Operation Bamboozle Read Online Free

write a book about elephants. Might be gone a long time. Very big, elephants.
    They were in the office, signing papers, when the head man said: “Congratulations. You’re our one hundred thousandth client,” and he held up the keys and stuck out the other hand, so Luis shook it and a photo flash went off. “One for the family album. And there’s a complimentary case of champagne waiting at your new home.” Luis didn’t like sneaky photographers but it seemed churlish to complain. He took the keys and cranked out a two-star smile.
    By then, Frankie Blanco was living in a big old wooden roominghouse with an uninterrupted view of the tracks of the Southern Pacific Railroad. When a long freight passed, the building trembled. None of the toilets flushed properly. All the doors refused to shut, and the beds sagged from age and fatigue. But the rent was cheap. Apart from that, Julie and Luis had the better deal.
    For the next few days he watched them from a distance as they explored the city.
    They were in no hurry, stopped often to look around, which made him feel conspicuous so he bought some gray coveralls and a peaked cap that said
Bell Telephone,
and a clipboard. Nobody ever looked twice at a guy in coveralls carrying a clipboard. Big deal. He had them in view, sometimes from his car, more often on his aching feet, and what did it tell him? Big fat zero. He was losing confidence in fate. Losing money, too.
    Then, after he’d followed them home to Cliff Boulevard, he stopped at a Texaco station only a mile away, filled his tank, got talking and got a job. Fate. It was meant to be. Suddenly he felt like the hunter, not the hunted. Stick around long enough and these jokers from Jersey would succumb to a hunting accident. Happened all the time, it was a national disgrace, a man couldn’t take a stroll in the woods without being mistaken for a grizzly bear. Frankie made a quick trip to Truth or Consequences for money and bought a rifle on the way back.
Succumb:
he liked that word. Better than whacking.

    On the day they moved in, Luis patrolled the terrace and checked out the view. He wore Bermuda shorts and a small black sombrero; nothing else. “See the hummingbirds in the wisteria,” he said.
    Julie came out. “The wisteria is bouganvillea,” she said.
    â€œYes, a common mistake. In fact, your bouganvillea is actually Norwegian wisteria, which hummingbirds find irresistible. See?”
    â€œThere you go again,” she said. “Big Chief Bullshit.”
    He touched a wall. “This must be
adobe,
which means we’re living in a
hacienda.
Perhaps we should have a few houseboys. A small Mexican butler?”
    â€œSure. Use your family title while you’re at it. Duke of Eggs Benedict. Should fool the FBI.”
    â€œThe Bureau isn’t looking for us. We haven’t committed any crime.”
    â€œTry fraud. Grand fraud, with Sprinkles and a cherry on top.”
    â€œSurely not. Fraud deprives people of what they value. We
enriched
those people. Enhanced their lives.”
    â€œBet you J. Edgar Hoover thinks different.”
    Louis tipped the sombrero over his eyes. “If he comes looking, we can flee across the border. I’ve always wanted to flee across a border. It’s hot out here.”
    They went inside. “Those pictures have got to go,” she said.
    He looked closely at two white kittens playing with a ball of wool. The ball was as big as a melon. The kittens were as big as huskies. “Painted on velvet,” he said, and moved to another picture. “Puppies,” he said. “Or perhaps friendly timber wolves.”
    â€œHere’s a canary thinks it’s a buzzard.”
    â€œLook, more kittens. Cute, in a terrifying way.”
    â€œWait till they’re fullgrown,” she said. “They’ll have your leg off in a flash.”
    She put her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips so generously