Writ of Execution by Perri O'Shaughnessy Page A

you got any snacks around?” Kenny said.
    “I think we have some Snickers bars from last Hallowe’en still in the freezer of the bar fridge in the conference room,” Nina said. Kenny got up and checked it out, finally pulling a candy bar out of the ice it was embedded in. He started pulling shreds of wrapper off, bit by bit, making a stack of trash on the table.
    Nina saw Paul’s mouth tighten.
    Tonight had been so frustrating for both of them. It was the first time they had been together as a couple in nearly a year, and along came these two young strangers, talking about getting married as if marriage were only a bizarre business deal. She and Paul had wobbled around with the marriage idea for ages, right up until she had married another man. She didn’t blame Paul for his mood, which had to be due at least in part to their own rocky history.
    But there was an irresistible simplicity to the notion. “They could go to Reno and do it in a couple of hours,” she said, wandering into the murky moral terrain, just following the logic of the thing, having to admire the legal possibilities. “The registry’s open twenty-four hours a day and so are the wedding chapels in the big casinos. Your casino could wait a few hours. We could think up some excuse. Of course, this is all theory.”
    Kenny and the girl stood beside each other without touching. Kenny looked over at the girl, offering a chopper-filled grin. Chocolate smears around his mouth detracted from the smile. The girl, having struck her deal, put her hands in her pockets and ignored his gaze.
    “It’s a terrible idea,” Paul said, his eyes stony. “Are you all nuts?”
    But the girl interrupted the sermon he was gearing up to deliver. “Let’s do it,” she said. “But this is just business, not a personal relationship. That has to be crystal clear.”
    Kenny winced as he absorbed that, and Nina thought, So he is interested in this young lady. She factored in that complication.
    She finished off the last of her latte, leaving enough solid precipitate at the bottom to tell a fortune. Staring at it, knowing that it was late at night and that she should think twice, she said, “This idea has aspects that might be called fraudulent by unfriendly parties. It’s a voidable marriage, because you don’t intend to live together as husband and wife. But it might get the check into our possession and we could straighten it out later and make sure the IRS got its due, and no one could claim any damages, so I don’t see who would bother to complain.”
    “Possession,” Kenny said. “Always get possession.”
    “Name changes are actually quite simple. You change your name by starting to use another name. No formalities are required. The sole requirements that I know of are that you must be older than eighteen and that you don’t do it to defraud anyone. You could change your name without Kenny—wait”—Nina raised her hand to prevent Kenny from interrupting—“but then you would still have the problem of having no ID to show these people. And even if you married Kenny and flashed his driver’s license at the casino, they may surprise you and still not pay out the money until they see your own ID.”
    “I’ll do it if he will,” the girl repeated.
    “With pleasure,” Kenny said.
    “Just a minute, pal,” Paul said.
    Leung folded his arms, a vision of obstinacy. He faced Paul, the supercilious look fading and his bleary eyes narrowed.
    “What’s your story?” Paul went on. “Let’s hear it now rather than later, when it might come as a rude shock.”
    “Anyone would do it for that kind of money.”
    “Maybe so. But you make me nervous. Packing a Glock, maybe that has something to do with it. Humor me.”
    “The money is for my parents. Payback on a loan. Business reverses.”
    Paul seemed to understand that—Nina knew he supported his parents in San Francisco—but the dubious look in his eye remained.
    Leung glanced toward the outer office