The Pretenders

Originally written Saturday, December 17, 2005

“Fair enough. So what’ll you be looking for at U. of I.?”

“Archives. West Indian spirituality. They’ve got the largest collection of voodoo-related materials in the Midwest there.”

“And you think this is gonna help you figure out why there might be a vampire looking for the charm? Rick, we know what it does. We know why someone would want to add it to their collection. That’s not the mystery.”

“No, I know that. But try to think back to when you first got it from Bella. Do you remember? You said then that she told you there are ways to use one to locate the others. And how to destroy them. But we don’t know what they are. What those ways are, I mean. If we got that info, we might be in better shape.”

“Sounds like a good plan. I support.” I didn’t tell him I already know some of what he’s interested in.

“Good. Uh, thanks. So that’s why I asked you to bring the charm with you today.”

“And why’s that?”

Apparently, the wine was not enough of a relaxant. The table between us started to vibrate slightly. When the forks resting on our empty dishes began to rattle softly, he lifted his elbows from the surface rather than cease the shaking of his knee. Still, he was able to look me steadily in the eye as he spoke: “Because I thought that it would help me in my research.”

“So you want to take a look at it?”

“Well, yes, for now, but… I was also hoping to take it to U. of I. with me.” I’d seen the request coming from a mile away; I just wondered what the nature of his excuse would be and why he would be constructing it.

I turned my head slightly to the side and scrutinized him with one eye. “You want to take the charm off my hands to do that? What for?”

“Well, you know, Roger says that a lot of the materials are illustrated, so it would be good to have the visual aid. And what if I find out how to destroy it, shouldn’t I do it right away? Why wait til I get back to do it?”

“Or you could take a picture and use the phone. Or I can go out there with you. I just don’t feel comfortable with it leaving my possession right now.”

He seemed to be trying to regain his focus deliberately, doing his best not to appear flustered. The leg-shaking and head-rubbing had disappeared now that the ice was broken. “You could come out there with me. I really don’t think you need to worry, though. You can keep investigating on the homefront. If Moshe knows you have it, then he won’t know it’s gone unless you come with me, right?”

“Maybe. Look, at one point I might not have minded you borrowing it for a while. But with someone possibly looking for it, this is exactly the kind of time when it’s not a good idea. Why do you think I’m the one Bella gave it to in the first place? What are you gonna do if you do get accosted while you have it?” I paused and blinked for effect before pointedly asking, “How’s your nose?” in reference to the injury he’d supposedly sustained last week. There was no bandage and no bruising, and if there were any disfiguration, I couldn’t tell. I wondered if he’d suggested meeting today specifically because it was long enough after the incident for it to heal or for me to believe it had healed. I have a slightly distorted perception of how long healing is supposed to take for others anyway, and he may have counted on my giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“Sensitive. Sore. Thanks for asking.” He touched the bridge gingerly and winced convincingly. “If I am accosted, I’ll be prepared next time. He’s not that tough; he just caught me by surprise.”

“But he can distract you, and we don’t know if he’s working alone.”

He could probably see that even if he could come up with an excuse that held water, it would sound argumentative at this point and therefore suspicious. He switched gears almost visibly. His eyebrows rose, his eyes and shoulders fell, he heaved a sigh, and he said, “OK, you’re right—“

“I’m always right,” I broke in.

“Yeah, and you’re still always right. You’re the best person to protect it, physically speaking. Even though he’s distracted you, too.” Yet another thing he could not know, at least at this point, was that the very type of object that had made Moshe “do” the brain-muddling thing was the same type that was likely to protect me from it now. “I just wanted to do you a favor. We’re both implicated in this thing, you because you have it and me because I have access to the information about it. Or had it, until the stuff got stolen. I guess I was just thinking of us as like teammates here.”

Ah. To paraphrase Chrissie Hynds, this was beginning to sound like emotional blackmail. “Course we’re teammates, Rick. But look—I’m the goalie, and you’re, uh, not the goalie. I don’t know. The forward or something. What sport are we talking about?”

He snorted. “Who knows. Hockey? Soccer? Basketball?”

“Basketball doesn’t have goalies. In fact, the forwards are like the goalies. We’re definitely not talking about basketball. How about lacrosse?”

“I don’t know how to play lacrosse.”

“Neither do I. But it has goalies. So it has goalies, and we don’t know how to play it. Sounds like a good analogy, right?” The bulk of this asinine exchange was deadpan.

The events of this day to be continued...