“If I come up with something better, I’ll let you know. Then you can parlay your AriPet earnings into even more. By the way, did you buy the stock through a personal account or your IRA?”
“Uh… the IRA.” Another lie. Jack couldn’t have an IRA account either. Sometimes he wearied of lying to everybody, especially people he should be able to trust.
“Good! When you don’t think you’ll be holding them long enough to qualify for capital gains, use the IRA.”
He knew what his father was up to. Dad figured that as an appliance repairman, Jack would wind up depending on Social Security after he retired, and nobody could live off that. He was trying to help his prodigal son build up a nest egg for his old age.
They pulled into the lot by the two municipal courts. Both were occupied.
“Guess we’re out of luck.”
Dad waved a slip of paper. “No worry. This says court two is reserved for us between 10:00 and 11:00.”
While Jack fished in the back seat for his new racquet and the can of balls, his father went over to the couple who now occupied court two. The fellow was grumpily packing up their gear as Jack arrived. The girl—she looked to be about nineteen—glared at him as she sipped from a half-pint container of chocolate milk.
“Guess it’s who you know instead of who got here first.”
Jack tried a friendly smile. “No. Just who thinks ahead and gets a reservation.”
She shrugged. “It’s a rich man’s sport. Should’ve known better than to try to take it up.”
“Let’s not turn this into a class war, shall we?”
“Who? Me?” she said with an innocent smile. “I wouldn’t think of it.”
With that she poured the rest of her chocolate milk onto the court just behind the baseline.
Jack set his teeth and turned his back on her. What he really wanted to do was see if she could swallow a tennis racquet. He relaxed a little after she and her boyfriend left and he began to rally with his father. Jack’s tennis game had long since stabilized at a level of mediocrity he felt he could live with.
He was feeling fit today; he liked the balance of the racquet, the way the ball came off the strings, but the knowledge that there was a puddle of souring chocolate milk somewhere behind him on the asphalt rippled his concentration.
“You’re taking your eye off the ball!” Dad yelled from the other end of the court after Jack’s third wild shot in a row.
I know!
The last thing he needed now was a tennis lesson. He concentrated fully on the next ball, backpedaling, watching it all the way up to his racquet strings. He threw his body into the forehand shot, giving it as much top spin as he could to make it go low over the net and kick when it bounced. Suddenly his right foot was slipping. He went down in a spray of warm chocolate milk.
Across the net, his father returned the ball with a drop shot that rolled dead two feet from the service line. He looked at Jack and began to laugh.
It was going to be a very long day.
5
Kolabati paced the apartment, clutching the empty bottle that had once held the rakoshi elixir, waiting for Kusum. Again and again her mind ranged over the sequence of events last night: First, her brother disappeared from the reception; then the rakoshi odor at Jack’s apartment and the eyes he said he had seen. There had to be a link between Kusum and the rakoshi. And she was determined to find it. But first she had to find Kusum and keep track of him. Where did he go at night?
The morning wore on. By noon, when she had begun to fear he would not show up at all, there came the sound of his key in the door.
Kusum entered, looking tired and preoccupied. He glanced up and saw her.
“Bati. I thought you’d be with your American lover.”
“I’ve been waiting all morning for you.”
“Why? Have you thought of a new way to torment me since last night?”
This wasn’t going the way Kolabati wanted. She had planned a rational discussion with her brother. To this end, she had dressed in a long-sleeved, high-collared white blouse and baggy white slacks.
“No one has tormented you,” she said with a small smile and a placating tone. “At least not intentionally.”
He made a guttural sound. “I sincerely doubt that.”
“The world is changing. I’ve learned to change with it. So must you.”
“Certain things never change.”
He started toward his room. Kolabati had to stop him before he locked himself away in there.
“That’s true. I have one of those unchanging things in my hand.”
Kusum stopped and looked at her questioningly. She held up the bottle, watching his face closely. His expression registered nothing but puzzlement. If he recognized the bottle, he hid it well.
“I’m in no mood for games, Bati.”
“I assure you, my brother, this is no game.” She removed the top and held the bottle out to him. “Tell me if you recognize the odor.”
Kusum took the bottle and held it under his long nose. His eyes widened. “This cannot be! It’s impossible!”
“You can’t deny the testament of your senses.” He glared at her. “First you embarrass me, now you try to make a fool of me as well!”
“It was in Jack’s apartment last night!” Kusum held it up to his nose again. Shaking his head, he went to an overstuffed couch nearby and sank into it. “I don’t understand this,” he said in a tired voice. Kolabati seated herself opposite him. “Of course you do.” His head snapped up, his eyes challenging her. “Are you calling me a liar?”
Kolabati looked away. There were rakoshi in New York. Kusum was in New York. She possessed a logical mind and could imagine no circumstances under which these two facts could exist independently of each other. Yet she sensed that now was not the right time to let Kusum know how certain she was of his involvement. He was already on guard. Any more signs of suspicion on her part and he would shut her out completely.
“What am I supposed to think?” she told him. “Are we not Keepers? The only Keepers?”
“But you saw the egg. How can you doubt me?” There was a note of pleading in his voice, of a man who wanted very much to be believed. He was so convincing. Kolabati was sorely tempted to take his word. “Then explain to me what you smell in that bottle.” Kusum shrugged. “A hoax. An elaborate, foul hoax.”
“Kusum, they were there! Last night and the night before as well!”
“Listen to me.” He rose and stood over her. “Did you ever actually see a rakosh these last two nights?”
“No, but there was the odor. There was no mistaking that.”
“I don’t doubt there was an odor, but an odor can be faked—”
“There was something there!”
“—and so we’re left with only your impressions. Nothing tangible.”
“Isn’t that bottle in your hand tangible enough?”
Kusum handed it to her. “An interesting imitation. It almost had me fooled, but I’m quite sure it’s not genuine. By the way, what happened to the contents?”
“Poured down a sewer.”
His expression remained bland. “Too bad. I could have had it analyzed and perhaps we could learn who is perpetrating this hoax. I want to know that before I do another thing.”