion; the escape was going well. The four of them made their way to the car rental agencies, rented a midsize model and, with Rob at the wheel, headed south toward Lyon.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

In Lyon they checked into the Hotel Le Royal at 20 Place Bellecour, not far from both the La Saone River and the historic quarter. The tensions of the day, getting Boyko Varna safely out of Paris, plus the drive through unfamiliar territory, had taken its toll. They grabbed a bite to eat near the hotel and then turned in.

Rob and Judy were delighted with the sleeping arrangements Maude had suggested. They were in a luxury two-bedroom suite in Lyon. Rob was no longer the sugar daddy. Just a couple of lovers on a second honeymoon in the country famous for amour.

Across the common room in the other bedroom, Maude said she had brought along the scarlet harem pants Sahrzad was wearing when she came across the balcony. She suggested they be worn as pajamas. Boyko declined, saying, "I am playing a role, much as a Shakespearian actor would play a role. So as long as the façade endures, I must stay in character."

"I understand totally," Maude said, delighted to have this person under whatever name and whatever sex all to herself. "Tomorrow we will shop for pajamas. I think black silk would suit you well."

"Perhaps. I can't believe I am here, Maude. I am so grateful. You and I, we get on so well. And we have freedom. You can't imagine what life's like for a woman in Saudi Arabia. The odd part is that most women there know no other way. They are happy as long as they have the necessities of life and have children."

"There is more to life than having children, Boyko," Maude said, then added, "I should call you Boyko to sustain your character."

"Of course."

"Can you imagine," Maude fairly chuckled, "we are here in this bedroom in Lyon much like a man and a woman."

"The Saudi cultural police would frown on such a thing. But we are free birds and can do as we please."

After breakfast in the hotel the following morning, the four set out to explore Lyon, first taking a Greyline tour of the city, and then Maude and Boyko went their own way to shop. Rob and Judy, who seemed in extremely high spirits, went off to look in on a cathedral, then to sit on a bench overlooking the river and feed the pigeons.

That evening, after drinks in their suite, they trekked to a restaurant where the concierge had made reservations. It was called Mere Brazier, located at 12 rue Royale.

The wine steward approached, identifying himself as Andre, and rather than recommending a certain product, he lectured them on wine types.

"There is a partly formed wine, not yet fully mature, and possibly not known what is expected of it, or what it expects of you, the consumer. But one thing we can all share in a good wine is aroma. What majestic thoughts it brings to mind. Even though its importance is unrivaled as a shared virtue, it is also fragile and will fade away.

"If you are looking for high drama, we can provide. This is a triumph, a lovely balance, at its very peak. But because of this very condition, it will fall from grace. At the very moment of its greatest appeal it cries out that it faces the abyss. What tragedy, but also one can savor that moment of victory. Now for the wine list."

Rob broke in and ordered two bottles of Pinot Grigio and one bottle of Pinot Noir. The wine steward seemed quite pleased with himself as he stalked off. The three Americans kept a close eye on the Saudi who was having her initial experience with alcohol.

Turned out in the new threads that she and Maude had picked out, Boyko seemed in her glory. No covered head, a glass of wine in her grasp, she was enjoying these days, enjoying this moment.

Maude was once again talking of finding a small fishing village. She had settled on Portugal. Morocco and its anchovies be damned. They would dress like lowly fishermen and prowl the waterfront. There would be sunshine, crusty peasant bread and peasant wine, and the days would fly by on wings as light as spindrift.

Her voice had a dreamy quality when she said, "We will hearken back to a time when the Red Indian ruled supreme on the North American continent and our ancestors lived in semi-squalor under the heel of some baron, duke, or other despot. Yet the small huts were filled with the lilting laughter of children, and our lives were filled with virtue and the love of one another and our Eternal Father. And the great seasons rolled, one unto another, and our lives were like flowers that flourished through the spring and summer only to be cut down with the harvest."

Maude sniffed cologne on the waiter, then turned to Boyko and said, "We'll get a men's cologne for you tomorrow. I'll make a man of you yet. I know there's one called Hombre. It sounds super tough, but I think there's a French one called L'Eau d'Issey pour Homme, Sport. What do you think?"

"I think that might be for gay men," Boyko replied, sipping her wine and smiling. "Will you make a gay man out of me?"

Maude frowned slightly and thought that one over. "Frankly, Boyko, I like you just as you are. No reason to paint the lily."

Listening in on the conversation, Judy thought to change the subject. "My Dad used to race against buses."

"Where did that come from?" Rob questioned.

"Just something I thought of," Judy said. "I always thought it a bit unusual for a grown man to have a footrace with a city bus."

"I'd agree with that," Maude said. "Did he do it often?"

"I don't think so," Judy replied. "He was a member of a running club. Some of them may have joined him on the bus race thing. But I know he won."

"You mean he could run faster than a bus?" Boyko questioned.

"It was a city bus that made stops. The distance is what made it important. There was a fairly straight, fairly level three-mile section in a busy part of town. So people were getting on and off the bus. It did involve endurance and perseverance, also dodging sidewalk foot traffic."

"I had never heard of that before," Rob said, turning back to his confit d'oie a la béarnaise. "I do enjoy goose now and again if it's properly prepared."

Judy rolled her eyes, then applied herself to her chicken sauté a la Marengo. She wondered what the crowd at the Elegant Eatery would be doing at this moment, speculating that with the time change it should be morning there now. If only they could see her now.

At that point Sahrzad/Boyko looked across the room and gasped. "They've found me," she whispered. "I am undone."

Rob too saw the man he recognized as the Saudi security agent that had been sent in to replace the first three. "Keep calm," he whispered to Boyko. "We are in Lyon and our consulate is nearby."

"It is Abdullah," Boyko said in a hushed tone. "One of the most feared men in the Saudi secret service. He sees us."

Abdullah made his way to their table and stood looking over them. The maître de hovered behind him.

"It's okay," Rob said, "We know this man."

Abdullah watched the maître de depart, and then asked, "Do you think I am a fool that you could lose me by fleeing Paris." It required no answer. "I traced Sahrzad to your friend Marlin Bobrook in that degenerate slum. He refused to talk, but I found you had rented a car and then turned it in in Lyon. It was a simple matter to check a few hotels. The concierge told me you might be here. So I have the four of you."

"You speak as if we're criminals," Rob said. "We are simply four tourists out to enjoy ourselves in Europe."

"You are three tourists and one criminal sought by the French police. But I can deal with you. I will not turn your friend in if you tell me where Sahrzad is. You've done something with her."

All four at the table were puzzled by Abdullah's statement.

By a process of elimination, Rob deduced that Boyko was the criminal. "Boyko Varna is a friend of ours. He seems an honest enough person."

"Tell that to the Paris gendarmes. He has dealt in drugs and even taken a hand in their manufacture. These Bulgarians are known for their criminal activity, either alone or in gangs. I will turn him over just like that." The Saudi snapped his fingers. "If you continue to hide the princess."

"I fear for the safety of the princess in Saudi Arabia," Rob said.

"She will be guaranteed justice under Saudi law," Abdullah assured them. Boyko was turning a bit green around the gills at this point. The Saudi noticed and imagined it was because he was about to be meted French justice.

"How did you learn of Boyko?" Judy questioned.

"There are snitches in that disgusting neighborhood where your friend Marlin hangs out. I don't wonder that he is in collusion with petty criminals, street toughs, whores, pimps and what-have-you."

"Typical of the Left Bank," Maude tossed in. "Ain't it wonderful?"

Abdullah gave her a sharp glance and again demanded to know Sahrzad's location.

"She's in America," Rob said.

"I might have known," Abdullah replied.

"Private plane," Rob said. "Flew out a few hours ago."

"With what passport?" the Saudi demanded.

"None," Rob replied.

"That's illegal."

"Yes and no. Say you fly into JFK or Atlanta or any major airport, you should have a passport or risk arrest. But say the plane passes over a relatively deserted coast and lands at a small airstrip, or even on a stretch of deserted highway, no passport needed. It's akin to drug smuggling."

"Then the princess becomes a criminal," The Saudi exclaimed, still standing by their table.

A waiter looked in on them, and Rob told him to bring Abdullah a double scotch. The Saudi frowned, and then said OK. "We can deal with you," Rob said. "I'm willing to put you in touch with the princess, perhaps bring the princess to your embassy in Washington. At that time there would be negotiations. The Saudi government must agree to certain conditions. We are not simply going to throw the princess on the mercy of a deeply Islamic government."

"Our government is run by laws and rules."

"That's true," Rob continued. The scotch arrived and Abdullah pulled up a chair from a nearby table and sat between Rob and Judy. "But the rules seem to favor men. And Islamic religious law makes no sense to many westerners. You're a man of the world, Abdullah. I don't need to preach to you."

The Saudi downed the double scotch in two gulps. Rob signaled the waiter for another.

"When might you have the princess at the embassy?" he asked.

Rob thought a moment, and then said, "It would be several days. The plane carrying her to the States is somewhere over the Atlantic. I'm not certain just where the pilot will land. As you've guessed, there will be passport and visa problems. We've given her numbers to call, various lawyers."

The Saudi eyed Boyko with suspicion, downed half his fresh drink, and said, "I'll not turn this degenerate Bulgarian in for a few days. I'll trust you."

"The charges against Boyko are simply that, charges, and they may be informal thus far. They are grounded on rumors, possibly because of the company he kept and even the building where he lived. Like many other young men, he came to Paris for a good time. I believe him to be a wholesome young gentleman."

Abdullah said something like "Huh," downed his drink, stood, his eyes a trifle glazed, and said, "I'll contact our embassy in Washington. I have your word."

Rob nodded and the Saudi left the building.

Talk about your sigh of relief. Maude was the first to speak. "He couldn't have taken Boyko from us."

"They do have her passport and the Saudi government has ruled her mentally incompetent," Judy said. "I'm guessing Abdullah has some sort of paper giving him parental care, or something along those lines."

"Can you believe he didn't recognize me?" Boyko said. "I've actually met him before and talked with him."

"Thank God for scotch," Rob said. "I remembered him drinking it at our last hotel. Scotch lovers are a race unto themselves. Now to plot our next move and do it with alacrity."

"Alacrity," Boyko repeated, "Which means what?"

"It means quick," Rob replied. "I'm guessing he's not working alone. He probably has a team from Saudi Arabia plus local help. They'll expect us to return to our hotel after dinner. So Judy and I should go back, and Maude and Boyko should go elsewhere."

"Where might that be?" Maude questioned.

"Do you have money?"

"A little. But I have credit cards, and there are ATMs."

"Okay. We grab two cabs. Yours leaves first in the general direction of the hotel. After a couple of blocks ask your driver to go along the river. If you're not followed, direct him to the train station. Grab the first train heading south. Call us in the morning. We'll pack your stuff and join you wherever you are."

"Then what?"

"No idea. I think that's the beginning of a grand plan. Probably we should get Sahrzad to the States."

"I agree with that," the princess said."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Judy and Rob returned to the hotel, surveyed the baggage in Maude and Boyko's room, decided it wasn't excessive, and decided to call it a night; that is, hit the sack and eventually sleep.

The following morning they waited for a call on Rob's cell phone, but none came. By early afternoon there was still no call. What had become of their two friends?

Late in the evening they returned to the Mere Brazier and were soon joined by Abdullah. They had a table for four, and he simply grabbed a chair. "Your two friends, that woman Maude and the wretched Bulgarian, they didn't return to the hotel last night. What happened?"

"You probably know more than we do, Abdullah. We aren't watching anyone."

"You are correct. I and my friends have been watching. Returning the princess to Saudi Arabia is a priority for the royal family. As you know, that family is extensive."

"So where are our friends?" Rob asked.

Abdullah shrugged. "For some odd reason you left this restaurant last night in two cabs. Both seemed to be headed for your hotel. But the one in front carrying your two friends seemed to take a devious route. My team was following your cab."

"Frankly, I don't know where those two are, but I'd like to know." He turned to Judy. "Do you know?"

"No."

"The situation is most peculiar," Abdullah mused. "What might this have to do with the missing princess?"

Rob's turn to shrug. "You are the sleuth. My offer still holds. In a few days I hope to get the princess together with officials from the Saudi embassy in Washington. In the meantime you might as well call off your dogs. You've not only lost the princess, but you've also lost Maude and Boyko. They say if you get in a hole you should quit digging."

A waiter had been hovering nearby for a minute or two. Rob ordered a bottle of wine and a double scotch for Abdullah. "You might as well dine with us."

"I suppose," Abdullah said. "You might remember I also lost Omar Alkhudair. He was the one who originally lost Sahrzad. We were about to send him home to face certain things best left unsaid."

"He was to be put in the penalty box," Judy tossed in, sipping her Pinot Grigio.

"That is one face to put on it," Abdullah agreed. "I am familiar with the game of hockey. At one time I was sent on a mission to Ontario, a very large Canadian province. It's somewhat like your States, where I have also traveled extensively, but the customs and folkways vary to some extent."

Abdullah finished his drink, and Rob ordered him another, along with a second bottle of wine. There would be food later on during a rather wet evening.

In the meantime, Maude had hit the panic button, fearful of even calling Rob on his cell phone, fearing that her beloved Boyko would be taken from her. Two trains and an exhausting night had brought them to Milan where they had found a hotel and gotten a few hours' sleep.

Arising in the early afternoon, Maude had taken Boyko directly to the American Consulate where he had been issued a visa for the States. Very few Bulgarian nationals made such a request in Milan, so there was no problem, no thought of vast herds of Bulgarians flooding into Manhattan or Miami.

Following that chore they returned to the hotel where Maude booked air transport home for the following day, but not before she and Boyko spent the morning shopping for complete toiletry kits, pajamas and travel outfits. They would arrive home in style.

Rob and Judy decided they would simply hang tough in Lyon. Another day filled with tourist expeditions, then another evening at the Mere Brazier with Abdullah. They had become quite jolly companions, even exchanging cell phone numbers.

The following day, Maude finally called.

"Where in the hell are you?" Rob demanded.

"At home. Boyko and I arrived this morning. Omar's here too. Cook is fine. Things are just like always. I mean we're so pleased. I was afraid to call you, Rob. Those creepy Saudis seemed to be everywhere."

Rob allowed himself a slight chuckle. "Those Saudis you speak of, you seem to be living with two of them. Does Omar know about Boyko?"

"I don't think so. He's such a charmer. I really like him."

"Which one?"

"Oh, you mean Omar or Boyko. I guess I really like both of them. The three of us get on well. It's so nice to have them both here with our troubles behind us. What are your plans, you and Judy?"

"We will probably return home. We've been socializing with that creepy Saudi, Abdullah. He's not a bad person. Drinks a little too much, but he's okay. He may come to the States with us."

This caught Maude by surprise. "You're talking about introducing the fox into the hen house. Are you nuts?"

"We have to come to grips with the situation. It's wake up and smell the coffee time. We can't simply hide the princess forever. I've agreed to negotiate with the Saudi embassy in Washington."

Rob could almost smell Maude burning over the miles. "Boyko and I could simply run off together, and you'd never hear of us again."

"Come on, Maude. You form attachments too easy. You are heterosexual and you need a real man, not a manikin you enjoy dressing up. Anyway, I have no intention of giving Sahrzad up to the Saudis or anybody else. So we'll return in a few days. In the meantime you hire our own security and alert your law firm to the problem."

"But there is no problem," Maude insisted.

"Maude, I totally agree, but the Saudis believe we've kidnapped one of their princesses. We have the home court advantage. But we do have to clear up the fact that the princess is in America under false colors."

"You're right, Rob. As always, you're the adult, the level-headed one."

Rob did not totally trust her tone. "Thanks, Maude. Now promise me you won't do anything foolish like running away."

"I promise, Rob. Brownie's honor. I'll hire the meanest security man you've ever seen, maybe three of them, and fire up the legal eagles. Do or die."

Maude would keep her word and stand fast on home ground, but she did ponder Rob's assertion that she formed attachments too quickly, or easily. She was lunching at home with Boyko and Omar when she asked if a person could fall in love with a piece of wearing apparel.

"I'm not certain what you mean," Omar said.

"I think I know," Boyko said. "Those red harem pants, I think I was in love with them. In a way they represented freedom."

Omar had recognized Boyko as the princess fairly quickly, but the three continued the façade.

"I didn't mean falling in love with one's own clothing. What I meant was if you saw someone wearing the same item, maybe multiple times, and you learned to love that item, I use the term 'love' loosely, might you imagine that you love that person?"

"I understand," Omar said. "Might you love a sultan or a king because of the finery of his garments?"

"I suppose that might follow," Maude said. "But I'm talking romantic love between two people that is sparked by unusual wearing apparel."

"I don't believe such a romance would long endure," Boyko said, "unless other factors are involved."

"And those might be?" Omar questioned.

"Well, of course, two people chemically disposed to love one another, whatever love is ‒ sexual attraction, a meeting of the minds, simply being thrown together over a period of time with nothing else to do."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Rather than be shadowed by a group of creepy Saudis, as Judy put it, Rob decided to invite Abdullah to join them on a trip to America to settle the question of the runaway princess.

The trip across the Atlantic, traveling with the sun, seemed remarkably short. Of course there were plane changes, down time in airports and so on. At their destination they opted to book Abdullah into an airport hotel with the understanding that they would pick him up the following day when all would be revealed.

So it was that that same evening they reunited with Boyko, Maude and Omar. During pre-dinner drinks, Rob announced, "We have stashed Abdullah, the Saudi sleuth, at the airport. Tomorrow we will bring him on board."

The announcement puzzled Maude, but genuinely shocked both Boyko and Omar. "His sole purpose is to drag me back for God knows what sort of ordeal," Boyko protested.

"Same here," Omar said. "I have a death sentence hanging over my head!"

"Not to worry," Rob said. "Maude has alerted her law firm. Both of you will likely be given political asylum. We will not permit you to be taken away under any circumstances."

"I don't know," Omar said. "The Saudis are rich and powerful and a firm ally of this country. We two are no more than mosquitoes."

"Or any other obnoxious insect," Boyko added.

"You are safe with us," Judy insisted. "We'll have another drink, then a good American dinner. Trust us. Have we ever failed you?"

The two agreed that things had gone well so far, and thus settled down to confront whatever fate needed confronting.

The following morning, Rob brought Abdullah to the house. They were assembled in the living room. The Saudi security man caught sight of Omar, gave him a sharp look and said, "So, you have fled our country and hoped for some security here. We'll see about that." Then he caught sight of Boyko and remarked, "The Bulgarian criminal is also in your company. Well, that is of no matter to me, but the American authorities might have a few questions for you, Sir."

"There are things you may not understand," Rob said. "First, you are not here to apprehend anyone. You are our guest. This is Maude's house. You are here only to reach an understanding of things the way they are. Your powers of observance are not as acute as they might be."

"You criticize me?" Abdullah questioned. "You harbor this cowardly Omar who has fled his duty and his native land, plus this Bulgarian lowlife?"

"I believe Omar removed himself from the king's service to avoid losing his head. And this Bulgarian you speak of is actually the princess decked out in male attire."

Abdullah did a classical double take, and then gazed at Boyko for several seconds before saying. "Sahrzad! Sahrzad, it is you. What a fool I've been."

"We'll all agree to that," Judy quipped. "Your two countrymen will doubtless be given political asylum. We have lawyers working on it. So you'd better learn to live with it."

"This is a shock," Abdullah said, and then added as if to himself, "A change of sex." Finally, back to the princess, "Cover your head, woman."

"Sorry, my Lord. I was a Saudi, then a Bulgarian, and now I'm becoming an American. If you take me back to Saudi Arabia it will be in a box."

"Possibly, but our embassy will have something to say in this matter."

"Anyway, now you know," Rob said. "We wanted you to be aware of the situation. If you remain in this house, I can see nothing brewing but trouble. I'll give you the phone number and take you back to your motel. You can talk to the embassy from there, and the embassy can talk to our lawyers. This entire matter will be handled honestly and above board. No funny business."

With the air cleared, the matter was dropped. But later in the day a call came to Judy.

"Judy, this is Abdullah. You seem to be on top of the situation. I'm calling to ask your help in getting the princess back to SaudiArabia. Omar is none of my business, although he is a traitor. I want you to know from the beginning that with me you are not dealing with a normal person. I have a mild version of autism called Asperger's syndrome. We do not have normal relations with other people. In matters of love, friendship, social relations, we have few feelings. So you see, your small group of friends is at risk in dealing with me."

"My God, what a speech," Judy said. "Are you threatening me?"

"No. I'm merely saying my duty to the Saudi King is paramount in my mind. I will resort to almost any means to return the princess to the kingdom. I will forget other considerations. Her statement about going home in a box might be prophetic. Far from threatening, I'm asking your help. Help me, and you help your friends."

"And sacrifice Scheherazade," Judy said.

"She has a duty to her family. Also to the kingdom. Surely you understand that."

"She might be killed simply because she has resisted that duty. As you indicated, her head is uncovered. She dressed as a man. Is that a crime?"

"That's not for me to say. I am merely a tool of justice. A person devoted to his duty. My condition as an autistic strengthens my dedication. To fail is not on my agenda."

Judy's mind was in confusion. Some of the things Abdullah said almost made sense. But horror was thinly veiled by his remarks. Finally, she managed to say, "We'll talk again. I'll think things over. I feel the passion in your words."

"Yes, I am passionate about my country and my king. And I have studied America, have lived there, attended college in New York City. I am aware of your traditions. I was at Woodstock."

"That's ridiculous, Abdullah, for two reasons. First you're too young, secondly, anyone who says they were at Woodstock wasn't there. No one who was there remembers it."

"I know, it's like our Haji. I wasn't actually at the event, but I have studied the folk stories and have visited the site in New York State. Also, I have a copy of the Joni Mitchell song. It was made popular by that odd group Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young."

"You're comparing Woodstock to the Haji, that annual event in Mecca to show one's total Islamic devotion?"

"In my mind, they are much the same." Abdullah spoke with absolute conviction.

"We will talk again, my friend," Judy said, adding, "I advise you to get in touch with your embassy and let them know your innermost thoughts." She reasoned that some levelheaded diplomat might be able to rein in this seemingly deranged individual.

At her first opportunity, Judy had a private talk with Rob and told him of Abdullah's call.

Rob began by saying, "In many ways autistics are ingenious. They are dedicated to one thing or another, and truly dedicated people are among the most boring, but still brilliant in a monomaniacal sense. You think he's dangerous, don't you?"

"Dangerous to Scheherazade, dangerous to anyone who stands in the way of his mission."

Rob nodded his head, initially in disbelief, and then said, "You may be right. It certainly will do no harm to take precautions. I had asked Maude to look into security men. She didn't hire anyone, but went so far as to contact an agency. Maybe we should take the next step."

"At the very least. And also bring the Saudi embassy up to speed."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Abdullah had appealed to Judy because he believed she would like to rid herself of the Saudi princess and resume a normal lifestyle. He was not prepared for rejection. He puzzled over why the Americans had gone out of their way to protect both Sahrzad and Omar Alkhudair.

The Saudi security man had attended the New School in New York City for four months, but had been asked to leave for appearing in class the worse for drink, as well as accusations that he stalked a fellow student. His opinion was that these young ladies in their scanty attire were simply inviting stalkers. Also, he thought the word "stalker" was an odd way of saying a man was paying special attention to a member of the opposite sex.

He was not happy isolated in an airport motel and took a cab into a city and found a suitable hotel. At a nearby ABC store he purchased a fifth of scotch and began drinking as soon as he returned to his hotel room. The more he drank the more he thought that Sahrzad's statement about returning to Riyadh in a box might be the easiest route.

First he reasoned that if he could isolate her in some way and then simply kill her, possibly by strangulation, he could then box her up and ship her back. He realized there were flaws to this way of thinking. For one, the body would decompose and there might be odors.

Next he thought that if he could simply kill her and cover up the act (he didn't consider it a crime), the body normally would be shipped back to Saudi Arabia for burial. Or maybe cremated and then shipped back to the disgraced family. He would be performing an honor killing generally reserved for a family member.

Finally, with almost half the bottle of scotch gone, he reached his final solution. He must kill the princess as if it were an accident. Then the embassy would take charge and the body would be returned to Saudi Arabia. He realized that traffic accidents in the States were common events. So running her down with a car would do the trick.

But using a rental car would be risky. He must either steal a car, or hijack a car. In the case of hijacking, he would likely have to kill the owner, which he could easily do. He was a large, powerful man with strong hands. At this point in his reasoning, he flopped on his bed and slept through the evening and the remainder of the night. He woke at dawn with a throbbing head and heavy guilt. Alcohol was strictly forbidden.

He did not have an aspirin. That is the one thing he totally remembered and he repeated it more than once later that day and the days to follow. In any case, if he had had an aspirin, he had always been told never to take one on an empty stomach because abdominal bleeding would follow, which might cause certain problems, such as loss of blood, a full complement of blood being vital to a robust lifestyle.

Very likely it had been a melancholy oversight that he had not finished the fifth of scotch on the previous evening's adventure. Almost half of the contents remained. He had heard of the hair of the dog and believed the remaining liquid in that bottle qualified as canine.

The time being fairly early in the day, he would only imbibe a small quantity to prop up his flagging spirits and tamp down his thumping head. However, it seemed that one thing led to another, and in no time at all there was so little left in said bottle that it seemed a shame not to finish it off.

There were cabs just to one side of the main entrance to the hotel. One of the drivers, not the first in line, had left his vehicle to chat with the doorman, but neglected to remove the key. The thought of running down the princess with an automobile was foremost in Abdullah's mind.

As a dedicated son of the Prophet, with only one objective on his mind, he slipped into the driver's seat and set off in the general direction of where he thought Maude's house might be. He traveled fully two blocks before rear-ending a police car. It was quite a crash, with broken glass, shrieking torn metal, an abrupt halt, the entire nine yards.

Maude was the first to see it on the six o'clock news as she sipped her Pinot Grigio. A drunken man had plowed into a police car, stopped at a light. The odd part was that he was a visitor from Saudi Arabia, a Muslim, forbidden to use alcohol, forbidden at least to drink it.

Maude shrieked, at first in disbelief, then in horror. Judy and Rob, who had been clued in on Abdullah's intentions, were not as ill disposed. They saw it as manna floated down from heaven. Omar, watching from the sidelines, also joining in the pre-dinner drinking as a courtesy, was puzzled. Was this the enforcer he knew and was supposed to love, now charged with DUI and grand theft auto?

Rob checked with authorities the following morning and learned that no bond had been set because Abdullah, as a foreigner, might be prone to flight, but he was able to talk with the prisoner later in the afternoon.

He found the Arab in a depressed state, hunched over a small table in a large conference room with a single guard at a desk in one corner. Rob took a seat across the table and asked, "How you doing?"

"Just great," Abdullah replied sarcastically. "They've contacted the embassy. The ambassador himself has talked to local authorities. He's offered to place me under guard and return me to Saudi Arabia for punishment."

"Is that good or bad?" Rob questioned.

"It depends. Both crimes are an insult to the Prophet. In the old days there would be a set sentence. For stealing money your right hand would be cut off. For stealing bread it would be your left. But I don't know about this stealing a cab, another person's living and then destroying it by smashing into a vehicle belonging to local law enforcement, thus destroying the second vehicle also. The clerics might have some difficulty figuring that one out, but I'm guessing the penalty would be cutting off both hands."

"Wouldn't that diminish your chances of earning a living?"

"It would if that were an option," the Arab replied. "But you must remember that drinking alcohol, particularly to excess, is also an offense against the Prophet. So after they cut off both hands, they would then behead me."

"That does seem excessive," Rob replied. "But it is a deterrent from committing future offense against the Prophet. Tell me, Abdullah, is the Prophet aware of these offenses?"

"You would have to ask the clerics about that one."

"But this seemingly harsh punishment is simply to deter you from future criminal activities?"

"By example. Such punishments, like public stonings, are meant to influence others to stick to the straight and narrow."

"Are they effective?"

"No way to tell. If such things weren't done, crime might be rampant. As it is, there is still crime. There are poor people, although not so many in Saudi Arabia, save for the imported laborers. But there is lust, greed, jealousy, all that common list of sinful acts. They cause the Prophet to be offended on a daily basis."

"It would seem to me that all that severing of hands and then hacking the head off on top of it would create a good deal of blood. What a mess. Is there some special place to do that sort of job?"

"No. As a security person, fairly high up in the ranks, I'm very much aware of such procedures. With both hands cut off, even one hand plus the head, it does create a lot of blood. The heart is pumping hard at the time of an execution. So it's the executioner's task to gather up the body parts, wrap them in a shroud, and then see that they are carted off to an unmarked grave, usually some place in the desert. One can assume that the Prophet is pleased with this reaction to his being offended and that he is not a careful observer of the carnage. So I understand the executioner usually simply shoots his victim in the head and is done with it."

"Yes, the same result. Why not? I take it, even though you are a good Muslim, a true son of the Prophet and would follow his teachings to the nth degree, that you are not looking forward to these proceedings with any cheerful anticipation?"

"You take it correctly. Do you think the embassy can short circuit American justice and return me to Saudi Arabia?"

"I don't know. It sounds unlikely. We have lawyers. If you like I can have them make a case for political asylum to escape barbarous treatment in Saudi Arabia. If that would please you."

Abdullah seemed to brighten. "It would please me to no end. But I am a criminal, even though innocent until proven guilty. Fat chance of innocence. Would they grant a criminal's wish?"

"If it were couched in the proper terms. You wouldn't contest any of the charges against you. The case seems open and shut. And you would give up this nonsense about returning the princess to Riyadh. Then you would serve a term in state prison. Reparations would be made."

Abdullah nodded in the negative. "I myself am not a rich man. Any money I have would likely be frozen by the government. I'm certain the Saudi king would not pay damages. That could be a sticking point."

"Maude and I are fairly wealthy, particularly Maude. We could pay the damages if you give us your word to be a good American and put Saudi Arabia behind you."

"And give up Islam?"

"Not necessary. There are Muslims in this country who follow our laws. After your prison time, with time off for good behavior, you can lead a normal life, maybe join Alcoholics Anonymous, have a family and so forth."

"But I could give up Islam?"

"Certainly. I'm an Episcopalian minister. You can join my church if that pleases you."

"I would be a follower of Jesus Christ?"

"Yes, we try to follow his example, what we think of him, all good."

"And if I offend him?"

"Jesus forgives all sins. It's not possible to offend him. He would also like you to love everybody, including your enemy."

"I could love the princess."

"Let's not carry this too far. One step at a time."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

So it came to pass. Abdullah was granted asylum and sentenced to four to five years in state prison. Cook promised to visit him and send odds and ends on request. The three originals were left with Scheherazade and Omar who seemed to have eyes for one another. They too wangled political asylum.

A week passed, then two, and the three friends were at loose ends. The world tour had been interrupted, but how to get it started again with the two Saudis in the house?

One day the princess came to Rob and said, "Omar longs for my virtue."

"I think I get your drift," Rob replied, "but that's an odd way to put it. Have the two of you embraced?"

"Warmly."

"Did your lips meet?"

"On numerous occasions."

"Have you considered a legal mating, such as marriage?"

"That has been on my mind, but Omar thus far has failed to bring it up."

"I will speak to him."

Omar needed no encouragement. He seemed to be simply a shy guy. Rob offered to dig up a Muslim holy man, but the two of them opted for a civil union and a ceremony presided over by Rob in the Holy Blood chapel. Maude said the two of them could remain in her home, and she would find work for Omar.

The three friends heaved a collective sigh of relief. They could return to their wild roving. But where to start?

After a couple of days of give and take conversation they agreed that they could be flaneurs. The problem was that flaneurs were simply idlers that walked about looking at things. But Maude pointed out that they were generally sharp dressers, which appealed to her.

Judy suggested they become desperadoes. But to do so the three of them would have to share in some heinous crime, then flee for their lives. This solution was rejected as unsavory. Judy simply enjoyed the word "desperado" and would repeat it several times at odd moments, seemingly for no reason.

They were somewhat in agreement on a trip to Asia, but not entirely. The debate went on. Meanwhile, with Cook's assistance, the Princess was attempting to learn to cook. She had found nine ways to prepare artichokes and was going through the entire list. The household voted that artichoke stuffed with crab was the best of the lot and begged her to move on.

Then Maude was fooling around on line and found an Overseas Adventure Travel excursion to the Amazon River departing almost immediately due to cancellations that left two cabins empty. She signed up instantly, fearing some other lucky adventurer might snatch up this deal.

The river vessel was called La Esmeralda and was billed as not the largest ship on the Amazon, but the cutest. Judy and Rob, eager to escape the Artichoke Queen and her next adventure, jumped at the chance to challenge the mosquito-infested Amazon Basin. It was even decided that Rob would take notes and reprise the trip in a short speech after the trio had reached Hong Kong or some other Asian destination. It was wondered whether Australia was part of Asia?

Rob wrote very brief notes on this trip:

Missed flight in Atlanta. Missed flight in Miami. Afternoon flight to Lima delayed to eject to passengers from the plane. In Lima met by tour woman, Rosita and microbus to El Condado Hotel. Morning flight over mountains to Iquitos, isolated city of maybe half a million and the largest in the Peruvian rainforest.

Toured the marketplace and then boarded the "cute" vessel. Celebrated with Pisco sours, crew band played, then catfish and chicken dinner. Next day on board skiff for bird and beast watching. Small black specks said to be birds, small black lumps said to be sloth and iguana. Hard to tell from such a distance.

Next day watched birders leave vessel, but compelled to walk in the jungle. The wide river had various names due to tributaries. But Jack Costeau guaranteed that it was the Amazon. The main guide is Corina, in addition to two locals –Ricardo and Jorge (George of the Jungle). Judy remained under the paddle fans on the top deck while Rob and Maude went off to see giant lily pads.

Saw pink and blue dolphins. Pink ones may be albinos, but have long flourished here. On the morning wildlife ride, there were many monkeys moving through dense trees, plus a large flock of birds in the trees – chicken size with small heads. They came upon a raft in midstream. Family builds raft with shelter. Stock with food and other items for sale or food. Drift down the river for maybe thirteen days using long sweeps for control. Finally sell raft for lumber, return home on ferry, build another raft. Lifestyle.

Night walk in the jungle revealed only frogs and insects. Next day suspension footbridge in the treetops. Then lunch with native family. Golden catfish wrapped in banana leaves. Delicious. Also plantains, cassava root, jungle beer, pineapple juice. A group sets off to fish for piranhas. The three friends remained on the top deck to drink. Remainder of junket, mundane to repetitious to tedious.

CHAPTER THIRTY

The trio flew to Hong Kong.

Of course it's never Hong Kong, it's always Kowloon. Hong Kong is just across the water via the Star Ferry. The three checked into a suite at the Peninsula, a luxury hotel near the Star Ferry. It also enclosed a high-line shopping arcade plus a string quartet that played on a balcony overlooking the spacious restaurant during the dinner hour.

Maude and Rob had both explored Hong Kong as teens and assured Judy it was nothing special. On Sunday the downtown was flooded with gossiping Filipino maids on their traditional day off.

But Judy did set off on her own, taking the short trip on the Star Ferry then reaching a mountain peak by funicular railway to view Repulse Bay, which seemed to satisfy her.

They took the hydro boat to Macau, found it another Las Vegas, complete with round-the-clock gambling and round-the-clock hookers. Oddly enough the Chinese gangs called Triads were still operating even after the Portuguese colony had been returned to mainland China.

They returned to Kowloon for a day, then boarded a ferry to go up river in mainland China to Jiangman City, also known as Gong Moon, depending on your language, Mandarin or Cantonese. Jiangman is small by Chinese standards, only a few hundred thousand people, a university and large commercial section.

They enjoyed strolling the city near the university, looking in on the dai pai dong, or food stalls, noticing the women street sweepers in their orange overalls and surgical masks. Littering seemed almost encouraged.

Then there were the curbside entrepreneurs with everything from sewing machines to shoe repair outfits to fruit peddlers. They also participated in yum cha, which means morning tea, with tasty dim sum tidbits wheeled by in carts as breakfast delights. The yum cha sessions were popular with old people who would sit at table for hours chatting away in their various dialects. They were told that villagers who might live only thirty miles apart would have difficulty understanding one another.

For two days, the three of them joined a tai chi class that met in a local park. The slow moving meditation and balance is said to be good for the body and the soul. But they lacked the Asian patience and mindset to continue, deciding instead to join a boat tour of the Three Gorges.

The Three Gorges, a hydroelectric dam, spans the Yangtze River at Sandouping. It is the world's largest power station and has transformed that section of China while flooding archaeological and cultural sites and displacing 1.3 million people. It also caused ecological changes and upped landslide risks. The good, the bad and the controversial.

It increased the river's shipping capacity and tour boats since the early stages. To join the tour, the threesome took the ferry back to Kowloon, remained overnight, caught the train for the short ride to the airport, boarded a small turbojet with twenty-five, or thirty others, mostly Americans, all booked on the same tour boat.

They had been airborne less than half an hour when most passengers became aware of a handsome young man at the front of the plane holding an automatic weapon. "Call me Tiger," he shouted in perfect English, brandishing his weapon in a menacing fashion.

"Me and my two friends, both of them in with the pilot and co-pilot now, are hijacking this plane. You might call us air pirates. You have nothing to fear. We intend to hold you for ransom, and then release you to wherever you wish to go. Frankly, we live in poor circumstances and we seek only a few dollars."

There had been something of a general gasp throughout the aircraft, but now calm had been restored due to Tiger's reassurances.

Rob, seated near the front, asked, "How did you manage to sneak firearms aboard the plane?"

Tiger laughed. "You know that x-ray machine they run your carry on through?"

"Yes."

"It doesn't work and never has at that airport. It's there to fool you. The metal detector you walk through doesn't work either. Someone pushes a button and makes it buzz every now and then. Then they'll ask you to remove your belt, or check your fillings, or anything else to keep up the pretense. We could have brought a bag of hand grenades on board."

"Where are you taking us?" Rob continued.

"To a small island. We have other men there, well armed and watchful. No chance to escape."

"You have every appearance of being a well-educated man," Rob said.

"I'm flattered that you noticed. I might as well tell you, my parents were diplomats assigned to a west coast consulate. I spent two years at Stanford. Regrettably, my Dad fell out with the present regime of our country, which will be nameless, although you'll likely guess. He died in prison, and my Mom committed suicide. As the son, I'm classed as an outlaw, considered likely to seek revenge or do some despicable act, maybe hijack an airplane. Anyway, it shouldn't be long 'til we reach our destination. We have the coordinates and all the equipment to bring us down safely."

"Won't the Chinese be upset that you're making off with a China-based airplane?"

Tiger thought for a moment, and then replied, "They probably won't know. My two friends, both of whom are fluent in Chinese and English, are making a deal with the pilots. They unload you all, then return to Kowloon, pretending it's all in a day's work."

"How could you trust them to do that?"

"Their own self-interest. We will have all of their personal information. And we have links with the Chinese Triads, the Asian Mafia, every bit as ruthless as their Sicilian cousins. Now let us relax and enjoy the journey. I've probably talked too much already. One of my shortcomings."

Seated together, Rob, Maude and Judy whispered to one another, but were no match for an alert young man holding an automatic weapon. He seemed to be the leader of the hijackers, information that might come in handy at a later date.

As the plane droned on, Rob whispered to the others that he believed they were headed for Indonesia.

"Why there?" Judy questioned.

"It's an archipelago made up of thousands of islands, and I mean thousands. It would be a simple matter to have a group of hijackers, or outlaws of any kind, living there anonymously. It would be ideal. Plus the nation has a history of corruption, which might have taken care of Tiger's parents. I think we'll be able to tell when the plane lands."

As it turned out, Rob was right. By actual and tedious count the country is made up of 17,508 islands with a population of 238 million, fourth largest on Earth. It also possesses abundant natural resources side by side with widespread poverty.

The plane set down in a jungle clearing in mid-afternoon. The 27 passengers were herded into two large trucks, their carry-ons loaded into a smaller vehicle. They were surrounded by tough-looking armed men. As the trucks pulled away, the plane turned and became airborne. As Tiger had predicted, a deal had been made.

Less than half a mile from the airstrip, the passengers, about half of them women and four or five children, were ordered off the trucks and told to empty their pockets and toss all personal possessions, including wallets, jewelry, belts and glasses, into a large wooden crate.

Then they were herded into a walled compound sealed with a metal gate and padlocked behind them. The compound was open to the air, which was quite warm. There were a few open-sided canvas tops to provide shelter from the frequent afternoon rains.

The passengers milled about, squabbling, speculating on their fate. A crude latrine had been dug in one corner of the compound. Other than that there were no facilities. The prisoners would have to fight off mosquitoes, other insects and sleep on the open ground. Judy, Maude and Rob huddled together under a canvas with several others.

"This might be our best adventure yet," Maude said.

It took Judy a moment or two to digest that comment, but eventually she replied. "My God, money couldn't buy this experience."

"Au contraire," Rob said. "It will likely be quite costly in loot and possibly our good health."

There was no food until mid-morning the following day when pots of rice were placed inside the compound's gate along with small plastic plates and old wine and soft drink bottles filled with water.

They were eaten up by insects, the latrine was stinking, there was no toilet paper, no soap or washing facilities, no one to complain to. No word on the progress of negotiations.

As dawn broke on the fourth morning a woman was heard screaming and a child loudly sobbing. The three of them rushed to the area where the tourists were gathering. A mother, the screamer, was clutching her teen-age daughter to her breast. It seemed men had come for the attractive 16-year-old late the night before and had spent the night gang raping her before throwing her back into the compound.

Everyone was appalled by the outrage, but no one could think of a remedy. "My daughter needs medical attention," the woman sobbed.

"Damn right she does," Judy shouted. "And she'll have it or I'll die trying." She dashed to the iron gate and shouted like a crazy person, demanding to see the Tiger.

"Shut your mouth, you bitch," one the guards shouted back. "You'll be the one we bring out here tonight."

The pile of empty water bottles lay by the gate. Judy began picking them up and smashing them against the iron bars. She was on the fifth one when the guards opened the gate and dragged her out of the compound.

"We'll see how you enjoy a little sex," a guard said, two of them fondling her body.

At that moment, hearing the racket, Tiger appeared. "Let that woman go," he demanded. "These captives are valuable. They're not to be molested."

The guards did as they were told. Judy's eyes blazed with fury. "A sixteen-year-old girl was gang raped last night by your guards. She needs medical attention. I demand you take her to Jakarta!"

"Jakarta," a guard said. "Oh, yes, we'll all go to Jakarta." Other militants who had gathered began laughing and repeating, "Jakarta."

"I need to talk to you in private," Judy told Tiger.

"Okay. We'll go to my office." He led her to a hut about sixty paces away that served as his cabin and office.

Once inside, she asked, "We hear nothing about negotiations. We are bitten by insects, denied even toilet paper, we will soon die from the rice diet if malaria doesn't get us first. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Tiger lifted his hands in a motion of desperation. "The kidnapping went well, just as planned. Since then I have lost control. All the money and personal effects of the prisoners has vanished. Watches, rings and so forth. There is a man called Lobo, an evil strongman and a great bully. He is no doubt responsible for the rape of that poor girl. And that crime may be repeated. I was counting on an orderly process. ATM cards to visit nearby towns to get money for negotiations. All of them vanished. The passwords unknown so they are useless."

"You, the Tiger, you've lost control?" Judy asked in wonder.

"Yes. I am considered a college boy, the son of wealthy parents. Unfortunately those parents are dead and I'm a wanted man, but powerless. Lobo rules here. A bully, but very likely also a coward. So he has his following. I've tried to reason with them, but to no avail. So far they're happy with spending the money they've taken from the tourists' wallets. They have motor boats and can buy whisky, drugs, and whatever else they want on nearby islands."

"You mean we women are to be systematically raped and abused?"

"Maybe the men too. I am powerless."

"But I'm not. I'll take care of Lobo for you. That might solve your problem."

Tiger made a sound like a half-hearted chuckle. "You will bring down Lobo. If it were only true."

"You wear a pistol at your side. Hand it over."

"Me? Give you my revolver? Ridiculous."

"Yes, and a few extra cartridges. I'll face down Lobo. Not ridiculous. Hand it over." She was in earnest.

"What have I got to lose? You want the holster too?"

"No. I'll hide the weapon."

He gave her the pistol and a few extra shells. It was a German-made nine shot. Judy thrust it in a deep side pocket. She always wore men's trousers in order to have adequate pocket room. "You stay here, I shall go."

Slowly, she walked back to the compound and the militants seemed to avoid her. The gate still hung open. Turning and standing in the gate, she shouted, "Where is the coward they call Lobo?"

The militants muttered among themselves, some laughed out loud. "He should be here soon," one sneered. One of the men broke away and loped off, possibly to fetch the strong man.

Moments later a large, black mustachioed man came strolling along the jungle trail.

"Where is the coward Lobo?" Judy demanded.

Obviously, he was Lobo. The others watched him with fearful eyes. He could and would smash any of them into the dirt, then kick their head in. He did not carry a long gun, but a pistol was strapped to his side, a leather flap holding it tight.

"I am Lobo," he said in a rough voice. "You can be my lover."

Judy smiled. "Come closer, Lobo, so we can share a warm hug."

"There will be more than a hug," he said, looking around and nodding to the crowd. The prisoners inside the stockade were also watching with troubled emotions.

As Lobo strode forward, Judy drew the pistol from her pocket, steadied it with two hands and fired two shots into Lobo's chest. A look of frightened surprise appeared on his face as he fell backward, already dead.

Judy swept the guards with her pistol and none moved. "I have an agreement with Tiger," she announced. "The money will be paid for our release and you will all be rich. But the prisoners will get better treatment, better food, and the poor girl who was so mistreated, a girl like your sisters, or children, or wives or mothers, will be given medical attention. Lobo was a cruel and hateful man. He got what he deserved." She turned and walked into the compound.

For a long moment there was silence. Then the militants and the prisoners began to chatter among themselves. After a time, Tiger joined the crowd. He had been listening to the proceedings while hiding in the jungle growth. Moving to the center of the crowd, just outside the gate, he announced, "This woman," beckoning to Judy, "will be my assistant in getting the money from America and elsewhere. I will need all the cards and information from the wallets returned. Anyone harming a prisoner will be shot."

Judy waited until the noise from the crowd quieted down, and then said in her loudest voice, "In one hour Tiger and I will announce our plan. I know that won't be a problem because a lot of you have watches." Muffled laughter throughout the crowd. "In the meantime the iron gates will remain open. These prisoners cannot harm you. When the announcement is made, those who speak English please translate for those who do not. Thank you."

Judy and Tiger walked to his office. Once inside they took seats to begin their discussion. Judy was first to speak. "Why did you give me that pistol? It rather shocked me."

Tiger smiled. "It also shocked me, but you seemed so sincere. Then it seemed a good way to rid the camp of Lobo. You see, I had another pistol in my desk which I now wear by my side."

"I noticed."

"So when you set out to kill Lobo, I followed. If he had killed you, I would have shot him. I could never have simply shot him. His followers would have shot me, but psychologically, that plan seemed fairly foolproof."

"Pragmatic is pragmatic. I felt I could get the drop on him. I also wanted to gun somebody down. Now that's out of the way."

"It's good to get these things out of your system," Tiger agreed.

For the better part of an hour they worked out their plan, then returned to the compound gate where the prisoners and militia members, wives and children were gathered.

The first to speak was Lobo's widow. "I wish everyone to know how grateful I am for this woman shooting my husband. He was a bully to you all, but I got the worst of it. Not a day went by that he didn't strike me at least once. My bruises will heal now." Turning to Judy, she said, "Thank you, American lady."

What a wonderful way to open this session, Judy thought. That really set the tone. She sensed the crowd was with her.

"As I said before, these captives, half sick, half dead, are harmless. We intend to permit them the run of the camp. There are empty buildings where they can find shelter. Perhaps some of you have spare bedding. The men can work to build shelters and improve conditions. We will work together. We should get the first of the money from the States in a few days. It will be shared equally."

"How do we know this?" one of the hijackers who had been on the plane asked.

"For a couple of reasons," Judy replied. "One, these tourists want to go home. Two, they do want to help you out of your poverty and grief. A small boat will go to an island where there is a bank and an ATM and we will set up an account."

"What about the poor raped child?" a man asked. "Don't you hate us? Don't you seek revenge?"

"Lobo might be classed as a Christ figure. With his death he paid for your sins. All is forgiven. Except, the mother and her child. A woman from the camp and two trusted men must take them to an island where there is a hospital. The mother will not talk because her husband will be detained here as a hostage."

It took the crowd several minutes of jabbering to chew and digest that one, but finally they seemed in agreement.

"Now for the next step," Judy said. As the killer of Lobo and with a weapon still in her possession she was firmly in charge, although almost every man carried an automatic long gun. "Please come forward and drop credit cards and bank cards on the blanket at my feet. We need them to get enough money to open an account and set up communications with the friends and relatives of these wretched prisoners."

A man in camos questioned, "What if the U.S. government decides to take the island by force?"

"I don't think that will happen," Judy replied. "If we did not make this arrangement and word got out, as it would, that an American teen had been brutally raped by kidnappers, the total might of the American military would come down upon us like a hammer from hell."

"But wouldn't that mean some of you hostages would also be killed?" another questioned.

Judy smiled and decided on a cute answer. "Our national anthem says America is the home of the brave, so who would really care. Revenge is sweet." She added, "We will instruct those who will send the money that we are one with our captors. Which means there will be no set amount for the ransom. Each will give what he can. But all in all it will be a substantial sum, and each of you can have a bank account on a nearby island if you wish. If not, you can blow the proceeds on strong drink, women and riotous living."

A few English speakers struggled to translate her words, which resulted in a few chuckles. A standup artist she was not. But then she closed, suggesting part or all of the ill-gotten gains be entrusted to wives.

Tiger oversaw the first job, getting the rape victim, her mother and a pair of stalwart men into a motorboat. Everyone jammed the waterfront to bid them bon voyage. Then the prisoners began going their separate ways in the company of now caring villagers. What a transformation.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

When the day was fading, Maude and Rob found Judy at Tiger's office and told her they had found an old building where several of the prisoners were taking shelter.

Another bit of good news, a fire had been built and they were roasting a pair of chickens. The entire island was like a farmyard with chickens scurrying here and there, many hens leading their flock of chicks. Goats and the odd dog were also present, as well as fish from the sea around them. Exotic fruit could be plucked from trees.

The island, first seen as a prison hell, was becoming a tropical paradise. A businessman from San Diego suggested they do a TV reality series. "I could get financing and have a company here for a shoot within a month. This kind of apple doesn't grow on a tree."

There had been a night-to-day improvement, but the Hilton it was not.

Judy begged off and said a sleeping bag had been provided and she would sack out in Tiger's office. There was a decent outhouse nearby, a flashlight. fresh water and toilet paper, which seemed heavy on everyone's mind.

"We are back to the old days when human waste disposal was a major problem," Judy mused.

"My grandparents said an old black man would come around with a wagon and mule and clean out their outhouse for a small price when they lived in a southern village for a few months." Rob said.

"I've heard the stories," Maude said. "On Halloween, pranksters would tip over outhouses. They were less than sturdy structures."

"Then there was the actor, Charles Sale, who wrote a play called The Specialist about an outhouse builder. This earned Sale the nickname of Chic Sales, which became a euphemism for an outhouse," Rob explained.

"You seem to be an outhouse expert," Judy quipped.

"More than you know. If you've read much of Mark Twain you'll find in that era they called the outhouse the necessary house."

"Another euphemism," Maude tossed in.

During the next few days, Tiger, Judy and a pair of militants traveled to a nearby island, obtained cash with a couple of ATM cards and opened an association bank account with Tiger as the trustee – the Tiger trust, with Tiger using his real name, Joel Cather.

Emails were sent to available addresses with a total list of the captives, plus a request for money, not ransom, but funds to help poverty-stricken villagers. It was broadly hinted that until such funds were wired to the Tiger trust, the tourists would remain island bound helping the natives in their own way.

Judy was tied up with Tiger attempting to set up accounts and get the funding rolling and was unaware what was going on between the militants, the villagers and the tourists until Rob filled her in.

"At the moment two groups of classes have been organized, both with sets of tourists as teachers. One struggles to teach English, the other literacy."

"You mean reading and writing?"

"Exactly."

"How were these teachers qualified?"

Rob grinned. "We gave an ink blot test."

"There's a proper name for that test."

"I know, but I can't pronounce it," Rob replied

"Neither can I. Also, I'm not going to ask any more questions about your stupid ink blots." She smiled slyly. "You're obviously on the brink of insanity. You've been sleeping with Maude, haven't you?"

The question failed to shock him. It was a surprise because he had only begun sleeping with Maude two days ago when they managed to construct a fairly private hut. He tossed back, "Have you been sleeping with Tiger?"

"Now why would you ask such a question? It's inappropriate at several levels. Tiger and I are working together to solve fairly difficult problems."

"Maude and I are also in the trenches at the island and village level. And remember we slept together."

Judy considered those words and finally answered, "Once for money, once for love. I still have feelings for you, Rob. But I won't fault you for recreational, or any other kind of sex. We're making the best of what started out as a fairly foul situation."

All the groups on the island seemed to be enjoying the new mix. Fortunately, there was no serious illness. Malaria pills had been purchased from the civilized island and some of the tourists were taking them, some not. That malaria might be wiped from the surface of the earth is strictly a myth. So far, no effective vaccine had been developed. There were groups raising money to abolish malaria, but simply tossing money at the problem might help, but there was no certain cure despite some claims.

It wasn't long before the money started trickling in to the Tiger bank fund. The task now, which seemed daunting, was to ferry each and every island denizen to the civilized island and have them open a bank account. This was particularly trying because many of them were illiterate.

Nevertheless the task was carried forward. The society in that part of the world was not unfamiliar with illiteracy. Each person had a special mark associated with his or her name. Children were not exempt from the money fund, even babes in arms. As the Tiger fund grew, the bank accounts grew.

Time passed, and the flow of money to the fund increased and then diminished to a trickle, but it was deemed adequate by an island council that had been established. The fact was that the militants and the islanders were aware that a major crime had been committed, and the Tiger fund enabled them to reap some of the benefits while escaping punishment.

A ferry service for the tourists was established, and a few at a time they were evacuated to Jakarta where they could board planes for home at their own expense, although they hoped to recoup these losses later on from the tour company that had so diligently ignored their plight. There were hugs and tearful goodbyes.

Rob, Judy and Maude, who had moved into a hut together, were getting their scant belongings together for the final ferry trip when word came from a neighboring island that government troops had gathered and were poised for a raid.

It was a fisherman named Tan who brought the news.

He was on the beach, surrounded by an excited crowd, when our three travelers came upon him. It took them several minutes to figure out just what he was saying, although he spoke a form of English.

"Why would they raid us at this time?" Rob asked.

Tan didn't understand the question at first. Judy explained that there had been captive tourists on the island, but almost all of them had gone to Jakarta and then home.

"They don't want tourists," Tan said.

"What do they want?" Maude questioned.

"Cather," the fisherman replied.

"Cather," Maude repeated, "what's that?"

"It's Tiger's real name," Judy said, "Joel Cather."

"Why would they want Tiger?" Maude questioned.

A man standing by who was called Chief, and who passed as the island chief, replied, "Joel Cather comes from a well-known political family. His parents are dead, but they were known as honest politicians. If Joel were to make it to Jakarta alive and to be protected in some way, the people might rise up and draft him as their leader. The corrupt government in Jakarta fears him. Whether this would happen or not is simply speculation, but once dead, end of problem. The troops were sent to kill him."

"But they would simply take him into custody," Maude said.

"Yes," the Chief replied. "And he would die in custody. Probably his body would be stolen, perhaps eaten by a salt-water croc. There are many ways to skin a dog."

"They are coming," Tan said, pointing out to sea. At least five powerboats were headed in the direction of the beach.

"Holy Christ," Judy exclaimed. "While they're at it they might want to get rid of us."

"Tiger's in his hut," Rob said. "Let's grab him and run for the other side of the island." He turned to Tan. "If you can pick us up in your boat over there, we will pay you."

"I'll do it for free, for Cather," he replied and trotted off.

There was little time, but they each grabbed something. Bug repellent, dried fruit, bottled water, a poncho, matches, whatever was at hand. The four of them set off at a fast trot. The soldiers, or marines, whatever they were, were likely all Muslims and wouldn't think twice about ending the lives of three Christians who happened to be with their quarry.

The island was bigger than they thought, and the jungle unforgiving. They set their direction by the sun, what little they could see of it through the thick foliage. Their worst fear was traveling in circles. As the daylight faded and night descended, they hunkered down, sipped what water they had and rationed out the dried fruit.

In the tropics there is no long gloaming. That's reserved for northern countries like Scotland. One moment it's day, then dark comes down like switching off a light. The girls huddled beneath the poncho's scant protection. The noises of the deep jungle were weird and might be terrifying to the uninitiated. But the four of them had been in close enough contact to be only slightly awed.

Morning came, and they were all hungry and thirsty. There was little water left, but what there was they shared out. Then they had a short discussion over which direction to take before heading out.

It was nine a.m. according to Rob's watch, and Maude asked, "Are we hopelessly lost?" They had struggled to come two miles at most, although pushing through dense bush without benefit of machete or path made for disorientation.

"Have faith and carry on," Tiger said, shirt soaked in sweat.

Judy stripped her blouse, threw away her bra and replaced her blouse. Maude followed suit. Both were heavy with sweat. "Water is a necessity out here," Judy observed.

With the noon sun high overhead they heard a distant crashing as if a large animal was making its way through the underbrush. They hunkered down as the sound approached. In a few minutes a head appeared. It was their fisherman friend, Tan."

"My God, are we glad to see you," Rob shouted.

"And I you," Tan said. "Three boatloads of soldiers followed me. I had to drive my boat up on the beach and dash into the bush. Later I found they had burned my boat."

"I wonder how they knew what was going on?" Maude questioned.

"Probably just a suspicion," Tiger said.

"Yes," Tan agreed. "They're out for blood. Tiger blood." He gave Cather a knowing look.

"We may save them the trouble," Judy said. "We have no food or water. It's simply a matter of time 'til we're dead meat."

"I can solve those problems. I know the jungle. There's water aplenty and food to be gathered if you know where to look. Let's take care of that first. I don't want you folks passing out on me."

Tan had grabbed a heavy machete with a razor-sharp blade as he exited his fishing boat, and he knew how to use it, as well as how to find pockets of water in odd places, edible things that were abundant in this environment.

By nightfall the five of them were well provisioned, and gathered around a small fire. Tan had said the soldiers, probably from the Jakarta area, were afraid to venture into the jungle. He guessed they would maintain a presence in the village, and patrol the island in their launches. He also had a plan. It included vengeance against those who had burned his boat.

They sat in a small clearing, with jungle noises everywhere and a half moon high above, partially obscured by drifting clouds.

"Why would the soldiers hesitate to come into the jungle?" Maude asked.

"Snakes," Tan said abruptly. "More than 400 species of snakes, at least five of them deadly. Every Indonesian child knows the names of deadly snakes – the tiny Coral snake, the Banded Krait, a couple of Cobras and more than one Viper. Some are quite beautiful, many green, and you will see quite a few in the branches above your heads."

The description brought shudders to Maude and Judy. Rob wore a grim grin and tried to look macho. Tiger said nothing. Although he was from Indonesia, outside of Jakarta he was quite lost. They were in the midst of a snake paradise.

"Pythons have been caught up to forty-five feet in length," Tan continued. "And never touch a furry caterpillar."

"What's with the caterpillars?" Judy asked.

"Even to touch the leaves they've been on might cause swelling, welts, serious irritation. They just don't like people," Tan chuckled. "Actually, all these things are doing is protecting themselves. Snakes will run away or hide. But if you step on one, look out."

The following day was a breeze. No snake bites, although they did see some in overhead branches, mostly harmless, although their bite would cause pain. Tan led the way with his machete, and toward day's end he said they were close enough to the village. So they made as comfortable a camp as possible.

Late that night Tan crept out of their camp and scouted the village and beach areas. In the morning they had coffee, hard bread and floppy military hats. The fisherman proved to be a competent scrounger.

"We are far enough away so they cannot hear us," he said. "But a villager might stumble on us if he ventures this far. But they are on our side and distrust the soldiers who might turn on them at any time. The militants have hidden their weapons and blended in with the village."

"Here we sit like birds in the wilderness," Judy said in good humor.

"Birds with strong claws and sharp beaks," Tan replied. "Night will come, and we must rest until two hours before dawn, the time when the body is at its lowest ebb. Six launches are drawn up partially on the beach. We need only one. Five will be sacrificial as will be the single soldier supposedly on watch, watching the sea as if that is where danger lies." And his eyes seemed to glow like coals.

The three Americans plus Tiger were chilled by apprehension, yet a thrill of adventure ran through their very being. A type of numbness took over in apprehension of the work to come. To envision it was unthinkable. Judy and Tiger still carried their revolvers and carefully cleaned them during the day.

It was difficult to believe that Tan was a simple fisherman. He seemed a steady and natural leader. At one time he talked about time spent on his small vessel with no human companionship. The sky, the ever changing sky, the night sky with its blanket of stars, the water and the creatures of the sea. How could one be lonely?

Night fell like a curtain, and Tan was the first to sleep. The others struggled with their thoughts briefly and succumbed from weariness. Not long before dawn, as Tan had said at the body's lowest ebb, he awoke them and they set out in his footsteps.

They crept through the village until they could see the moon glint on the water and hear the low murmur of a lazy surf. Tan signaled them to stay. Silently he moved forward, and they could make out the figure of a seated sentry, apparently staring out to sea, if awake. Closing in on the seated figure, one swipe with the machete and a human head rolled into the silver line of the surf.

Tan signaled them to join him. He motioned to three palm trees and whispered, "A stock of five gallon cans of gasoline. Quietly the girls can carry as many as possible and put them in the launch on the right, Rob and Tiger splash gasoline over the other five boats. Then they pushed the boat out to sea to get it started."

They worked in silence for fully ten minutes with Tan first helping Rob and Tiger, and then assisting the girls. The launch was large enough to comfortably seat up to fifteen, and they loaded it with cans of gasoline. Then the five of them pushed it off the beach until it floated free."

They clambered aboard and Tan started the engine with no problem. Then he was out of the boat like a shot and back on the beach igniting a gasoline torch, then moving from boat to boat until all five were alive with flames. After dropping the torch into the last boat, he ran into the surf and extinguished flames on his trousers and climbed into the boat and hit the throttle.

Already there was action on the shoreline with the flames illuminating shadowy figures. A shot or two was fired in their direction. Rob and Judy drew their weapons and returned fire. Not that they could hit anything, but it was enough to make the figures on the beach dive for cover, enough to lend the boat time to speed out of range.

"By God, we did it," Judy shouted in joy.

Tan smiled broadly and Rob kissed her. Maude was still thinking of the severed head washing to and fro in the surf, although she was cheered enough to hug her seatmate, Tiger. By noon they could pull up at a friendly island and pig out on seafood and beer.

After that, Tan would find a dealer and trade the expensive launch for a smaller fishing boat, and he would be back in business. Tiger, alias Joel Cather, joined friends on the island to map future plans. Rob and the ladies hit the ATM, bought new outfits, found housing for the night, and then booked sea passage to Jakarta with plans to go somewhere else. But where?

CHAPTER THIRY-TWO

From Jakarta they flew back to Kowloon and returned to the Peninsula Hotel, which they had enjoyed in the past. They spent long days and evenings, sometimes taking the Star Ferry to Hong Kong, once taking an excursion to Mainland China, which everyone in Hong Kong called China and wondered why anyone would want to go there.

They talked about their lives and what they might do in the future. Rob commented on women. "They seem to want equality in work, marriage, family life, everything. What they seem to want, not knowing the downside, is what men have long had. But there's your collision. Both sexes can't have the same life."

Judy knew there was a flaw in what he said, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Maude dipped rice crackers into soft goat cheese and sipped her white wine. They were content with their lives and the luxury of the Peninsula. Indonesia seemed a distant dream. Everyone here was polite and spoke English.

Maude had stopped talking about a Portuguese fishing village where they would all go native and live in houses made of uncured mud bricks, painted either white or in vibrant colors. She now mentioned the Ukraine or Nicaragua. She had read somewhere that they were the next unspoiled tourist places. Safe, and you'd better beat the rush. They had decided to push the Three Gorges boat trip from their minds.

Judy asked Rob what he intended to do with his life.

"I suppose I'm a failure," he replied. "I can then idle my time away with impunity. Perhaps money is a curse, as some say. Which means I have no ambition to make my mark in the world. Those marks are like ripples on a stream, here and gone."

"But you're a respected member of the clergy," Maude insisted.

"Yes and no. I suppose I'm a member of the clergy, but not totally respected. I am not the hell fire and damnation type."

"Of course you're not," Maude said, "You're an Episcopalian. You're just like the rest of us."

"Here we sit," Rob said. "Time means nothing to us. If we don't value our time, we won't do anything with it."

"You mean I could go back to waitressing?" Judy suggested.

"Curing cancer, solving homelessness, easing world hunger – stuff like that. Things that bring down international accolades. That's the ticket," Rob enthused. "My next act is to order another bottle of wine."

"Make it two," Maude said. "We have the night before us. Maybe we should look at a menu."

"Too early," Judy said.

"I fall short in the area of imagination," Rob said. He signaled a waiter, ordered the wine and asked for more cheese and crackers. He also asked for anchovies. Judy made a face.

"The person with an imaginary friend, or someone who sees non-existent things, these people might be considered dreamy, or not with it," Rob continued. "But imagination is a great gift given only to great people. Or in reverse, great people have great imaginations. A successful merchant or a scientist who takes the road less traveled and breaks new ground. A musician, a poet, painter. Look at any field, knock on any door and you'll find truly successful people with great imaginations.

"Take my field, Christianity. How might we carry out the will of Jesus without imagination? It takes that quality to put oneself in his place and to see and feel as he felt. Tolerance, patience and charity all require a well-developed imagination. I rest my case."

"Here, here," cried Judy, clapping her hands.

"Those who achieve real happiness believe sincerely in the desirability of their dreams, also imagination at play," Maude commented, over the rim of her wine glass.

And thus the pleasant evening and halcyon days drifted on like Alf the sacred river.

All three of them had been tipping the concierge as they passed through the lobby on various errands, and he had become quite fond of them as a group. One morning at breakfast, Judy remarked, "The concierge said he could furnish us with drugs on the sly. For a price, of course."

"I'm not into that game," Rob said. "I did a little pot in high school, but that was that."

"Did you inhale?" Maude asked.

"I tried my best to. I was stoned a few times, maybe killed a few brain cells. Getting pleasantly drunk is one thing."

"I was turned off by a friend during my gap year," Maude said. "She had been locked up for two or three months. I don't remember what she'd taken, or what they gave her in the sanitarium, but I do recall what she underwent. She repeated it more than once. Suicidal thoughts, nervousness, anxiety, impaired judgment, mania, hypomania, hallucinations, feelings of depersonalization and psychosis."

"You've got a keen memory, unimpaired by medications," Judy said in amazement.

"I was on the brink of trying drugs on my own. Terminal boredom. The encounter with her snapped me out of it. I actually wrote those things down and would look at them now and then during that time."

"That's what I call self-help," Rob tossed in. "I think we should get out of here. Say goodbye to good times at the Peninsula and shake the dust of this town from our imaginary boots.

"I agree," Maude said.

"I too," chimed Judy. "But quo vadis."

Rob smiled and quipped, "Romam vado crucifixion."

"Meaning what?" Judy puzzled.

"It's a Christian thing one learns in divinity school or Bible study. Quo vadis has been associated with the Christian story. In the quote I mentioned, St. Peter meets Jesus after the resurrection and inquires 'Quo vadis,' or where are you going? Jesus replies, 'I'm going to Rome to be crucified again.' This inspired St. Peter to continue with his ministry, which led to his martyrdom. I believe he was crucified upside down. There are other references to the same phrase."

Judy retorted, "Let's avoid Rome and the Vatican, all those cardinals and other nobles of the church in their fancy dresses with lace and other adornment."

"Whoa, now," Rob replied. "Remember I'm an Episcopalian. We too have fancy duds."

"Just so you keep them behind closed doors," Judy said.

Which left the three of them speculating on their next move. But not for long. The concierge said he knew a man who would enjoy playing tennis with them. He suggested this because they would need a fourth for doubles.

Rob and Maude had undergone lessons and many sunny mornings and afternoons on the courts as youngsters. And Judy had played off and on and was something of a natural athlete.

So they agreed and turned up the following morning at a court provided by the hotel. Their tennis togs were simply t-shirts and suntan trousers, although Maude wore shorts. Their walking shoes, much like sneakers, were also serviceable. The hotel had supplied rackets, and they had purchased a fresh can of balls.

The fourth player, who paired with Judy, called himself Dallas. Like many other Chinese, he had taken an English name while attending English classes. A businessman, he appeared to be about the same age as the three Americans. Many Chinese use these adopted English names through life while talking with foreigners unless the names are totally bizarre. Students sometimes take names like Orange, or Centipede or Bucharest, any word they come across, a noun, verb, adjective, it really doesn't matter.

Every two courts were enclosed, and the one next to them was unoccupied, so their early missed hits bothered no one. It was easy to tell that Maude and Rob had been coached early on. Their form was good and they slugged from baseline to baseline, but they didn't necessarily win.

Dallas had obviously also been self-taught. So the pair of them were what can be referred to as dink players, a creature even professionals fear. If you wait at the baseline the ball might go anywhere. If you rush the net you're set up for a passing shot.

It was good fun and good exercise for the four of them. After the match, if it can be called that, Dallas drove them to a coffee shop. That was the first inkling that Judy had that he had taken a special interest in them. But why?

Over coffee and pastries, Dallas raised questions about American politics.

The others brushed him off at first, but he was persistent. He seemed to have no axe to grind he was simply curious, with particular emphasis on the gun culture.

"Shootings, even multiple murders, are so common," Maude said, "that they hardly draw a ripple of attention. You see, the people don't really control our government."

"How could that be?" Dallas questioned. "The home of the free, nonviolent campaigns and elections. Everything on the up and up?" His English was almost perfect. Many Chinese were excellent English speakers, but many also lacked vocabulary.

"Our presidents are generally well meaning people," Rob began. "Some I've observed, others I've read about. But the minute they're sworn into office they step into a straightjacket. First, there's party loyalty. The party is always looking toward the next election, be it midterm, or four years. Then they're beholden to their contributors. Then they are vulnerable to lobbyists, friends from the past and party principles, be they ever so distasteful."

"All presidents?" Dallas questioned.

"With one exception," Rob said. "George Washington."

"The great father figure."

"Correct. Maybe he could have been king. Anyway, the president must contend with the two houses of the Congress, and each member is in a smaller boat, but somewhat the same boat, only more so. Powerful lobbies control Washington. You've heard of the gun lobby, the reasons for many of those killings and suicides. Then there's energy, big oil and so forth. Transportation – airlines, railroads, truckers and so on. Agriculture and food sort of a catch all."

"Are there any good lobbies?" Dallas asked. "Groups with the wholesome interests of the public?"

"Definitely," Rob said. The girls concentrating on the coffee and pastries were perfectly willing to give Rob the floor. "Women's issues, abortion, birth control, environmental protection, save the planet, animal cruelty, veteran's affairs. Probably many more."

"They must eat up millions of dollars," Dallas observed.

"Eat up and give away. They supply members with perks. Say a member, and this happens every week, buys a last class airline ticket for the trip back to the district, or anywhere else for that matter. Someone is waiting at the airport to kick him up to first class. It's a matter of spread the gravy around.

"But the largest and possibly the most harmful lobby of all is the military-industrial complex. This has given us the obnoxious title of World Policeman. We have bases around the globe, a bloated military that continually purchases unneeded supplies from toothpicks to the advanced jet planes and tanks. Wasted millions are also poured into civilian contractors at home and abroad."

"You would think the people wouldn't stand for such a thing," Dallas said.

"Each member of congress has his or her own home district with his own home needs. One hand washes another and neither hand gets clean. I could go on, but I think I'll have another cup of coffee and maybe a slice of pie. I worked off a lot of calories today."

Dallas dropped them off at the Peninsula and suggested they have dinner together. He said there was a bar fashioned after an English style pub where many foreigners often gathered.

He promised to pick them up at seven. At six thirty the three of them had a drink in the hotel bar, and Maude said, "Dallas seems fascinated by us. Do you think he has a thing for Judy?"

Judy almost choked on her drink. "You're right, Maude. He has a strange interest, but it's in the three of us. Our concierge friend told me he asked quite a few questions about who we are and what we're doing in this part of the world. He may have some business interest, but what it might be is a mystery. Time will tell."

Monkey business," Maude tossed in. At that moment Dallas walked into the bar and the foursome left for the quaint pub.

It was very British with soft lights, benches around the walls, appointments that spoke of Jolly Old England the way Dickens would like us to remember it.

They started with pints of beer, but then moved to wine and thick ham sandwiches with Coleman's mustard. As the evening wore on, Dallas said he had learned a song in English class called the Wild Rover and suggested they all might sing. Judy chuckled at the suggestion, but Maude thought it a capital idea.

After stumbling through the words concerning spending all the money on whisky and beer and then vowing to play the wild rover no more, they managed all four to join in on the chorus of, "And it's no, nay, never. No, nay never no more."

They were a bit the worse for drink and their voices almost shook the rafters as they repeated that chorus twice. This compelled the manager to approach their table and in the most pleasant manner to suggest they move to another watering hole, mentioning the name of one a few blocks away.

They cheerfully agreed to leave. Dallas paid the check and dropped them off at their hotel after making a date for a second tennis match, mid-morning the following day.

It was at lunch following that match that they learned what Dallas had in mind. The way he put it, some Chinese merchants, actually in China, could use the help of genuine Americans to improve their trade and lift their fishing village from the grips of poverty.

"Why us?" Judy asked.

"Simply because you are here and seem to be seeking something, I know not what. But this would put your time and intellect to good use in helping the less fortunate."

Maude grinned. "You think us a trio of do-gooders?"

"Not necessarily. But it would be a diversion. You may have come across Chinese English in the past. Odd phrasing, even public signs. Sentences that make no sense. On a day-to-day basis these export merchants need guidance. You would be furnished with adequate accommodations, food and housing."

"What is the time frame?" Rob questioned.

"Whatever you like," Dallas replied. "It's like a charitable contribution."

"A tax deduction," Maude said.

"Hardly," Judy said, knowing her friend was joking. "But do tell us the location."

"Well, in China," Dallas said. "On the coast, a small harbor where ships can anchor, near the town of Whenzhou just north of the Taiwan Strait on the East China Sea. By Chinese standards, Whenzhou is a small city, but you would be in what passes for a fishing village."

"Passes for?" Rob questioned.

"Yes, precisely. You see, fishing is not so good for several reasons. So the area is attempting to turn to commerce, but the merchants need help."

"You could help them," Judy said.

"I could and have. But I have interests in Hong Kong, and their need is for actual native speakers of English. Different from second language people like me."

Judy thought there was something odd about the request, but Maude was all for it, helping the unfortunate, and Rob went along with her. His retort was why not.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Two days later Dallas picked them up in an SUV, and they made the day-long road trip to a village near Whenzhou. The name of the village was never known to them. Different natives called it different things. But there was a harbor and there was shipping and forms in English and Chinese to contend with. There were even Chinese bureaucrats, port authorities to deal with.

There was something wrong about the situation, but none of the three could put their finger on it. Maude sounded one alarm. "I really don't like this Great Wall wine, but it's the only thing available locally," she complained.

"Well, the beer's OK," Rob said.

Judy suggested they drive to Whenzhou and buy a case or two of something French or Australian. She had heard it was a fair-sized city, and Dallas had arranged for them to have access to a car, although he had returned to Hong Kong.

A week drifted by. They had shopped in the larger town, they had been sorting through records, they didn't seem to be helping anybody, rich or poor, and one of the clerks they had gotten friendly with came in early one morning and told them a body had been found near the docks.

"A body? You mean dead?" Maude questioned.

"Very much so, and it's a soldier. If I were you three I'd get away from this place."

"Why is that? Rob asked.

"You might know by this time that we don't ship enough stuff out to make a profit. So if there's trouble, blame the foreigners."

"Blame us for what?" Judy asked.

"You are the foreign devils. This is a fairly primitive place. Very little goes out. It's what comes in that's profitable."

"What comes in?"

The clerk gave a one-word reply. "Drugs."

"We're helping to bring drugs into China?" Rob questioned in disbelief.

"That's exactly what the authorities will think," the clerk said. "In fact, I believe that's why you're here. They need someone to pin this thing on. They arrest you three. Problem solved. The traffic and the profits continue. So a soldier got too nosey and he was killed. There must be an investigation and a scapegoat. You know what a scapegoat is?"

"We've heard that word," Judy replied. "How long before they come for us?"

"Maybe an hour, maybe until the afternoon. But you are the foreigners and the obvious crooks. We Chinese peasants hadn't any idea."

"We can escape?" Maude asked.

"That's my job. To sound the alarm. You get a good head start, and we hope they never catch you. We really wish you no harm. But you'd better make tracks."

"Which way would you suggest?"

"North. I'll say you fled south toward Hong Kong or Macau. They'll block those roads. China's a big country, and they don't want to overdo it. The locals would rather see you escape. A certain signal that you're guilty."

"What if we don't flee?" Maude asked.

"Then you go to prison. Maybe wait months or years for a trial, be proven guilty, then sent back to prison. Case closed. Of course they'll add murder charges to the drug smuggling."

"What's your name?" Rob asked.

"William, my English name is William."

"Not Bill?"

"No. William."

"You pretend to be a clerk?"

"That's my job description."

"But it's a façade. You know the word façade?"

"Of course. I've researched English. I'm the syndicate's man on the ground here. You know the word syndicate?"

"Yes, an organization for making money, sometimes illicit. You know the word illicit?"

"I do. Yes, we make money, tons of money."

"Where does that money go?"

"Some goes into the mattress. You know about the mattress?"

"A figurative thing. Very likely you're familiar with the word figurative."

"Yes. That and many other words, as many as the leaves on the trees or stars in the heavens."

"You exaggerate."

"Sometimes when I feel expansive."

"Money that does not go into the mattress, where does that go?"

"There are banks in Europe, but also in Hong Kong and Macau. These two places are Chinese, but not China. They are special. Also on Taiwan. Did you know that Taiwan is a province of China?"

"I've heard that Beijing believes it's so," Rob said. "But the Taiwanese may have a different view."

"I suppose it's all in the way one sees it. Taiwan is much like China, so it is easy for the syndicate to have dealings with such a place and with impunity. You know the word impunity?"

"I do."

At this point Maude suggested that perhaps they should stay here and face the music. "We could involve the American embassy."

"That would be unwise," William said.

"Tell us why?" Judy asked.

"Well the syndicate, and if you mentioned the syndicate you would find that there is no syndicate, has a hold on local officials. China is a large country, and Beijing is far away. Everything is local. So the three of you would be cast into jail."

"But the embassy would come to our rescue," Maude insisted.

William laughed. "The last thing the embassy wants is to get involved with American tourists."

"What's an embassy for?" Maude asked.

"Good question. Entertain dignitaries. Give parties. Avoid tourists. Try not to get involved with the locals. That sort of thing. Also the U.S. Embassy is far away in Beijing."

"We must have a consulate in Hong Kong," Rob said.

"But that is not really China," William reminded.

"The embassy would certainly help us," Judy said.

"That might take months. Supposing this young man," he motioned toward Rob, "is murdered by a fellow prisoner."

Maude gasped in horror.

"Well, it could happen," William insisted, "A sudden jab to the heart with a long blade. No one sees anything of course. Then a kindly matron breaks the news to you two in your cell. She might hint that a similar fate might be in store for you two."

"We too might be murdered?" Judy questioned.

"Some Chinese dislike foreigners," William said. "Generally we are an open, accepting people, but there are exceptions. So that shadow would hang over your head like an albatross. You're familiar with the albatross?"

"A large bird," Judy said.

"Yes, a very large bird. So that shadow and that bird would be removed if the two of you confessed to your crimes."

"To what crimes?" Maude asked.

"A list would be provided," William assured her. "So if you confessed you would be deported without further ado. You understand the word ado?"

"We do," Rob said. "And we will self deport if you give us ten minutes to get our things together."

Twenty minutes later the three of them were in the car and headed north.

"I'm glad we're returning to a life of conspicuous consumption," Maude remarked as they sped north, always keeping within the speed limit, "we've certainly done our bit in trying to help the heathen Chinese. Sometime I feel like a character from the Great Gatsby."

"Not Daisy?" Judy asked.

"No. Just one of the slightly tipsy, hedonistic, jazz-mad spear carriers."

That evening they arrived in Shanghai tired, but thirsty, and booked a suite at the Sheraton Shanghai Hongqiao hotel. The following morning after a hearty breakfast they drove the old car to the docks, parked it and boarded a ferry for the long trip to Japan.

Maude remarked on a method of avoiding seasickness.

"How?" Judy asked.

"Sit under a tree."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Maude woke up and stared at the shadowy ceiling. She was in a hotel in Hiroshima. The ferry had docked in Yamaguchi prefecture, and they had hopped a train as far as this famous city, which had been devastated by an atomic bomb at the close of World War Two.

It had sprung back better than ever, sparkling and pristine, like the phoenix from its ashes.

She could hear Judy breathing softly in the next bed, the sleep of the exhausted. The water had cleared, and she could see precisely what their mission to China had entailed. Their friend from Hong Kong had meant them no harm. But every so often the Chinese government felt entitled, or compelled, to crack down on drug smuggling. In this case a soldier had been killed.

So blame the foreign devils. Alert the troops to check the routes to the south, to Hong Kong and Macau, while the miscreants fled to the north. So the drug trade would be calm for the next few months and no harm done, except one dead soldier.

Maybe not a thousand, not even a hundred, but many thoughts tumbled through Maude's head as she lay staring at the ceiling. She had adored the Saudi princess, now safely married. Was she a lesbian? No. But maybe bisexual. Did having scads of money cripple her in some way? She had the ability to give it all away and maybe work as a waitress as Judy had. She mulled that one over and decided suicide would be more appealing.

They had rented a suite, so there was a sitting room between their room and Rob's room. She climbed from bed and visited the bathroom, thinking of getting in bed with Rob. They had slept together in Indonesia, but they could put that down to necessity. If they did that again, what would Judy think? It would surely break up the trio. Of course it would be nice to cuddle up with Judy. But how to approach that one?

She pulled on a terry cloth hotel robe and slipped quietly into the sitting room. There she picked up the phone and ordered a pot of coffee from room service. As an afterthought she ordered a platter of croissants. After hanging up she wondered how she had been able to do such a thing. They were in Japan. Green tea and miso soup would seem to be more acceptable.

Flipping on TV she managed to find CNN. When Rob emerged from his room, also clad in terry cloth, she was on her second croissant and halfway through her second cup of coffee. They were soon joined by Judy. Three travelers in terry cloth, holding coffee cups, munching pastries, eyes glued to CNN. China offered no such news outlets.

After a time Maude suggested that they might strike out on a new adventure. She mentioned flying to Katmandu and engaging Sherpa guides and doing a bit of mountain climbing.

"We're young and fairly fit," Judy acknowledged, "but I'd like to explore some of Japan first. There is an ancient tradition of mending that is supposed to improve the quality of a piece of art. I think it would be done to a cracked pot."

Rob chuckled. "Fix a crackpot."

Maude ignored the remark and insisted that there are few ancient traditions among the Japanese. "They were barbarians, savages, up until not long ago. Any culture they have comes from Korea and China. They are superb copycats."

Rob nodded in agreement and said, "Truly" as he poured himself more coffee. He thought a moment, then added, "Sake seems to be their only original contribution to society."

It was at times like this that Judy became acutely aware of her lack of formal education. She was the practical one. Both companions agreed that she had saved their bacon in Indonesia. But she could not duplicate the years of private schooling that had been heaped on Maude and Rob. Still, she did not feel inadequate or inferior. Simply lacking in that dimension. And she had been making up for it by promiscuous reading.

"What if mending became a world-wide pastime," Maude tossed in. "It would bring down capitalism, in effect be the end to civilization as we know it."

"That sounds a trifle extreme," Judy said, anticipating an explanation.

"It would be applied to everything. We would dress in patches, our cars would be mended with duct tape more than they are now, appliances of all sorts would be maintained until exhaustion set in. In truth, commerce would be slowed to almost a halt. Cities might be abandoned, and we would return to an agrarian society."

"Worldwide," Rob agreed.

Judy laughed in delight and added, "We would live forever. Not physically, but mentally, our minds enduring through the ages as avatars."

This puzzled Maude. "Exactly what is an avatar? I've never been able to grasp that concept totally."

"It's something and it's nothing," Rob said. "It originated in India as a Hindu thing, a fallen, or descended Hindu god that might be in human form, or might be in any other form it desired."

"Loads of flexibility there," Judy remarked.

"Totally," Rob agreed.

"But now blue," Judy said.

"Popularized in the film," Rob said. "But you must know that a Russian billionaire named Dmitri something or other is working on an idea to implant one's brain in an avatar and thus achieve immortality."

"I read about that," Judy conceded. "How come billionaires keep popping up in communist countries like Russia and China, also in other odd parts of the world? Aren't there laws against such goings on?"

"Apparently not," Maude said. "Consider the Saudis, once nomadic desert folks."

"They hardly used their wits," Judy said. "Not that they couldn't have. But the avatar we speak of now is a physical representation of a person in machine form. Thus with a personality and some sort of mechanical body capable of responding to various sensations and also feeling sensations, all installed courtesy of modern science."

"Future science," Rob said. "What you just outlined is what the Russian and his international friends are seeking, a quest that will take many years and might fail. Incidentally, it flies in the face of my profession, which involves an Eternal Father, or Mother, who also seems to be blessed with long life.

"Such avatars, and I stress that avatar is simply a word that may go out of style, could end world hunger. Machines require maintenance, but not food. Day-to-day worries about getting along in life would be gone."

"But what about reproduction, having children, that sort of thing?"

"In truth this whole system has yet to be thought through. Because avatars can feel sensation, sunrise, sunset, it is thought they can be equipped to enjoy sex. But reproduction would be insane because there would be a permanent set of people, or a set of permanent people on Earth. To cross that bridge we must advance many years into the future. So let's struggle with homelessness, poverty and the world as it now exists, which is a mess. Huge numbers of people live in pain, in fear for their lives, disabled mentally or physically and I could go on."

"I read about a filthy rich woman who works in the back alleys of Washington D.C. ten or twelve hours a day ministering to the unfortunate, providing food, clothing, comfort, medical attention and so forth," Maude tossed in.

"I didn't know there were back alleys in Washington," Judy said.

"There are plenty of them in New York," Rob mused.

"Bangkok is just one big back alley," Maude added. "What an opportunity for a do-gooder!"

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

All night long

I hear the mournful wind

Play among the hills.

They had boarded a morning train for Kyoto, the old imperial city, and the capital of Japan for a thousand years. Playfully, they were trying their hands and brains at haiku. Maude had gone first. Now Judy scribbled her open verse in what she thought might be the Japanese fashion.

We three rovers,

Bound on this magic rail

With cries of joy.

Maude whispered, "Well done." They both watched as Rob penned a few lines. Speed was very much an essential part of the game.

What food waits in Kyoto

The famished traveler

What tempting treat?

"Isn't there supposed to be a certain number of syllables, or words. Which is more important? The words or the thought?" Judy questioned.

"I think they both are," Rob answered. "But I think we've done well." He smoothed the three scraps of paper on his knee.

"Superb," Maude said. "Shall I show the conductor?"

"He doesn't look too friendly," Judy said.

"Japanese men seldom smile," Rob said with some authority.

Maude giggled. "I think Judy cheated."

"How dare you," Judy replied with mock indignation.

"I saw you reading a haiku book in the lobby of the hotel."

"It was on the coffee table. I was looking for National Geographic. Anyway, you've probably read tons of haiku."

"More than you know," Maude said. "When my parents were younger they were travel bugs, wanting to get away, just the two of them. In my case it was always some sort of nanny. When I was what they call a tween, they pawned me off on a Japanese woman named Kazuko. We spent the summer kicking around these four major islands and thousands of small ones. Kyoto, Nara, Tokyo, Hokkaido, Shodoshima and so on. I've had my sushi rations. She even let me sample sake."

"Did you learn much Japanese?" Rob asked.

"Not really. I learned they call us gaijins, meaning outside people. Also a few greetings like konnichiwa. Also about haiku. It doesn't translate well. It's only good for them written in kanji, their picture language."

"Picture language?" Judy questioned.

"Whatever," Maude replied. Out to the right the train was passing what appeared to be a castle.

"There'll be lots to see in Kyoto," Rob said. "Old stuff. Zen gardens, moss gardens, old stone and wood, singing floors. Things certain Japanese treasure and certain others couldn't give a shit about. But there is something fairly new that's not just native to Asia – flotation tubs."

"I've read about them," Judy said. "In fact I'd like to try one."

"That was my idea," Rob said. "Imagine coming to Japan to try something modern."

"There is a Zen quality," Judy tossed in.

"What are you two talking about?" Maude questioned.

Rob glanced out the window to gather his thoughts. Sparsely settled areas of forest whizzed by, isolated houses and a village here and there. Now and then the sight of water. "Tubs of salt water. One somehow climbs inside, sounds a bit awkward, and floats on one's back. The door is closed. Total darkness. Little to no sound."

"No sound," Maude said. "There must be no sound."

"Okay. No sound," Rob continued. "The first time you might feel confusion, but after a time there comes a calm. The Zen Judy mentioned. Then maybe sleep."

"Then maybe drowning," Maude said.

"No. The water is shot full of Epson salts. Buoyancy is assured. If you lay on your back, you stay on your back. You might sleep for a couple of hours. The cares of the day drift away. Also the water's not all that deep. If you flopped over for some reason you might be jarred awake."

"Nude?" Maude questioned.

"Best nude," Rob said. "For the non-squeamish. Shower first.

"What about disease?"

"There was a fear," Judy piped in as the train rumbled on toward Kyoto. "But it's since been forgotten. This had been around for some time. Show biz types on the West Coast have been into it since the eighties." She glanced toward Rob. "Where did you find they have tanks in Kyoto?"

Rob grinned. "Tourist pamphlet. How else? Anyhow, I've heard about them for some years. Now we have the time and opportunity."

Maude giggled. "Can the three of us share one?"

Judy turned on her feigned look of disgust. Rob ignored the question. Maude smirked.

"I've read it's close to being on drugs while being drug free. One is bombarded by thoughts that dissolve into nothingness. True Zen," Judy said with some reverence.

Once in Kyoto they boarded a cab for the short ride to the Royal Park hotel where they had booked a suite online. It had a name for its modern lines and great artwork, all which seemed foreign to ancient Kyoto. But to enjoy luxury in the midst of antiquity is not all bad. The Royal Park was centrally placed and convenient to the Imperial Palace, the Gion area and Yasak Shrine, to name just a fraction of the attractions. There was also the Nijo castle, which they intended to visit as well as the nearby city of Nara with its population of small deer.

After checking in they found a sushi restaurant nearby and spent a small fortune on raw fish, sake and rice. They sat on the floor on tatami mats, quite comfortable really. Older westerners can hardly manage. Most restaurants have separate rooms for them, or there are holes under the low tables for their legs.

Maude seemed to be the Japanese expert, and Judy questioned her on Zen, which she had never really understood.

"If a person tells you he or she is a Zen master they are generally lying. A true Zen master would likely try to mislead you in an attempt to show you the way. Bushido, the way of the warrior, or the code of the Japanese noble, is generally regarded as the soul of Japan. This guidance prevails more or less in modern Japan, but like many other things below the surface."

"What does that have to do with Zen?" Judy questioned.

"Nothing and everything. The native religion of Japan is Shinto, animal worship, but Buddhism more or less took over. By every Buddhist temple there is a Shinto shrine, often dedicated to the Fox god, although there are many more. Buddhism gives one a calm trust in fate. Say a master swordsman teaches a student and after maybe years the student is equal to the master. Where is the student to go?"

"A new more skillful master," Rob suggested.

"And if there is none?"

"Then he becomes the new master, a younger more vital version of the old," Judy said.

"But there is a desire to learn more, to continue on this path of learning. What then? That is where Zen comes in. It is the Japanese equal of the Dhyana, a hunger, or longing, to reach beyond verbal expression. This through meditation. It can only be achieved by the few."

"Your wisdom astounds me, Maude," Judy exclaimed, a bit relaxed after numerous small cups of hot sake.

"Perhaps I am not the dummy you take me for."

"You know I love you, Maude." She reached over and patted her friend's shoulder. At that moment, Maude felt the love of her two friends, here in this ancient Japanese city where she had once sojourned as a young lady. The three of them had shared much and were grateful for their good fortune. Perhaps they had achieved harmony with the absolute. For the moment.

"Let me add one thing," Maude continued, "Then I'll stop talking. The Shinto religion lives side by side with Buddhism. Japanese are born Shinto and die Buddhist. There's a reason for that which I'll not go into. But Shinto has to do with nationalism and loyalty. You might say patriotism. In this way it's akin to the Jewish religion inasmuch as in Jewish writings it's difficult to determine whether the writer is talking about Israel, or the Messiah. That is, the country is messed up with the religion." Maude turned to Rob and asked, "Is there such a question in Christianity?"

He thought a few seconds and said, "No. Christians can be found in numerous countries. So can Jews, but their loyalty is always to Israel, which they see as a common glue if you will. I suppose I'm speaking in generalities and might start a great quarrel. But that's one way to look at it. Anyway, from that viewpoint it helps to explain Shintoism."

"Enough for the Fox god," Judy said. "Let's have another round of sake and call it a night. Or is there dessert?"

"The Japanese are not big on dessert," Maude said. "A type of bland cookie, maybe shaped like a fox head, stuffed with red beans." She signaled the kimono-clad waitress for more sake.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Finding a western breakfast in Kyoto was not difficult. The city is dotted with McDonald's. The Japanese McDonald's generally serve a corn soup, which they call corn potage. It is a good hot drink on a chilly winter morning if one doesn't like coffee. The Japanese assume that McD's peddles corn potage worldwide.

In spite of this our three travelers ordered room service, adequate coffee, pastries and marmalade. Scottish marmalade. The Japanese seem to have a close connection with that northern British country. The Scots, Brits and assorted former empire types get together for a New Year's celebration in Kobe, not far from Kyoto, both in the Kansai area of Japan, which is presided over by the huge metropolis of Osaka.

The Kansai is the western industrial area, although no one seems to know exactly what the word means. Someone suggested "western barrier gate," but it has come to mean simply the Kansai.

Rob had a topic for the morning agenda. They had discussed flying to Katmandu and then launching a mountain climbing venture aimed at conquering Everest. After researching the project, Rob put it down as a bad idea.

"That monster is more than 29,000 feet above sea level," he began, "which means there is practically no air as we know it. It is almost outer space. Altitude sickness, exposure, cerebral edema are a few of the hazards."

"But that's the glory of it," Judy asserted. "We know it can be done, and we three can do it. We simply need grit and heart."

"And endurance," Rob continued. "You have to spend time getting adjusted to the altitude and the body changes. Then finally, when the push begins, base camps have to be established and spending time at each one. Maybe one at 18,000 feet, and a second at, say, 21,000 feet, then a third at 24,000 feet and a last minute run for the top."

"Run for the roses," Maude tossed in. "Like the Kentucky Derby."

"But not like the Derby," Rob said. "No mint juleps and no big floppy hats. Now I'll get to the worst part. It's too commercial. People from around the world are piling in to Katmandu and lining up to scale Everest. It's no longer a challenge. In fact it's much like Disney World or Seven Flags. They've installed permanent climbing ropes, even a ladder for the last frantic surge. There's a device called a "jumar" that permits one to clamp onto one of these climbing ropes and pull oneself along. Geriatrics are doing it. Retirement homes are being emptied in a rush to climb Everest." With that he filled his cup and helped himself to the bitter Scottish Marmalade.

"It doesn't seem like a total challenge," Judy said.

"That's not the worst of it," Rob said, carefully eyeing the two of them. "The Sherpas are in a state of near riot."

"We'd be attacked by Sherpas?" Judy questioned.

"Well, no," Rob said. "They depend on climbers for their income. But they're in a gruff mood for several reasons. One, professional climbers are a little too pushy. These climbers are by definition better than the Sherpas, or better than most Sherpas, yet Everest and the other mountains are the home of the Sherpa. So they feel violated with these few professionals climbing around them. They've even kicked bits of ice and rock from above onto the professionals. Then the crowds of rich adventurers arrive in Katmandu, give their money to outfitters, or you might say tour agents, and not much of it gets away from them into the Sherpa pockets. Various climbing permits don't come cheap."

"These professionals," Judy questioned, "how do they make a living?"

"Any way they can," Rob replied. "They make films. The give talks, appear on TV, write books or short stories, sometimes they lead groups on climbs. The good ones do quite well. Other than that, in the old days the climbing was left to rich men and drifters. But the challenge has always been there."

"Like why do you climb the mountain," Maude tossed in.

"I've heard that one," Judy said. "But if not Everest, where?"

Maude was all smiles. "Switzerland of course."

"Yes," Rob agreed. "Switzerland. Scale an Alp."

Judy eyed them both and suggested that they knew something she didn't know. "Yes," Maude confessed. "We were both shuffled off to prep school in Switzerland. The French-speaking part, of course."

"Of course," Judy said, having no idea why.

"So I've heard of the Alps," Judy said. "In fact there's one mountain in particular."

"The Matterhorn," Maude interjected.

"Yes, the Matterhorn. It's the famous one, isn't it?"

"Yes, but a tough climb," Rob said. "Stone faces, slides. Not for beginners."

"There's also Mont Blanc, Monte Rosa, Eiger, Jungfrau, to name a few," Maude tossed in. She was all smiles. "It would be grand just to knock about the Alps staying at those quaint chalets, eating good food and dipping things into pots of molten cheese. What do you think?"

"I'm up for it," Judy said.

About this time, with the coffee supply dwindling, there was a ruckus in the hallway. Rob went to check and came back minutes later visibly shaken.

He hesitated, then said, "It seems the woman in the next room, you may have seen her, very pregnant, she's dead."

Maude gasped. Judy's eyes narrowed. "Murdered?" she asked.

"It's confusing. Bellhops, desk people, maids, are all running helter-skelter. She may have died in childbirth."

While the women were digesting that, there came a knock on the door. It was the hotel manager. "There's a problem," he announced in precise English. "A woman has died in childbirth, a foreign woman. We have a woman on the staff who sometimes acts as a midwife. She has severed the umbilical cord and fixed it. As compatriots, would you three mind simply holding the baby while we clean things up and arrange for disposal of the body?"

"You're going to throw the body away?" Judy asked incredulously.

"Of course not. Everything will be according to Japanese and international custom. But the baby is a complication."

"A boy or a girl?" Maude asked. Rob and Judy looked at her in wonder. What difference would that make? But it was the usual question when a child is born.

"Of course we'll take the baby," Judy said.

The manager looked around, and a maid carrying the baby bundled in a sheet bustled into the room and handed off the child to Maude. It did not cry, but it burbled slightly.

"We'll need supplies," Judy said.

"Of course," the manager replied. "Everything will be provided."

This exchange made Rob wonder just how long they might be saddled with this surprise infant.

Maude was smiling and poking at the baby. "Isn't he cute. Let's name him William."

"Name him!" Rod said. "He's not ours to name."

Maude looked up and said, "He could be." Her remark proved to be prophetic.

There was little time to talk or think during the next few hours. The arrival of a newborn brings its own problems. Food and diapers are just the beginning. A makeshift crib, assignments, who would be on baby duty.

In the meantime the manager was in turmoil. The woman was alone and had seemingly checked into the hotel under mysterious circumstances. Ultimately he turned again to the three Americans, coming to their door just as they had settled how best to care for the motherless waif.

"There is a problem," he began. "No next of kin. No valid address on her hotel registration. No passport."

"No passport," Rob objected. "How could she have checked into a hotel of this quality?"

The manager seemed to be troubled by that inquiry. He stumbled and finally said, "I wasn't on duty. But you see, the child is..., what is the English idiom, up for grabs. I thought you might know a couple in need of a healthy gaijin baby. Americans always seem to be adopting one child or another. It's quite a business in China so I've heard."

The three of them stood in a row before the manager while the baby slept peacefully in a corner of the sitting room. They had decided not to put it in a bedroom, as the three of them would go watch for watch as caretaker.

"We'll take the baby," Maude blurted out. She glanced at the other two, then added, "There'll be no questions asked?"

"No questions," the manager said with a furtive glance around, a large smile blossoming over his stern features. "No questions at all," he added cheerfully. "And I'll comp your room."

When he was gone Judy asked, "What's that comp business?"

"Complimentary," Maude said. "No charge."

"Well, that's something," Judy said.

"It certainly is," Rob agreed with some irony. "And all we have to do is dispose of a baby who has no passport and is heir apparent to nobody."

"He's our baby," Maude said. "He belongs to all of us."

Rob saw there was no point in argument, but did ask, "How do we get him out of Japan without a passport or next of kin?"

"One of us has to be the mother," Judy said.

"Don't look at me," Rob grinned.

"Let's flip for it," Judy said.

Rob produced a coin and said, "One of you call it in the air." He sent it toward the ceiling and Maude shouted, "Heads." It landed on the carpet, tail side up.

Judy pondered a moment and finally said, "So this is motherhood. What do we do now?"

"Hit the nearest embassy or consulate," Rob said. "The sooner the better. But beyond that, what do we do with baby William, if that's his name."

Judy smiled. "Maude named him William. I'm the mother. He'll be Billy. Billy Blazer. Not bad."

"Terrific stage name," Rob said, adding, "Billy Blazer, Live in Las Vegas."

"You're jumping the gun," Maude insisted. "Let the child enjoy the early years with my careful guidance."

Rob broke into open laughter. "You and a small army of nannies."

Maude feigned indignation. "You can't expect me to shoulder the entire burden."

"What about me, the Mom?" Judy asked.

"We can share the task of interviewing nannies. One can't be too careful these days."

Rob left the suite, found the manager and asked him to arrange for at least two reliable nannies. He explained that they needed to hit the nearest embassy or consulate and arrange for a passport for the child. The manager said he would have experienced nannies on board in a few hours and that there was a consulate in Osaka, a short train ride away.

The next morning, with competent nannies coddling the youth, the three of them set off for Osaka.

Finding a white-gloved cab driver at the station and spending a few yen to get to the consulate was relatively easy. Waiting to see the charge de was another matter. Finally they were able to speak to Terry Whitman, a youthful Foreign Service worker who seemed in robust health.

After Rob sketched out the story, Terry said, "You seem to have an odd problem. You'd be better off at the embassy in Tokyo."

"We have a photo of the baby plus a written explanation from the hotel manager and a note from a doctor that the child is healthy," Maude said. "You can issue passports, can't you?"

"Of course," Terry replied. "But the circumstances seem odd. Why would a pregnant American woman wind up in Kyoto and where is the father?"

"I've explained that," Rob said. "The mother," and he motioned to Judy, "was having relations with two individuals at the time of conception. She isn't certain of the parentage."

Terry gave Judy a grave glance and said, "Most women of this sort would use a morning-after pill or at least try for abortion."

"Rather judgmental, aren't you?" Maude said, "No right to lifer."

"I am not pro-abortion," Terry protested. "But the world is out of step. Here in Japan abortion is common and no one thinks much about it. It's a method of birth control. There are many things in this world that I don't approve of. I'd advise the three of you to take a bullet train to Tokyo."

"And get out of your life," Rob said.

"I'm a busy man," Terry said. "I have other duties."

"Too busy to be concerned with American tourists and our silly problems?" Maude asked.

"I advise you to go to Tokyo," Terry insisted.

"The fact is we are here, in Osaka," Rob said. "We are standing in a U.S. consulate, confronting a petty bureaucrat who had better start performing the task he was sent here to do."

"You think you can order me around," Terry sneered, rising. "Be on your way."

Judy was doing a slow burn and was thinking of grabbing a heavy paperweight from Terry's desk and smiting him across the forehead, but Rob grinned broadly and retorted, "You may wind up in the Republic of Georgia, some rebellious African hot spot, or maybe one of the Stans. Is that your goal?"

"You don't scare me," Terry replied. "I have a fiancée here in Osaka. Her father is a prominent businessman with ties to the States. The state department knows a thing or two. One hand washes the other. Now get out of our consulate."

"We thought it might also be our consulate," Judy finally spoke. "You seem to be a cruel and heartless sort of character. No compassion for a mother and child, something along the order of no room at the inn. You will deserve whatever's coming to you."

"And it is coming to you," Maude promised. Then they grabbed a bite at a KFC and boarded the train for Kyoto.

The three of them actually bounced the baby around during the afternoon, leaving the changing and feeding up to the nannies. They had green tea and sushi at one of the Japanese budget restaurants where one sat at a counter and watched small plates pass on a conveyer belt, picking out what caught the eye and later paying by taking the stack of empty color-coded saucers to the cashier. Green tea in Japanese restaurants was always free.

They played a game of hearts after dinner. There was no fourth for bridge. Then as the evening wore on, it became morning in the States and they made their phone calls. Maude simply called the head of her firm of attorneys and laid out the problem.

As head of her family she was charged with carrying on the tradition of supporting both political parties generously, plus contributing to individual campaigns. That she said would come to a speedy halt if there were no passport for baby Bill.

She was assured that junior members of the firm would be assigned to making both personal calls and sending innocuous e-mails along the way.

Rob's task was more daunting. He made a series of calls to influential members of his congregation with a plea for Christian charity in whatever form might be appropriate. He suggested that Episcopalian fire and brimstone might be unleashed on the consulate in Osaka, a refined and culturally appropriate form of hellfire of course.

Then they ordered wine and a large snack-plate from room service.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Terry Whitman didn't call until almost noon. He seemed almost breathless. He identified himself to Judy, who answered the phone, then said, "I've had a change of heart."

"It's the consulate," Judy said, handing to phone to Rob. Maude was busy attempting to bounce Billy on her knee. She seemed to be antagonizing the child. One of the two nannies was standing by scowling. Maude sensed the mood and handed the baby off to her.

"Rob here," the minister said.

"I've decided to issue a passport for the child," Terry said.

"We'll need also a working visa for a nanny," Rob replied. "She'll accompany us to care for the child."

"I see no problem," Terry said, then added, "I wonder if you might help me?"

"In what way?" Rob questioned.

"I've been threatened with transfer to some miserable place."

"That comes with the territory, foreign service and all."

"But I'm happy in Osaka," Terry said. "This is my first assignment and I haven't been here very long, just over a year."

"I can't interfere with government affairs," Rob said. "You know that. Have you been threatened with losing your job?"

Terry hesitated, then said, "That was mentioned."

"If it comes to that, I will recommend they keep you on. I suspect you're a better person today than you were yesterday."

"We live and learn," Terry said.

"I'll send a messenger with all the information for the passport and visa," Rob said. "First thing tomorrow morning."

So, in four days the five of them boarded a plane for that mystical place called home.

Things were much the same when they arrived home. The old cook still ruled the roost. Abdulla remained in State Prison. Omar and Scheherazade seemed to be madly in love and often retired early. The princess was still working on her artichoke recipes.

The Japanese nanny, Hiroko Shibata, was given a double room, shared with the newly employed local nanny, plus a crib for Billy boy.

There followed a round of dinners, drinks and casual meetings, plus country club excursions with acquaintances. Judy dropped by the Elegant Eatery and hugged everyone almost to death. Courtesy calls were made to the attorney's office and to the hierarchy of the church.

Billy seemed as normal as a baby of that age might be, doing very little but eating, sleeping, gurgling and soiling his diapers. It seemed to dawn on the three of them almost at the same moment while sharing pre-dinner drinks that an attempt should be made to establish Billy's true identity.

"There must be a passport," Judy insisted.

"He may have a family, a father, aunts, uncles," Maude said.

"Yes, there must be a passport. The hotel manager lied to us," Rob said, checking his watch. "It's early morning in Kyoto. I'll call."

Calling was simple; locating the manager was more of a problem. But as the Japanese morning advanced and the American night dwindled, contact was made.

"We know there was a passport," Rob told the manager.

"No passport," the manager said tersely, but politely.

"We want that passport."

"There is none," the manager insisted.

"If you send us the passport, you will hear no more from us. If you refuse, we will come to Kyoto and alert the local law, hire a team of private investigators and turn your hotel upside down until we learn the truth and the authorities learn the truth."

Lengthy pause. Then the manager said, "If there was, or is, a passport, that would be an end to the matter as far as Japan is concerned?"

"Yes. You should know my word is good. I am a man of the gospel."

"A man of the gospel," the manager repeated with some misgivings. "I don't know what that means, but I think I can trust you. Give me your address and I'll FedEx the passport to you. You should have it in three days."

So one door closes, another one opens. This promised to be a fresh can of worms.

The manager was as good as his word. The passport arrived before ten o'clock on the third day. It seemed the mother had registered at the hotel as Sarah Parker, but her true name was Zara Parker Laurence.

Both Judy and Maude felt an odd sensation when they learned Sarah's age was within a year of both their ages. They had the mystic feeling that the three of them might be sisters.

The dead girl's address was in the city of Winchester, England, located about sixty miles south and west of London in Hampshire, on a major highway, the M3 and on the Itchen river.

"She no doubt has family," Judy said.

"We must locate them," Maude said.

"Tricky, if we want to keep Billy."

"Maude was almost in tears. "We must keep Billy."

"I'll come up with a plan," Rob said.

"What plan?" Judy questioned.

"I can't come up with an instant plan. We'll let this sit for a day. I'll do something tomorrow."

"The dead girl's family, Sarah's family. What are they thinking?" Maude asked.

"God only knows," Judy said. "We have a bull by the tail."

"We mustn't let go if we're to keep Billy," Maude said. "Billy is ours. We fought for him. Judy gave birth."

"Perhaps we should think the unthinkable," Rob said.

"If you mean give up Billy, forget it," Maude tossed in. "Childbirth is painful. I really don't want to go through it. You see what it did to Sarah."

"Dead meat," Judy suggested.

"That's one way of putting it," Rob said. "But in questionable taste."

"But to the point," Judy added. "Why mince words. We could simply burn that passport. The damage is already done."

"There is a need now and there will always be a need to establish Billy's heritage. Not inheritance, but his family. Are there grandparents? Might there be brothers and sisters. What about his father? These unknowns beg to be answered. Fill in the voids."

Judy grimaced, twisted her face into a knot, and then responded. "I agree."

"You have a point," Maude said. "We await your plan."

The following day, mindful of the time difference, Rob called the Winchester police department and pretended to be a reporter from the Baltimore Sun. He spoke with an officer with a heavy British accent. "I'm doing a story on missing people worldwide and have run across a missing from your community, a Sarah Parker, or Sarah Laurence, I'm not certain which."

"The royal lass," the officer responded.

"You mean royalty as in kings and queens."

"Right, governor. The Laurence family goes way back. You know something about that girl's whereabouts?"

"No, I'm simply doing a feature story on the thousands who drop out of sight every year. By using a few examples it tends to humanize it. Royalty would add to the story. How long has she been gone?"

"You might want to chat with the family on that score, governor. They're a right private group. But there was a suspicion that the young lady might have been with child when she went missing."

"Is there a husband?" Rob asked.

"No, but there's a dead young man who could be a candidate. He was killed in a crash on the M3 a few days before the lass went missing. Tragic story, eh, governor. If true."

"My God, yes. And her whereabouts are unknown?"

"She emptied a bank account before she left. Took cash. Impossible to follow her without credit cards. Clever lass."

"Frightening," Rob said, the entire sordid picture coming into focus. Did she somehow kill herself at childbirth, or simply bleed out. What a devastating scenario.

"The family's royal, but not loaded. Middle class. The address is in Surry Lane, and they're in the book."

Rob thanked the officer and signed off.

They had a pair of roast geese for dinner, plus cranberry sauce, baked cauliflower pieces and Cobb salad. The three of them and the young Saudi couple who had embraced Christianity, at least on the surface, and therefore could share dinner wine. The meal was mostly in silence. Rob had explained his conversation with the British constable with the other two just before dinner. Each of the three was plunged into conflicting thoughts.

The weather was fine and the three originals strolled the neighborhood. "Billy is ours," Maude insisted.

"I'll not argue," Judy said.

"This royalty thing, I don't think it's an issue," Rob asserted. "It's simply a matter of parentage and lineage."

"Royal lineage?"

"No. Common lineage. The parents live in Winchester. The daughter is dead. The father is likely dead. So where does the baby belong?"

"You might ask what's best for the baby," Maude said. "We can give it every advantage and perhaps create the perfect adult, which would be a welcome addition to the world as we know it."

Rob nodded with a solemn smile. "Maude, you and I had every advantage. Are we perfect adults?"

"There are goals to strive for," she responded. "Perhaps we are in a position to guide the small creature in the ways of the wise."

"And perhaps I am in that position," Judy tossed in. "A graduate from the school of hard knocks."

They strolled in silence for a few more yards, and then Judy quipped, "So much for inactivity. Of course we must go to Winchester. There's no question about that."

"Agreed," Maude said. "The scene of the crime."

So it was agreed. Two days later the threesome boarded a plane for Heathrow.

As usual, it was a night flight, so at nine a.m. the weary travelers rented a car and set off for Winchester with Judy at the wheel. She seemed to fall right into driving on the left, or the other side of the road, something that was baffling to the other two, particularly on a stretch of road with no traffic. The car seemed to drift to the right on its own.

Luckily, they found an early check-in suite at the Winchester Royal Hotel on St. Peter Street where they settled in, bickered over how to avoid jet lag, then napped most of the afternoon away. Arising near dusk, they found a fish and chips shop not far away and washed down their meal with pints of lager.

They hadn't a clue how to proceed on their quest. The only preparation they had made was to have a lock of Billy's hair tested for DNA so that they might nail down a potential father.

Avoiding the full English breakfast, they started the following day with a pot of tea, muffins and marmalade at a local shop, chatted up the waitress, and decided to visit the local newspaper with offices just down the block.

At the paper they found a helpful librarian with idle time on her hands and a penchant for gossip. Her knowledge was encyclopedic. The boyfriend's name was Peter Slater and he had indeed been killed in a smash-up on the M3 shortly before the young lady disappeared. And, yes, there was royal blood. A combination of the Elizabeth, or Windsor line, and the Montbatten side, all of whom seemed to go back to George II Hanover and wife, Caroline. It was complicated after that, but the origin seemed to be Alfred the Great, the root of the Wessex family tree.

This entire spiel made little sense to the three of them, but they were impressed that the young lady was within a year of the ages of both Judy and Maude, which gave them a mystic feeling of personal involvement and a personal link with baby Billy. They both felt that Sarah would have wanted them to have the child. It was somehow ordained.

After getting as much information as they could from the librarian, she in turn asked them a question: "Who invented the Reuben sandwich?"

Maude stared at her for a moment, then asked, "What?"

"I'm doing research. Who invented the Reuben? I understand it's of Yank origin."

"No one person invented it," Judy replied with some vigor. "I suppose people do invent food combinations, but the Reuben sprang from multiple sources in various parts of our country. You take dark rye, mustard, sauerkraut and corned beef for starters. Some people add Thousand Island dressing, some add other features. Very likely you grill it, but maybe not. To think that a single person put all these things together and announced, 'This is a Reuben,' is ridiculous. Okay, someone named it. But who? I enjoy the occasional Reuben, but could care less about its genesis."

The librarian was quite impressed by Judy's dissertation and thanked the three of them, but had one final inquiry: "Why are you Yanks so wild about zombies?"

"Excellent question," Rob said. "I've wondered that myself." Then they went on their way.

"So odd," Maude said as they made their way back to the street. "Vampires are much better dressed, fastidious actually, generally handsome and totally charming. Why would anyone bother with the undead?"

They next decided to visit the grieving Slater family to ask about Peter's death. At that point Rob said he would return to the hotel for a nap, still a trifle jet lagged. Also, he said women were best at dealing with grief. Judy pointed out that he was a man of God, charged with helping others into the next world with comfort and some ease.

Rob said he had not brought the appropriate attire and left them to their chosen task. Judy shrugged and gave Maude a knowing smile.

The door at the Slater home was answered by a young woman. Judy and Maude introduced themselves, told her they were doing a freelance feature story on disappearances and related deaths.

"You do this for a living?" the woman asked.

"No," Judy replied. "We're American tourists. We do features to make the trip more interesting. We can meet more people this way.

"I see. I'm Peter's sister, Jane Slater. How did you come to find out about this?" There was a wisp of suspicion.

"From the newspaper office," Maude said. "It seems that shortly after your brother's death, his fiancée vanished. Certainly a fascinating, if grim, set of circumstances. But if you'd care to not talk about it..."

"No. You seem decent enough sorts. Not your ragged gypsy types. Come in, we'll have tea. I like nothing better than a healthy chat."

The three of them settled in for a chat, girl to girl to girl. Because they knew where Zara Parker Laurence was, cremated in western Japan, they avoided discussing her fate. Jane too seemed more interested in the memory of her brother, Peter. Perhaps there was bad blood there, which may have partially accounted for Zara's stealthy departure. She had been gone some time before Billy's birth and her unfortunate demise.

The route of her travels and the source of her money seemed a mystery, although she had run up a considerable bill at the Kyoto hotel, and the manager searched her belongings and came up with zero assets. Seemingly, she was at the end of her rope in more ways than one.

Jane talked of her late brother, Peter, in glowing terms. He had a powerful intellect, amazing memory, was skilled at soccer, swimming, diving and cricket. A clear-eyed leader of men, he may have had a tad too much to drink on the night of his fatal crash.

"He is the type of person our friend, Rob, has searched for in several countries," Judy said, improvising a plan as she went along. "The seemingly perfect man."

Jane nodded her approval. "As close as you could come to one in this place and in our time," she agreed. "What is the point of your friend's quest?"

"Cloning," Judy said. "If it is possible, he collects a sample of DNA from these larger-than-life individuals in hopes that someday, and in his lifetime, human cloning becomes a reality. You might know they've done it with sheep."

"I remember something along those lines. But you need a pound of flesh, or just what is it that might lead to resurrecting an individual. My God, it sounds like Jesus Christ, doesn't it?"

Maude smiled. "Rob is a pastor, but it's not a Christian endeavor. In fact some think cloning humans is beyond our ken. Perhaps playing God. But it is bound to come sooner or later. Rob hopes sooner."

"All one would need is a scrap of DNA, perhaps a lock of hair. Any cell from the body, dead or alive, contains the entire genetic picture of the individual. It's a shame we don't have something from Peter. He sounds a likely candidate."

Jane was thoughtful. Then she responded. "There is something. It might sound a trifle odd, but Peter was circumcised at birth and Mum saved the scab in the family Bible. She'd never miss a scrap of it."

"Well, it's a gamble," Judy replied. "But we'd preserve it carefully and we'd stay in touch over the years. Rob keeps careful records and is always mindful of the source of the material."

"It would give me hope," Jane said, rising to get the Bible, "But I would never tell Mum. God knows how she'd take it."

Both girls felt they were in luck that Mum was absent from the home. Jane snipped a small section of the scab and placed it in an envelope that Maude quickly placed in her handbag. Then the three of them set out for a nearby teashop for mild refreshments.

That evening over cocktails there was high elation. They had their DNA sample and could establish paternity. In addition, Judy insisted that a scrap of the scab be preserved and a diligent search be made for those experimenting in human cloning. She disliked telling lies when it might be easily avoided.

It took some days, but Rob, working with specialists, established that Peter Slater was undoubtedly the father of baby Billy. This led to high jubilation between Maude and Judy because as Jane had described her brother he possessed a massive intellect and physically was maybe a notch down from Superman. The mother, Zara, or Sarah as they called her, had been an English rose and brilliant even when knocked into a bit of a dither by the loss of her fiancée and lover.

The question now remained, what to do about Billy's real families? Obviously, there were two of them. The mother's side having the strongest claim. Did the three travelers need to inject themselves into what might be a nasty quarrel? And did either family really want or need the baby? Numerous questions were raised during the hours of discussion, and few were answered.

Eventually there was a tacit agreement to let the matter slide until Billy came of a certain age. This might be twenty-five or thirty years hence depending on circumstances. Rob, the final arbiter of such matters being a man of the cloth, said this was certainly a splendid example for the application of situation ethics.

The three drank a toast to their erudite decision and turned their thoughts to Switzerland and the Eiger.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

At times the three of them were alone with their thoughts. What kind of people were they anyway? Lusting to enter the death zone, above the clouds where the oxygen was thin. Everest was out. Too many climbers, too many amateurs, too much assistance, ropes, even ladders. Just a few thousand dollars and the Sherpas would almost carry one to the top.

There were no more unclimbed peaks in the world, but the North Face of the Eiger had claimed many lives and would continue to claim the lives of those who loved the silence of the mountain, who came to joust in the deadly arena, who sought to do more, bigger, faster, quicker. The euphoria of the summit. Each seeking a personal god.

So the three ultimately found themselves in a quaint hotel at Kleine Scheidegg, one of a group of hotels and restaurants at the foot of the Eiger. They asked the manager of the hotel, Gottlob Biebow, for the name of the best climb leader in the area.

"For the Eiger?" he inquired.

"Yes, the Eiger, or in English, the Ogre."

"The Nordwand?" Gottlob questioned, a doubt in his voice.

"Certainly the Nordwand," Judy replied. "The main chance. Can there be any other challenge?"

"It is the great challenge, but a man-killer and a woman-killer, particularly for the less experienced climbers. Have you done the Himalayas?"

"The three of us are in fair shape," Rob countered, "But we need a bit of training before starting a serious climb."

"I'd say extensive training," the manager said. "The man you are looking for is Werner Diels. I'm sure he'll be able to discourage you. There are plenty of stimulating walks and easy climbs around. If you insist on the Nordwand, please leave me written and signed statements concerning your last wishes and how I should dispose of any items you leave at the hotel."

"You paint a grim picture," Judy said, in high good humor. "Werner may say the Norwand is a no-no, but until then we'll go with the flow."

"Where the flow goes, I do not know," Gottlob parried, "But you will find Werner's phone number if you ask at the desk."

The three of them huddled with Werner later over beers. Rob explained that they wished to climb the Eiger, the north face.

"The Norwand," Werner said. "You've experienced the Himalayas and are now ready for a true challenge?"

"We are in fair shape," Rob replied, "but we have never climbed a mountain."

Werner gave them each a strange look. Maude said she had done a climbing wall at her gym more than once. Judy too said she had scaled a climbing wall. Rob said the three of them walk a lot, even had done some jogging.

"The Norwand is a killer," Werner said flatly. "If I took your money it would be akin to stealing. I can find a gentle slope somewhere nearby and talk to you about climbing. That would be a good experience for your holiday."

"We insist on the Norwand," Maude said. "We're willing to train."

"Train," Werner said with a shrug. "Train for six months, train for a year, train for a lifetime? The Norwand waits. It is a patient killer. It hovers over us, glowering, enticing us, its nickname, Morwand, murderous wall. Perhaps seventy climbers have died on that wall since 1935.

"Less than one a year," Judy said. "Not all bad."

Werner grinned. "Okay. How long are you willing to train?"

"Two weeks," Rob said.

Werner's grin broadened and he bobbed his head. "I suppose I'll die with you. Four lives, that might be something of a record. You know an Italian, dead of course, dangled from a rope in clear sight for three years. In the winter clad in ice and frozen to the mountain. In summer dangling free, dancing in the wind."

"What happened to him?" Judy asked.

"I don't know. I suppose the rope broke. If it had been a German rope he would be there yet."

"Not suspended animation," Maude said.

"Inanimate suspension, but a crowd pleaser," Rob tossed in. "When does our training begin?"

"Right after we agree on price and I get a generous advance to leave to those left behind."

"Ominous," Judy quipped.

Werner simply nodded, smiled and then said, "Perhaps we should stick to café au lait for the next two weeks. We will eat together at the training table. I will be with you from early morning to our goodnight kiss. Such a routine will at least give us the ghost of a chance to endure and emerge with our lives."

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Werner woke them at six the next morning. After coffee they set off walking. At noon they came to a small country inn and were near exhaustion. They had walked more than fifteen miles. Their feet were sore, and Judy feared she was getting a blister.

"This evening we will get better footwear," Werner said. "That includes socks. Then they started their foot trek back to their hotel at Kleine Scheidegg. They managed a light meal and piled into their beds. The footwear would wait until the following day.

The days ahead were much the same except for the acquisition of climbing gear, Alpine packs, which were narrow at the top, permitting free arm movement, plus water and energy snacks to permit daylong training sessions.

Then there was the climbing, moderate slopes, but utilizing all their gear. Entire assaults had gone awry by neglecting a certain piece of equipment. Under Werner's careful eye they shopped for harnesses, climbing shoes, helmets, ropes, carabiners (metal loops with a clamp or lock of some kind, many varieties), gridlocks, belay loops, aliens, gaiters for the lower legs and so on.

The trick was to get as much equipment as needed without overloading oneself. Helmets were a necessity. The Eiger is a mile of brittle limestone and ice. Debris and ice, plus water in warmer weather, might constantly devil the climber.

It is true that through the years advances had been made in scaling that monster – and a monster it is although not all that high as a vertical challenge, just over 13,000 feet. Many climbs have taken six to eighteen hours. The first female to make the climb solo came in 1992. In 2008 Dean Potter climbed and base jumped from the top.

And since that time lightly clad single climbers have scooted up the Nordwand in record times, starting with Ueli Steck with two hours and forty-seven minutes, others less than two hours.

A feature that is a bit bizarre is a small wooden door, maybe halfway up the north face, that is always unlocked, a door that has saved more than one climber. It opens onto a passage leading to a railway tunnel blasted through the mountain. A quarter mile down that tunnel is the midway station.

In this part of the world there is a phenomenon called the foehn. It is a force of wind that seems to come from nowhere, capable of knocking one head over heels. It is something like the Chinook that comes down from the Rockies, or the Santa Ana that blows in from the southern California desert. God help you if you are on the Eiger when the blast begins. The Swiss say the suicide rate rises during the foehn.

Fairly dry and warm, it may melt the Eiger ice, cause deadly avalanches, then be followed by a sharp freeze coating the vertical surface with ice. It is said the foehnsturm can turn a staid Swiss group into a lunatic rave party. So we have yet another facet of the Eiger legend and mystique.

On a fine morning when birds sang and the sun shone brightly, the trio, led by Werner, started up the Nordwand. They were peppy, well rested and had achieved their finest physical and mental states. They had been told that the early stages were the easiest. But there was light snow over crusted ice, unstable conditions, made worse by their cumbersome packs that constantly seemed poised to pull them over backwards and tumble them down the mountain.

By late afternoon they reached the Rote Fluh, an overhang that protected them from falling objects, a constant threat, some debris large enough to send them spinning despite helmets. They were exhausted, and Werner called a halt for the night. Dredging out a shelf, the four of them huddled in light sleeping bags, each munching energy bars.

Early the next day the surfaces were icy. They used the picks and crampon points to edge up the mountain. Werner led the way, but slipped twice, perilously close to taking them all down. It took hours to climb a few feet, then belay. Finally they reached the Hinterstoisser Traverse, more than a hundred feet across overhangs.

At one point Judy exclaimed, "I'm falling!" and lurched toward open space below. She was roped just after Werner and before Maude. Rob brought up the rear. Her ice axe saved her, but the ropes would have held. The four climbers moved slowly and cautiously. The three newcomers struggled to overcome terror. This was the life they had sought at the raw, ragged edge.

After the Hinterstoisser the climbing was easier, but went straight skyward. Rob glanced down and realized that almost nothing other than a couple of steel picks were keeping him from flying off into space and plummeting more than two thousand feet to his death. He quickly concentrated on the climb. With Werner's stern leadership they reached the so-called Death Bivouac where a pair of climbers had died years earlier. It was probably the safest ledge on the mountain, and they spent a fairly pleasant night. No quick run to the top.

Werner's face was a mask. He was a man obsessed. The following day he was up before dawn and rallied the others to make a quick run to the summit. The day was difficult, muscles and every bone ached, but they reached the summit and once again camped on a fairly wide ledge, well protected by an outcrop.

During the night, Rob woke once just after midnight to observe Werner taking a quick drink from what appeared to be a pint bottle of whisky. Just before dawn, Judy was roused by some strange activity. Werner was standing, finishing off his bottle. She was surprised that he had brought such a thing up the mountain.

He drained the flask, walked to the edge of the ledge and, with the motion of a major league pitcher, hurled the empty bottle into space, lost his balance, almost regained his balance, then toppled off the ledge without a sound.

She knew exactly what had happened, but there was nothing she could do. She sat huddled in her sleeping bag with a jacket around her shoulders, chewing beef jerky and sipping an energy drink. Maude was the first to stir. She told her what had happened, and then they woke Rob.

After quietly discussing the situation, Rob said, "There's an easy way down to the west." He pulled out a map and they all had look. The ascent took only one day.

It was Maude who called Werner's number to speak with his wife. When the woman answered, Maude said, "Mrs. Diels?"

"My name is Lorelei Amann. Werner and I live together, but not married. Is he dead?" Her voice was calm and showed no surprise.

"Yes. I'm sure he is, although his location, or his remains... I mean he fell, but as far as I know his whereabouts are unknown. You know what I mean?"

"Certainly. It's not uncommon. The mountain claims lives and sometimes hides the bodies away. I have lived within sight of the Eiger my entire life. My father led climbers, and I climbed when I was younger."

"Your father is dead?"

"No. He moved to the Netherlands, Holland. He lives in a village there with my mother."

Maude stifled a laugh. "Netherlands is as flat as a pancake."

Lorelei did laugh. "He said that's the only way he could remain alive. There is a lust, a lure, the mountain is a temptress. Death waits. I knew Werner would die on the Nordwand. His time had expired years ago. You know he was forty?"

"I wasn't certain."

"You were probably attracted to him. I saw the three of you with him at a table, drinking beer. There was a handsome man. And a nice looking woman, probably you. Then an exquisitely beautiful woman. I believe Werner called her Judy."

"That's true. Judy. Totally unconcerned about her appearance. Something like the Nordwand."

"God, that's good," Lorelei responded. "When I was twenty-two I made the summit with my first fiancé, although I had climbed the mountain as a teen. His name was Gunter. Died on the mountain. He was number one. Then there was number two, the same fate. Werner, number three. Now I'm thirty. Perhaps I should move to Holland."

"You have money?"

"Some. And what we got from you three. Werner wanted payment in advance. Perhaps a premonition. But the mountain is always there, waiting, infinitely patient."

"You still climb?"

"No. I'm a woman. That's why I quit. Women are stronger than men. Better climbers, better at most things. You know they make the best Channel swimmers."

"The Channel is only one swim," Maude said.

"But it is a well measured swim. And it is the gold standard of swims. And there are records going way back. We have fat on our tummies and fire in our bellies."

"I thought this call would be utterly depressing."

"You reckoned without the Nordwand. Life is fragile, the mountain is eternal. There is a god, there are many gods, to each his own. Yet life goes on."

After signing off, Maude didn't know what to make of the strange conversation. She would tell the others as best she could.

At the inn, the manager Goittlob Biebow mentioned that they seemed to be the perfect ménage a trois.

"I've watched the three of you. In the bar, at the restaurant, on the balcony. Quarrel and make up, pout, pretend to spite one another, but always together, always an underlying harmony."

Judy began to laugh, and then the others joined her. "We had to have a Swiss hotel manager tell us that!"

"We need to get back to baby Billy," Maude said. Rob nodded in agreement.

###

About the Author

Doug Walker is an Ohio University, Athens, Ohio, journalism graduate. He served on metropolitan newspapers, mostly in Ohio, for twenty years, as political reporter, both local and statehouse, along with stints as city editor and Washington correspondent. Teaching English in Japan, China and Eastern Europe were retirement activities.

His first novel was "Murder on the French Broad," available only in a print edition published in 2010.

Now occupying an old house in Asheville, NC, with his wife, he enjoys reading, tennis, short walks, TV and writing.

Connect with Me Online

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