Practice to Deceive Read Online Free Page B

off.”
    “So instead of being stinking rich, you’re merely smelly rich.”
    “Exactly.”
    “Not going to retire?”
    “Not until I can afford to support myself in a style to which I intend to become accustomed.”
    “That brings me to why I’m here. I’d like to talk to you about a client.”
    Cynthia came around the desk, knelt next to my chair, took my hand, and kissed my index finger. “Let’s talk later.”
    “This is important,” I told her.
    “Later,” she repeated, standing and pulling my hand. “I want to go to bed with you. We’re ten minutes away from my house. Let’s go.”
    “Can we eat first? I’m starving. All I’ve had today is peanuts on the plane.”
    Cynthia was shocked. “If I live a thousand years I’ll never understand men,” she told me.
    “Fast food. It’ll only take a minute.…”
    C YNTHIA SAT CROSSED-LEGGED on her bed, using a spoon to shovel Kung Pao chicken into her mouth from a white cardboard container, marking her pleasure with a series of “hmm’s” and “ahh’s.”
    “I love this stuff,” she said. “When I was dancing in Minneapolis, there was this Vietnamese joint across the street. Every day I’d go for a helping. I couldn’t get enough of it. It was better than mace, too. Whenever the patrons got a little too close, put their grubby paws on me, I’d give ’em one of these.…” She opened her mouth and exhaled sharply. “As long as the guy didn’t have a sinus condition, I had no problems.”
    Cynthia was wearing my Christmas present to her, a silver silk nightgown trimmed with white lace that I’d bought out of the Victoria’s Secret catalog. She looked as delicious in it as the model, making me want to shout, “My girl! This is my girl!” But I was afraid she would disapprove.
    “Now, aren’t you glad you waited to eat?” she asked.
    “Man does not live by bread alone,” I answered from the love seat where I lounged, propped up against a few pillows, eating sweet-and-sour beef from an identical container. I was wearing the same clothes I’d put on that morning in Florida, having been sent into the cold, dark night in search of take-out after Cynthia had had her way with me.
    Between bites, Cynthia said, “So, tell me about this client of yours.”
    I did, leaving nothing out, even describing Mrs. Gustafson’s ancient hands.
    ‘“By hook or by crook’?” she asked. “Your father isn’t encouraging you to commit a criminal act, is he?”
    “Amazing, isn’t it? This is the same man who took a belt to me for stealing a stick of Chum Gum from the corner store when I was a kid, then made me go back to the store and apologize.”
    “What does he expect you to do? Shove a gun into Field’s ribs and make him an offer he can’t refuse?”
    “That’s almost exactly what I asked him.”
    “What’d he say?”
    “Didn’t say anything, just shrugged.”
    “Shrugged?”
    ‘“What’s that mean?’ I asked him.”
    “And?”
    “He shrugged again.”
    “Eloquent man.”
    I took another bite of the sweet-and-sour, speaking through it. “My Dad is interested in results. ‘Give me solutions, not problems,’ he tells his employees. He’s not much interested in how I go about it, just as long as I get the job done.”
    “I know what I’d suggest if he wasn’t your father.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Tell him to go to hell.”
    “I almost did.”
    “Why didn’t you?”
    “When I was in high school, I convinced him to send me on a senior class trip, a six-day cruise to the Bahamas. Only it wasn’t a class trip, it was just a bunch of us who decided it’d be fun to get out of the country during spring break.”
    “He ever learn the truth?”
    “He knew the truth before we left.”
    “And he let you go, anyway?”
    “He admired my audacity,” I said. “He said I reminded him of himself.”
    “Really? If I’d tried to pull something like that, my grandfather would have whipped out that belt you mentioned.” She