and direct as it first appeared. If it’s a sign, it should go down easy. Smoothly. It should interrupt the fatal flow and provide a convenient bend, not a lot of twists and turns.”
“A million dollars,” the girl said.
Kenny appeared to be computing something in his head. “It’s too neat. It’s very suspicious. It’s like a folktale, and you are the princess come to rescue me, but I don’t really believe—”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Paul interrupted. “Nina, how can we do this without him?”
“No, no. I’ll do it. I always do it in the end. Lunge for that brass ring. Fall off the horse. I’ll do it.”
He earned a brilliant smile. “I won’t let you back out.”
“Now, listen here,” Paul said.
The girl said, “Deal.”
Kenny shuffled over to her and bent over her hand, planting a semisober, wet kiss. The Cary Grant effect he must have intended fell slightly short due to the pungency of his breath, which reached all the way to Nina several feet away.
Paul gave a lopsided smile, the one that said, This is complete and total bullshit; what loony bin have I landed in?
But Nina couldn’t resist. “Are you married now?” she asked the girl.
“No.”
Paul said. “Nina? Isn’t this illegal?”
“Do I have this straight? Are you paying him to marry you?” she asked the girl.
“You’re the lawyer. You tell me what to call it, if it’s illegal for him to marry me for the money. Isn’t there something called a prenuptial agreement?”
“It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that’s been done,” Paul said.
Nina shook her head. “Kenny, what about you? Are you married?”
“Never been married. I’ve been saving myself for Joya.” He raised his eyebrow to the girl. He reminded Nina of Mike Myers trying to be debonair, the smile that was a little too wide, the too-bright eyes.
“Let me see your driver’s license.” Kenny reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a wallet. He handed Nina his license. Nina passed it on to Paul. Kenneth Leung, aka Tan-Kwo Leung, street address in Mountain View, California. Born in 1972. Sixty-eight inches tall, one hundred eighty-four pounds. Must wear corrective lenses. The license was current. The photo had caught Leung with his eyes at half-mast.
“I am not a crook,” Kenny said in a gruff voice, raising his hands and making V-signs with his fingers. He laughed. Nobody else did.
“Could have fooled me,” Paul said. “What’s with the alternate name?”
“I felt I needed an easier name for business,” he said. “A Caucasian one. It’s perfectly innocent and legal. Turns out I was wrong. Half the people I deal with speak Chinese or Japanese.”
Paul went into the front office and photocopied Kenny’s license, then handed it back.
“Nina . . .” he said.
“Just a minute, Paul. The good news is, marriage wouldn’t give Kenny any legal claim on the money, because the marriage took place after the jackpot.”
“I just want my share,” Kenny offered.
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Paul said. “It’s too much money.”
“I’m not dishonest. She’s pulling me into this. I don’t have to live—I mean, do it.”
“You don’t seem to be kicking and screaming,” Paul said, “which I seem to be the only one here to find surprising.” He pointed his eyes at Nina, then turned back to Kenny. “Marriage is not entirely a business decision, or haven’t any of you people thought about that? Holy matrimony ring a bell? And if that doesn’t give you pause, there’s the less morally questionable but vexing issue of logistics. License. Blood test. Ceremony.”
Nina was probably the only one to appreciate the bafflement in Paul’s voice. He had tried marriage twice and failed at it both times. He clearly didn’t like what he took to be their cavalier approach to an old-fashioned institution.
“This is not like picking up a ninety-nine-cent burger, you know,” he went on.
“Speaking of which, have
“A million dollars,” the girl said.
Kenny appeared to be computing something in his head. “It’s too neat. It’s very suspicious. It’s like a folktale, and you are the princess come to rescue me, but I don’t really believe—”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Paul interrupted. “Nina, how can we do this without him?”
“No, no. I’ll do it. I always do it in the end. Lunge for that brass ring. Fall off the horse. I’ll do it.”
He earned a brilliant smile. “I won’t let you back out.”
“Now, listen here,” Paul said.
The girl said, “Deal.”
Kenny shuffled over to her and bent over her hand, planting a semisober, wet kiss. The Cary Grant effect he must have intended fell slightly short due to the pungency of his breath, which reached all the way to Nina several feet away.
Paul gave a lopsided smile, the one that said, This is complete and total bullshit; what loony bin have I landed in?
But Nina couldn’t resist. “Are you married now?” she asked the girl.
“No.”
Paul said. “Nina? Isn’t this illegal?”
“Do I have this straight? Are you paying him to marry you?” she asked the girl.
“You’re the lawyer. You tell me what to call it, if it’s illegal for him to marry me for the money. Isn’t there something called a prenuptial agreement?”
“It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that’s been done,” Paul said.
Nina shook her head. “Kenny, what about you? Are you married?”
“Never been married. I’ve been saving myself for Joya.” He raised his eyebrow to the girl. He reminded Nina of Mike Myers trying to be debonair, the smile that was a little too wide, the too-bright eyes.
“Let me see your driver’s license.” Kenny reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a wallet. He handed Nina his license. Nina passed it on to Paul. Kenneth Leung, aka Tan-Kwo Leung, street address in Mountain View, California. Born in 1972. Sixty-eight inches tall, one hundred eighty-four pounds. Must wear corrective lenses. The license was current. The photo had caught Leung with his eyes at half-mast.
“I am not a crook,” Kenny said in a gruff voice, raising his hands and making V-signs with his fingers. He laughed. Nobody else did.
“Could have fooled me,” Paul said. “What’s with the alternate name?”
“I felt I needed an easier name for business,” he said. “A Caucasian one. It’s perfectly innocent and legal. Turns out I was wrong. Half the people I deal with speak Chinese or Japanese.”
Paul went into the front office and photocopied Kenny’s license, then handed it back.
“Nina . . .” he said.
“Just a minute, Paul. The good news is, marriage wouldn’t give Kenny any legal claim on the money, because the marriage took place after the jackpot.”
“I just want my share,” Kenny offered.
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Paul said. “It’s too much money.”
“I’m not dishonest. She’s pulling me into this. I don’t have to live—I mean, do it.”
“You don’t seem to be kicking and screaming,” Paul said, “which I seem to be the only one here to find surprising.” He pointed his eyes at Nina, then turned back to Kenny. “Marriage is not entirely a business decision, or haven’t any of you people thought about that? Holy matrimony ring a bell? And if that doesn’t give you pause, there’s the less morally questionable but vexing issue of logistics. License. Blood test. Ceremony.”
Nina was probably the only one to appreciate the bafflement in Paul’s voice. He had tried marriage twice and failed at it both times. He clearly didn’t like what he took to be their cavalier approach to an old-fashioned institution.
“This is not like picking up a ninety-nine-cent burger, you know,” he went on.
“Speaking of which, have
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