He blushed. “Oh, I’d never tell her what to do with her money. But you know I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Thanks.”
“By the way, I saw your former husband. He’s presenting in the hotel. Is he involved in your dealings now?”
Marcy’s black skin camouflaged an angry blush. She tempered her voice as she answered. “He is? Really? What a coincidence. And no, he is not part of our group.”
“Oh, I see. Well, you don’t have to worry about me mentioning it to anyone else. Mum’s the word.” He put his long smooth finger in front of his lips and winked.
Marcy knew Alphonso was an incorrigible gossip. Word would soon spread, and perhaps she could control the message: My ex-husband is not part of my program.
“You are such a darling. Please say hello to June for me.”
As Alphonso departed, Marcy’s burn ignited. She hated Cantor’s ability to flimflam and use her notoriety for his own gain. How dare he ride on my coattails! What the hell is he doing, following me around?
She decided to find and confront him. But first, she needed muscle. Where are Jed and Miguel?
Cantor, scenting the possibility of money, alternated his expression between erudition, humility, and empathy, as his potential benefactor continued to rant.
“A world with Ichthy in it will help me realize God’s design. I’ve seen it in my dreams. I’d give anything to fulfill the prophecy.”
“Yes, Ah’m sure you will,” Cantor said.
“As long as we’re bringing him back, there are a few things I’d like to change,” Berky said. “This is important for my—for God’s—plan.”
“Of course, of course. What is it?”
“It’s proprietary. We’ll need a non-disclosure agreement.”
“Okay. Ah’ll sign it. What can you tell me?”
“He didn’t talk much. Don’t get me wrong. His presence sparked ideas, and in a Zen-like way, his persona led me to the path of truth. But I’ll need to make certain improvements.”
“Sometimes speaking is just a matter of self-confidence,” Cantor said. “After we bring him back, we’ll give him speech therapy. We can hire the best tutors in the world. We’ll build that into our budget.”
“And he never laughed,” Berky said.
“Fearless in life, fearless in death, eh? A stoic disposition?”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“Ah see,” Cantor said.
“There are several things about Ichthy we should sort out before we bring him back,” Berky said.
“You’ll need to make a list. The enhancements could be expensive. Ah’m thinking maybe ... six to nine million.” Cantor waited for a reaction.
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
Cantor suppressed a smile. “There may be additional unexpected costs. You have friends, don’t you?”
“Not really. I have associates.”
“Then Icky will be as right as rain. You’ll see,” Cantor said. “Ah only need a sliver of his DNA.”
“I knew you’d help. That’s why I brought what’s left of him. You can start right away. I’ll make arrangements to transfer the initial payment to your bank of choice.”
Cantor stiffened. He was pleased to get seed money but wasn’t prepared to take possession of a dead body in the elite Crowley-Burgess Hotel. He wondered how Berky had smuggled a corpse past the hotel security guards. He wondered if, by accepting the body, he might somehow become an accessory to a crime, maybe even murder. He wondered if the hotel might let him use the restaurant’s refrigerator for just a bit. There were many urgent questions.
“I have to go,” Berky said, looking at his watch. He picked up his duffel bag, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped out of the room.
The rapid departure surprised Cantor. “Wait!” he yelled, running to catch up.
Berky punched the “Up” button for the elevator, then opened his bag.
Cantor extended his left arm toward Berky, exposing a digitag bracelet. “Can we exchange contact information? And where can Ah find Icky?” Cantor said.
Berky put his bag down, fished through the contents, and removed a wig and false mustache. “Let’s get the name right. It’s Ichthy, I-c-h-t-h-y. We don’t need to exchange contact information. You won’t find me. I’ll find you.”
The elevator dinged on arrival. The doors slid open, revealing an empty car. The Master of Disguise pulled a polished mahogany box from the duffel bag, holding the elevator door open with his foot. “Be sure you take good care of him,” he said somberly, as Cantor accepted the box. Then he slipped on a pair of dark glasses, made his hand into a gun, and pointed at Cantor, pretending to shoot. “Catch you later.”
As the elevator doors closed, Cantor’s brain framed a few big questions.
Who was the real scam artist in that last transaction?
Does Berky actually have millions?
Will he pay that much money to get his dead friend back?
Does the box contain Ichthy’s ashes? And if so, how can I get usable DNA?
On the other hand, does it really matter whose DNA is in the box?
The box sat heavily in Cantor’s arms like a stolen treasure chest. Ichthy must have been very special. Engraved nautical symbols and stylized waves decorated the sides of the small chest, and on one end, a mermaid blew bubbles. The other end said “Ichthy” in florid script.
He slid a thumb over the anchor-shaped catch and opened the lid, perhaps a millimeter. Then he thought better of it and snapped the lid shut again.