Generation of Liars by Camilla Marks Page B

its
sheening surface resonated like black oil in the sun. “Wait, something isn’t
right. There is supposed to be a paper with an address attached to the
briefcase, but I don’t see any paper. Do you think the chickens might have
eaten it? There certainly was enough poop in that coop.”
    “If there is supposed to be a paper
attached to the briefcase you seek, but there isn’t a paper attached to the
briefcase in your hands, then wisdom makes it obvious to us that the briefcase
in your hands is not the briefcase you seek.”
    “Or the nasty grubbing chickens ate
the note,” I offered alternately.
    “But wisdom makes it obvious,” he
began again.
     Not wanting to hear any more
from him, I cut him off with a huff. “Wisdom makes it obvious,” I paused to
exhaust an irked sigh, “that I was set up by my partner to be on the laughing
end of some stupid joke. That’s what this is about, isn’t it David? And they
told you about it too, didn’t they?” I dropped the briefcase onto the dirt and
kicked it so that it barreled onto its edges.
    “Is it that you were set up by your
partner, or did you set yourself up?”
    “What do you mean?” I asked.
    “Alice, you were so busy looking
for the briefcase amidst all the chaos of the chicken coop that you didn’t stop
to consider that there might be an easier answer.”
    “What do you mean, David?” I asked
impatiently, wiping the veil of sweat from my forehead.
    He pointed back towards the coop,
but not straight at it, a few feet off to the side, where there stood a bird
bath carved into the shape of a Shinto shrine. There was a pristine ivory
briefcase resting over the basin of the bath, which I had overlooked. “Kick the
black one over to me,” David instructed. I kicked it over and he bent down and
popped open the lid to reveal the empty interior. “Think, Alice. Really
challenge yourself.”
    “The only reason Motley would send
me to Nebraska’s apartment with a briefcase is if there was money stacked
inside.” I sunk my shoulders and rolled my eyes. “So wisdom would say this
isn’t the briefcase.” David nodded and a simple, satisfied smile pressed itself
onto his lips. I had seen that smile often during our initial training session
three years prior. It meant I was close to enlightenment.
    I set onto the grass and lifted the
white briefcase off the Shinto birdbath. The outside surface of the briefcase
was gleaming white, and on the front was taped a piece of white paper with the
address for an apartment building on Avienda Atlantica. When I hefted it by the
handle, it was weighty as money bags. I looked at David. “What was the point of
this?”
    “Motley sent you here because not
all your lessons have been learned just yet. I have taught you many moves to
use in a physical battle, but it is the mental battle that will be your
undoing.”
    “Motley thinks I’m sloppy, is that
it? And getting shot out of the Eiffel Tower confirmed his worries about me.”
    “Alice, he just wanted me to test
you so that you might see where there is room for improvement.”
    “Maybe he has a point, but I don’t
like being chided like some silly school girl.” I waved the paper in my hand.
“I better go. I have a meeting with some guy named Benny Nebraska who he hides
out in Rio hacking the bank accounts of A-list movie stars, so it should prove
interesting.”
    “It was bliss to see you again,
Alice.”
    “Thanks, David. I really loved
seeing you again. It brought back some good memories. Good luck with the
training against that adversary of yours. He doesn’t stand a chance.”
    “ Kitto Katsu , Alice,” David
said, bending at the waist to bow to me.
    I carried the briefcase to the
curb, where my taxi was still idling, and when I got inside I relayed the
address on Avenida Atlantica to the driver. I couldn’t wait to meet Mr.
Hollywood-hustler, Benny Nebraska. I looked down at the ivory briefcase
next to me and guessed there was a cool million