“Finished,” Graciella said.
He told her to fold each slip in half, then fold it again. “Make sure there’s no way for me to read what you’ve written.” He turned over the Borsalino and she dropped in the slips.
“The next part’s up to you, Graciella. You need to think hard about what you wrote. Picture each of the things on the paper—all three wishes.”
She gazed up at the ceiling. “All right.”
The front door opened behind him, and she was distracted for a moment. A man in a black coat took a seat at a table kitty-corner from them. He sat just behind Graciella’s left shoulder, facing away from them. Jesus Christ, Teddy thought.
“Concentrate,” he told her—and himself. “Got all three?”
She nodded.
“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.” He shook the three slips onto the table, then arranged them into a row. “Take the nearest one and put it in my hand. Don’t open it. Just cover it up with your hand.”
They were palm to palm, with the paper between them.
“Graciella,” he said. She looked into his eyes. She was excited, yes, but nervous. Scared by what she’d written. By what was going to be said aloud.
“School,” he said. “New school.”
A puff of surprise escaped her.
“I guess that’s about Julian,” he said. “Turns out you’d decided after all, yes?”
“That one’s too easy,” she said. “I told you all about him. You could have guessed that.”
“It’s possible,” he said. “Quite possible. Still—” The man behind Graciella coughed. He was big, with a crew cut like a gray lawn that rolled over the folds in his neck fat. Teddy tried to ignore him. He opened the slip and read it. “ ‘New school.’ It’s a good wish.”
He set the paper aside and told her to pick the next slip. Again she covered his palm. His fingers touched her wrist, and he could feel her pulse.
“Hmm. This one’s more complicated,” he said.
Her hand trembled. What was she so afraid of?
“The first word is ‘no.’ ” He closed his eyes to concentrate. “No…rabbits?”
She laughed. Relieved now. So he hadn’t hit the slip she was worried about.
“You tell me,” she said.
He looked at her. “I’m seeing ‘No rabbits.’ Are you writing in code? Wait.” His eyes widened in mock surprise. “Are you pregnant?”
“What?” She was laughing.
“Maybe you’re worried about the rabbit dying.”
“No! I definitely want them to die. They’ve eaten my entire garden.”
“This is about gardening?” He shook his head. “You need bigger wishes, my dear. Perhaps this last one. Put this one into my hatband. There you go. Don’t let me touch it.”
She tucked it into the front of the band. “How are you doing this?” she asked. “Have you always been able to do this?”
The man behind her snorted. He made a show of studying the plastic menu.
“Let me concentrate,” Teddy said. He put on the Borsalino, but kept his fingers well away from the band. “Yes. This one’s definitely a big one.”
The man laughed.
“Jesus Christ!” Teddy said. “Would you mind?”
The man turned around. Graciella glanced behind her, then said to Teddy, “Do you two know each other?”
“Unfortunately,” Teddy said.
“Destin Smalls,” the man said, offering her his hand.
She refused to take it. “You’re a cop, aren’t you?”
Ding! Teddy’s heart opened like a cracked safe.
“I work for the government,” Smalls said.
“Is this a setup?” Graciella asked. “Is this about Nick?”
“Who’s Nick?” Smalls asked Teddy.
“My husband,” said Graciella.
“I have no idea why he just showed up,” Teddy said to Graciella. “I haven’t seen this guy in years.”
“Don’t be taken in,” Smalls told her. “It’s called billet reading. An old trick, almost as old as he is.”
That was hurtful, trying to embarrass him in front of a younger woman. But she didn’t seem to be listening to Smalls, thankfully. “I have to go,” Graciella said. “The boys are getting dropped off soon.”
Teddy rose with her. “I apologize for my acquaintance here.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you,” she said to Teddy. “I think.” She started for the door.
Teddy scowled at Smalls, then said, “Graciella, just a second. One second.” She was kind enough to wait for him.
“The last wish,” he said, his voice low to keep Smalls out of it. “Was that about you? Are you going to be okay?”
“Of course I’ll be okay,” she said. “I’m the rock.”
She marched across the parking lot. He had so many questions. The two words she’d written on the last slip were NOT GUILTY.
Destin Smalls, to Teddy’s annoyance, took Graciella’s seat.
“Still running the Carnac routine, Teddy?”
“You look like death’s doorman,” Teddy said. It had been four years since he’d seen the government agent, but he looked like he’d aged twice that. A bad patch. That’s the way it happened. A body could hold the line for a decade, one Christmas photo just like the ten previous, then bam, the years zoomed up and flattened you like a Mack truck. The last of the man’s football-hero good looks had been swallowed by age and carbohydrates. Now he was a blocky head on a big rectangular body, like a microwave atop a refrigerator.
“You have to know you’ll never get past first base,” Smalls said. “You’re an old man. They talk to you because you’re safe.”
“I’m serious, your color looks like hell. What is it, ball cancer? Liver damage? I always took you for a secret drinker.”
The waitress reappeared. If she was surprised that an attractive suburbaness had been replaced by a seventy-year-old spook, she didn’t show it.
“Coffee for my friend here,” Teddy said.
“No thank you,” he said to her. “Water with lemon, please.”
“I forgot, he’s Mormon,” Teddy told her. “Could you make sure the water’s decaffeinated?”
She stared at him for a moment, then left without a word.
“I take it back, you can still charm them,” Smalls said. “So how are the hands?”
“Good days and bad days,” Teddy said.
“Good enough for the billet trick,” Smalls said.
Teddy ignored that. “So what are you doing in Chicago? D.C. too hot for you?”
“They’re trying to force me out,” Smalls said. “They’re closing Star Gate. They cut my funding to nothing.”
“Star Gate’s still running?” Teddy shook his head. “I can’t believe they hadn’t already chased you all out of the temple.”
“Congress is shutting down every project in the SG umbrella. Too much media blowback.”
“You mean media, period.” Teddy leaned back, relaxing into it now, the old banter. “You guys never liked it that any honest report had to mention your complete lack of results.”
“You know as well as I do that—”
Teddy held up a hand. “Excepting Maureen. But without her, you had nothing.”
The waitress returned with the water and the coffeepot. She refilled Teddy’s cup and vanished again.
“Here’s to Maureen,” Smalls said, and lifted his glass. “Forever ageless.”
“Maureen.”
After a while, Teddy said, “Too bad about the job. Nobody likes to be the last one to turn out the lights.”
“It’s a crime,” Smalls said. “A strategic mistake. You think the Russians shut down the SCST?”