Found - Chapter 93

   Panic was in the tin can, as they had all nicknamed the vans by now. The late summer heat should have been waning, but a late wave of warmth and humidity was blanketing the area. Merry was just outside the door, getting some more sun while such lasted for her. Everyone else was cussing the heat.

   "Mike. My best guess, and I emphasize the guess part."

   "So? Go through it again, slowly. I want talked into believing this."

   "Oh. Great logic Mike. You want convinced? You're supposed to be playing devil's advocate on anything I come up with. If we don't test things…"

   "So. Humor me."

   "Speedy's better at this than I am. I worked this up with him already."

   Merry could hear the whole exchange, and was grinning to herself. Panic had developed most of it either himself or through bouncing it off of Merry. Who technically wasn't an agent to anyone else except Panic and Mike. But, since Panic had to bounce ideas in this realm off of Speedy, an outsider to this privileged knowledge… this required him to first go through it with Merry, then slip it into supposing time with Speedy. Once Speedy liked it, it went to Mike the boss magician.

   The smile wasn't from her knowledge of the secret beginnings of the idea. Her smile was derived from Panic deftly pushing as much credit off onto Speedy as he could. He explained to Merry how this device upped the importance level of his idea. By having it half or better come from Speedy, Mike intuitively trusted a savvy and seasoned state homicide investigator.

   Additional smile volume, Merry derived from her further amusement that she was passing her half credit off with Panic's own for developing and honing the idea. She shook her head at the conversations she had with Mike on the sly side. She dutifully reported all ideas and their associated provenance to Mike. Who as the superior he was entitled to know where ideas actually came from, not what channel they came up through. Credit was fine, but knowing the capability level of everyone was one of Mike's needed data points.

   Mike was mildly irritated at the circular, slightly random nature of this setup. Mike was also highly amused by it and treated at least in some fashion, any FBI team outing he supervised with a sense of humor. Knowing that at some point, it was like stage-coaching a high school or even junior high school field trip. This circular, meandering path of a data point he wanted was actually in some way, par for the course. He shrugged his shoulders and was happy with Merry dutifully reporting the actual source of things.

   "I don't care. We're sitting."

   "Okay. So I'm sitting here. I'm King Elvis of my own little robbery motive murder team. Last night? I was beating my dick like it stole twenty dollars outta my wallet, on account of how titillated I am to be getting ready to go out on another hunting season. Boy, am I a genius or what. I've been doing this for a while. My balls are as big as church bells by this point."

   "I'm with you on that guess."

   "Okay. Mother nature. The weather? It's an easy fact. If we were back home in Pennsylvania, at the range camp… 50s. Tends to be wet and windy, too. Down here? Late humidity and heat wave. Parked right on top of the southern United States, and won't move off. Elvis can't go yet. It's not time."

   "Right. Why?"

   "Easy. From the moment I start out on the road for this? I want borderline Smiley weather or better. If I stop somewhere appropriate and I can score? I don't wanna miss it, with warm weather. I'm a cold weather phenomenon. I go all winter long. Warm patches in winter are my favorite thing. When it dips below 50 at night regularly… near the Mason Dixon line? That's the rough southern boundary of Smiley stomping grounds. No Smiley cannon cases much below the Mason Dixon line, no weird statistical extra drownings, either."

   "Go on…"

   "I can't leave yet. Not until the southern boundary of the hunting grounds meets the conditions necessary for a Smiley candidate. Cold weather and no leaves? Is ideal for radio communications, and a Smiley requirement is a well blanketed 5G zone, with all bars. Cold weather limits the outdoors crowd, too. Privacy when you go for a walk after dark. I even use the reduced water temperature, to both wash the victim and mask time of death? But once it's cold out, a body can float longer before being detected. When the summer fishing crowd and kayaking crowd go indoors for the season, quick floater reports get rare."

   "You can't leave yet."

   "Why would I leave. The trend is south to north and back south again, over winter. So until my southern border conditions are right, I'm stuck waiting. I'm excited, I'm ready to go. I got my bags packed."

   "It makes sense to me. I'm inclined, to sit and wait for the heat wave to break. The northern edge of the heat wave? Is up across the Mason Dixon line."

   "Your locksmith will be here tomorrow. How's your electrical guy doing."

   "I told you. In a situation like this? It only makes sense for my assistant director to cold call the electrical company, and sweet talk them into giving us a guy to cut power on demand. It doesn't really cost anything if the power company and the bureau get along and cooperate. There's no law to compel the electric supplier to comply. But, the FBI big brass, calling the electric company big brass… always does the trick."

   "So. Me and Speedy's best guess, is that the crew moves out when this heat wave breaks. It drops the Mason Dixon line, into conditions."

   "All right. I got my electrician. Who's going on stalk with Speedy?"

   "JG went the first time with Speedy. Speedy gave him good marks to me. I like it when we don't ruin a winning formula, and you yourself said JG needs field experience anyways. If you're asking me what my vote is? JG."

   They pulled the trigger. Speedy took JG in close as it was starting to get dark. As a former scout sniper, and a long time state police SWAT sniper… stalks and tag-along partners were a regular feature in his career. Once into position and quietly using the throat microphones, JG started setting up his tripod on his telescope. The lens cap looked like it prevented any viewing until you noticed the fairly small hole in the middle of the cap.

   The camera they were most interested in was sweeping left to right. JG watched carefully in the telescope's view of late daylight, practicing with Mike when was when. Mike would then switch hand radios to get the in place electrician on board with the timing game.

   Finally a delay was decided on, and JG spoke quietly several seconds before the camera hit it's end of swing, on the side he wanted it at. Mike relayed to the waiting electrician, who lifted the fuse on the high tension line. The cameras would be fed by a 110 line feeding a security system. A DC power source in the house. They had a 50 percent chance of lifting the correct high tension line, which browned out one half of the power legs to any normal residential house setup.

   It didn't stop the cameras, which simply meant that the other fuse was the leg running everything they wanted off. Lights wired into that half of the dual 110 lines running into the property went off and flickered and went back on. They repeated the timing procedure once the electrician took a couple steps to the right and positioned himself and his tool under the other fuse. They timed it and he lifted it when Mike said the words "Go, go, go."

   JG reported success, as the camera stopped just about a hair off of it's full swing to the side that left the garage door uncovered. The locksmith was waiting with his own stalk expert controlling his every move, and he was used to working with the one he had. Dark fell within the hour. The phone and internet operators for the electric company had gotten normal day to day instructions from higher up the chain of command, that this area would experience temporary outages as needed emergency work was completed.

   The electrician flipped the fuse up and broke one half of the main electrical feed to the line feeding the target property. He was much further down the road, as far as he could position himself and still switch off lines to the target property and back on.

   Absolutely no one ever stopped and questioned the electrical guy, with the electrical truck. Wearing a face shield… ridiculous rubber boots with extra thick soles… arm and glove gauntlets up past his shoulders. Manhandling and finessing a fiberglass tool that reached up to the big power line's height. Poking something on the big line up and over. Even if you did stop, what could you do? Hey, what's going on. Oh. I'm working on the giant main electrical lines. We got a problem at this junction. I should be done in an hour. You didn't want to exactly get near him, his funny get up indicated things were dangerous. Police, for all their actual power, and implied and use-able power? Had zero control, power, or influence over the electric company's electrical trucks. Much less did they control the men that came out of those electrical trucks, and got into funny safety gear.

   Panic was enough of an electrician that he was in his element inside the house. He could disable, fix, or replace every electrical line 110 or 220 to and from the electrical box in the basement. He could even replace the old style fuse box when he encountered one, because he had seen a guy work on it. He had to call out a special electrician to shut off the electric at the pole, however, while he changed out the old fuse box for a newer service panel and went to town wiring from the box out to devices. In a pinch he could pull the meter to shut the house line off, but you had to call the power company to re-tag it. He hadn't known about the big fuses before, and he was getting game to try to lift a leg himself.

   They lifted the leg right before dark, then after dark the locksmith with his handler went to the garage. Stationed waiting nearby, the camera was now off temporarily. The sneaking specialist put up some light man made sticks into a light frame, and hooked and draped over a piece of fabric, with loose, flowing fabric attached to it. This allowed the locksmith to crawl covered around the corner, which put him right in front of the solid steel security door. He had already looked at pictures from the telescope loaded with a high def cell phone taking pictures before, and had several blank key styles on him to cover what he felt was his best guess what he was getting into.

   One of his blank key styles looked good, and he started his craft. He tried the door. Every once in a while? It was already open. It was rare, but it happened. He checked the side jamb, where he could often slip in when amateurs installed doors and locks. He had seen hinges outside in his career, though not this time. He chose his blank, then sat down hidden by the fabric on it's frame, inserting the blank until it stopped. Retracting and filing.

   A good lock. Way too many pins and a setup that prevented even a good locksmith from picking it free with hand tools. Enough pins and extra safety pins and half pins arranged to be a headache for the pin raking machine. The half pins would do things against the grain of the "static" noise of the pins randomly aligning themselves and catching. The whole assembly itself was well built. Almost no slack to set individual pins and turn and catch them by hand. Experience dealing with such locks, and experience filing a blank out was the only game in town, and it was a slow and laborious procedure. Mike would take charge of this key after it was made, and dole it out to any sneak teams he wanted to go in.

   With a filed key that turned the lock and made a tiny "snick" noise, the locksmith backed off quietly. He crawled back around the corner, and his stealth handler crawled back and took down the fabric on it's light frame and disappeared. With the key made, they were home free for now. They had an extended time frame during which they could penetrate multiple times and look around, because the heat wave was still parked where it was.

   The trailer was still waiting and just about to leave soon on it's rescheduled journey. The electrician was happy as a pig in shit for this job. The charming social call that played to the heartstrings of the electrical company big brass, got Mike sent a top high tension lineman to keep for as many days as he needed. Mike didn't know until the guy got out late Friday that he was being paid around the clock.

   Being paid 24 hours a day was quite a coup for him. He was eager to spend any and all time possible at this, and he made no attempt to hide it. He laughed and pleaded and begged to be kept around. His regular labor rate, was apparently 45 dollars an hour, as a master electrician that specialized in main high tension lines. Working after 4:00 pm or over 8 hours triggered his overtime rate. Which was double his normal rate. He had finished out an over 40 hour week like normal, already had some over 4:00 pm hours and overtime under his next paycheck's belt, and was now getting fed more by the armload.

   He automatically got 90 an hour, minimum. From Friday night when he got there, until whatsoever time Mike cut him loose. The instant he crossed the line over Saturday, at midnight Friday night Saturday morning… he got another built in pay raise. The same way his regular rate doubled for overtime, his weekend rate worked on his rate going into the weekend wages enhancement. His 90 dollars an hour overtime rate, doubled to 180 dollars an hour.

   Had he been worked 39 hours and 45 minutes that week, going into the weekend enhancement? It would be 90 dollars all weekend. But… already into overtime, already making 90 dollars an hour to begin with, the weekend enhancement doubled his weekend entrance rate. Asked what possible further enhancements were possible? Apparently there were more that he was missing.

   If his birthday or a valid holiday fell on a weekend? It would incur yet another pay hour enhancement, but, sadly he was "missing" it. He was still clearly happy, though. He literally danced around, doing some silly jig that the other guys encouraged him to do for entertainment. When he began to attempt to schmooze and bribe Mike and everyone else to keep him longer, Mike realized he wasn't paying the guy and everyone got amusement out of seeing him try before they told him he could stay as long as he wanted.

   JG had worked with the tech that was on the sneak team. In the wee hours of the morning, the stealth handler conducted the tech to the garage. He checked out the vehicles and the make and model of everything. Unlocked doors and keys present on a peg board made it easy. One GPS tagged tail light assembly went in, and other tail lights were ordered so JG and the tech he could show it to could act as his extra set of hands, making the things. A trip to the auto parts store, then two trips more to other franchise locations to hand pick up other tail light assemblies at once. Then they all went into the vehicles to complete the tagging operation.

   Panic even got taken to go in and look around, because of the nature of his relationship to "his" case. Speedy had done this before, and wasn't excited by the same childish enthusiasm that Panic indulged in. So, Panic got to hold the magic key for a tour.

   Panic had a wide brimmed boonie sun hat on with a long wide neck flap, and joined Merry sitting in the shade of a tree far enough away they weren't overheard or bothered. Panic was instructing her on playing cards with the boys. More specifically? On how to play cards with him with the boys. Even more specifically, how to cheat at cards, with him, against a group.

   "See? I can put a different card at the bottom of the deck, and I just keep shuffling until I see the card I want down there. There's four of every card, so, I can get any card I want fairly quick. If I shuffle twenty times instead of three times? I'm just shuffling better. I'm just mixing up the cards better. The more I shuffle carefully, the less likely anyone thinks I'm cheating."

   "And you are."

   "Damn straight I am. Remember. Poker hands."

   "I play basic poker. The boys here play regular poker, like high school kids."

   "Okay. I can put any card I want on the bottom of the deck. If no one demands a cut? It's there. People rarely demand a cut, and even when they do… it's a one time thing, it's more of a joke than a real desire to cut. Which is stupid, because it's the only way to prevent what I'm doing."

   "Why is it aces?"

   "Ace is the highest face card in the deck. An ace beats a king and everything else. I flash you the bottom of the deck when I'm shuffling."

   "I see this. I never thought of it before."

   "Now, I flash you the ace is buried. That means? There's only three aces left to get. If I get an ace dealt out, which is common to get one ace… I know I got one and there's one buried. Only two left. If you finally get an ace too and we both signal we have an ace? One's buried, we each got one. No one else can get but one ace. But they don't know that. They'll keep drawing trying to catch more aces."

   "But I'm not supposed to watch the bottom of your deck."

   "No. Someone could notice it, and think it's strange. You engage everyone in jokes and small talk, and help keep the conversation off of me. I'll signal you when I'm done shuffling. If no one requests a cut? I'll tap the cards with one finger for one ace, two fingers for two aces. How do we communicate?"

   "We move our fingers around, and tap with no fingers, one finger, or two fingers."

   "That's all there is to it. We control the aces, we massage the odds in our favor."

   "How do you sometimes get a second ace buried?"

   "I get one early and keep it down there, and as I draw the deck apart, to work them back together to shuffle… I can happen to shove the ace on top of the other one…"

   He showed her in slow motion how he had a finger on top of and behind the new ace to add it slick to the bottom existing ace.

   "How do you feed me an ace or two you have buried…"

   "You ask for cards twice. I know how to do this…"

   It looked like he took a card from the top of the deck with a riffling movement, but he was just moving it and replacing it. He was pulling the bottom ace in the blur of hand movement. Once a few beers went around, once the jokes and talking were going, it would never be noticed.

   "So, if I signal you I got dealt one ace, and you feed me one or two more…"

   "You have a strong tendency to win those middle of the road hands that fill the game up. Don't be afraid to risk a few bucks on a two ace situation, and especially on a three ace situation. No three of a kind can beat your three aces. No other pair can take your ace pair. Once you have three aces? It practically takes four of a kind of anther card to beat you. Or a straight or a flush, which is rare. We come out on top by gently massaging the odds. We grind out our advantage. If everyone's stupid enough to play cards with the guy that does card tricks all the time? They deserve what they get. I'm not doing the winning, so, it makes me look good. I actually complain a little here and there to make it look good. The scam's active anytime I deal. When you deal? You only signal a buried single ace, it ain't much but it's something."

   "You're literally, dealing from the bottom of the deck."

   "I sure am."

   "How in the hell did you learn this…"

   "Guy in the service. I didn't drink much like the other guys did on weekend poker night. I thought I caught a guy doing something, but, I didn't really know what. I was about to say something and make a joke, when I stopped and asked him the next day. I pestered him and he shit it out. He knew some card tricks and made money on the side, like a pool hustler tries to do. He knew I played pool like crazy and enjoyed it, so, he figured I understood."

   "And he showed you what he was doing."

   "This aces game? Is the basic thing for standard poker, which is 90 percent of poker night games. He can get a few bottom aces for himself, but… what he wants is a partner. When I finally started feeding him aces in the weekend games, he smiled. We fed each other, and added up and split our winnings. He did other things I can't do. I made sure I picked up the basics. If all we do is go ace high over single pairs into the showdown every hand? It's another slight advantage."

   "You have flashy dealer's tricks."

   "I only know like three things to do, and I practiced them a lot. I don't do a lot, I don't do big stuff… but the couple of basic dealer's tricks I show? I do them smooth. Breaking the deck in two, and shoving them back together? That's standard. As long as you make sure that the bottom half, the half containing the buried card… is lower by a small percentage of the deck? Your bottom card stays buried. Anyone can do it. You can bury an ace and flash it. It's everyone's first dealer trick."

   "What's that waterfall you do…"

   "That's called the bridge. Once you learn to bridge back up the two halves? You have something entertaining for the other players to watch when you deal. You get in a rhythm, and they're caught in the rhythm watching you."

   "I like the spread out and turning over trick…"

   "After a good, solid bridge? You practice laying them out like this…"

   He spread them cards out in a straight line, overlapping fairly tight. He showed in slow motion how you just pick up the corner, and "roll" the cards over face up. You do it fast? It flashes the face cards to everyone but the dealer, and back into more splits of the deck and back together-s.

   "The bridge, and the rollover? Gives you a little show you can put on, every time you deal. It's now your thing? To show off you can do a few dealer tricks, and everyone's a little bit jealous. Guys drinking try the stuff, and cards go everywhere and everyone laughs. It gives you an excuse to find aces and get at least one on the bottom of the deck."

   It took him a while to get her to pop her first bridge back together, and most of the two halves started to slide mechanically together, just loosely. He showed her that was enough, as long as the half with the bottom buried card, was a little closer to the table. Riffling the cards back together properly, was just better showmanship, which bought you longer shuffling time.

   "You'll notice, I do this a lot…"

   He grabbed at the deck top card, and faked bringing it out and throwing or dropping it to the player, and suddenly launched it. It slid in and out a random number of times before it went out. He did it slowly, and showed her he was just taking the bottom card instead of the top card. Practicing for hours alone? Brought a slick ability at it.

   "Once you're bridging, and start wiggling the deck cute for the throws? You're last riff you just take the bottom card, and it goes into a hand blur when you do it fast enough."

   "How do you know you're ready?"

   "When you can get up the nerve to feed yourself a card, and call it without looking. In a game. For practice, you bury two's and three's."

   "Why?"

   "So if someone thinks they caught you doing something? The card they grab and look at… is just a two or a three. Nothing. It's an insurance policy, to give you a long time of practicing and trying to feed two's and three's in public, to get good at it."

   "Getting caught is bad."

   "The only person who can catch you? Will probably already be into it, to begin with. The worst they'll wanna do, is partner up. The more guys you got secretly linked in a game, the less number of people not in on it? The more you can guarantee success. Three people schooled and working together, acting like new players coming out for a novelty game for fun… share all winnings off of the fourth guy, the mark. You stand a three out of four chance, of cleaning him out. Everyone gets a share."

   "The more people in on it, the less your share is."

   "But the more it guarantees a victory."

   "Doesn't the new guy get suspicious when three guys start doing tricks and showing off?"

   "That's the dancer in the team. The guy putting on the show. The other three are shoving the cards together like beginners. They're bottoming aces and dealing them out, just the same. The guy putting on the show? It's expected he's able to get the occasional second ace buried, and deal two out to someone flashing an ace in their hand they got dealt naturally. I just need you to bottom an ace. Just bottom it and signal for now. I'll feed you aces, though."

   "You're the dancer, I'm the what…"

   "It's a con team, and you're in it. The classic two man team? I'm the pitcher, you're the catcher. I can pitch aces, the catcher's job is to win a few extra hands here and there. We want someone else to win big, like happens at random naturally? And we filch off of his winnings over time, and mine his winnings. If a team member cleans up, he distributes it with his team, and they all do it."

   "And you're a beginner at this."

   "I'm trying, but… you know those times I'm going for a flush? I tend to have one missing at the end, the tear jerk-er I was bluffing with?"

   "Yeah…"

   "I'm trying to assemble a flush instead of pitching aces. It's hard, and it requires me to deal the bottom of the deck on every card to myself. It's risky. Those four hearts, four diamonds hands? Those are my attempts at it. When I get good enough and I get one? I try to play it calm, and get the pot going. If I get lucky and I get a big pot on a flush? I can go all in with reasonable expectation I can't be beat. People think I'm bluffing, because I usually am. I'm not there yet."

   "How is it done?"

   He showed her how he could scrape the bottom card gently, and see the suit beneath. The more you practiced, the less of a peek you needed to know. There's two matching cards, you got something to build on. Can you get three more of the same matching suit down there, during your show dealing. Then, the real test… could you bottom deal yourself all five cards. Panic admitted he gave himself three, alternating regular draws and bottom drops from his riffles doing a card draw. He tried to get the next two on the two draws, one each. Assembling the flush.

   "You ever win a big pot with a flush yet?"

   "Not really. I was losing once, below what I started at and I was almost out. I went all in on a flush pot I wasn't sure I hit right. I caught some of the suit I needed by blind luck. I only had to give myself one from the bottom. The big pot? Wasn't huge. It was however… bigger a pot than I started out with, so I had my money back and some slight winnings to throw away seeing if I could get going again. I quit when I got back to my seed money."

   "You're… trying to be a professional gambler."

   "No. I'm practicing being a con man, and a thief. The service? All those young guys. All with similar money every month. All those poker games. One time, I finally caught someone else grabbing aces. I started feeding them aces, and winking and smiling. I squared up with a complete stranger, after the game, and we split our winnings. He started feeding me back aces. We didn't clean up? But… we made out really well."

   "Brotherhood of con men?"

   "If we work together instead of busting each other? It only makes sense. Euchre's even easier for us to work together."

   "How?"

   "You just put any jack on the bottom, and let the partner see. We have a fifty percent chance, that the buried jack, is either right bar, or left bar. We know it's in the widow. If either of us gets to call, and has another trick or two? You know you're not running into a left bar stopper. Or, you know your left bar can't be stopped, the right bar's buried. It's a slight advantage."

   "I just bury and flash the jack."

   "You understand why and what it does, though."

   "Yeah. I know the basics to play euchre. What are you doing extra, I'm wondering."

   "Looking for the matching bar. I can deal myself right and left bar, if I can bury the other one. Or a random ace, if nothing else. Between you and me both knowing about half of the buried right and left bars, it's another enhancement. We're a team against another team. We gently tilt the odds in our favor this way. Just working out a system of talking across the table? Is a great advantage."

   "How do we talk…"

   "Old people? Are shameless. Touch your finger for diamonds. Tap means club. Fingers touch table means spade. Scratch or touch your chest for hearts. We line up our suits, we're a force to be reckoned with. It's about getting good at talking, not doing it lame like all the old people do it at the clubs."

   "What's the pro way to do it."

   "Anything you can come up with. I use the finger touch method."

   "Which is…"

   "Spades over clubs. Diamonds over hearts. Pointy above round, black then red."

   He showed how his index finger was spades, the middle finger was clubs, then diamonds and finally hearts on the pinky. He always touched all his fingers with his thumb, but, to indicate his suit at the moment? He lingered on one. Nothing anyone would notice.

   "So… we bust the other couple talking, and we do it secretly."

   "No. We let them go. We can read it and we pretend we don't notice. They think they're getting away with something like little kids, and we're reading their email. Me and you? We actually start doing it… which we let them see, and think they know something? We signal random suits that aren't our own. You flash a red suit? They'll choose a black suit to stay away from your hearts and they got clubs. We use it against them."

   "That's even sneakier."

   "Glad you like it. If you ever indicate a finger suit to me when I'm dealing? I'd know you need one card for your flush. If I can get one of each on the bottom, I have two chances to feed you the suit you need for the two draws. We'll stick to me feeding you aces all night, and you letting me know about buried aces. Keep it simple."

   "How much money, exactly, is that electrician making. Sitting around on full pay for being on call."

   "Christ. 45 base rate, 45 more after 40 hours rate. That's 90 an hour right there. That goes into the weekend doubling, and you get 180 an hour. That's 360 every two hours, that's 720 every four hours. That's 1440 every eight hours."

   "Times three for all three shifts every day."

   "Three thousand… plus 1200… plus 120. 4200 plus 120… what's that, 4320 I think. So, he's making four thousand, three hundred and twenty dollars every 24 hours. He wants to get a little used fishing boat with his little windfall. It also explains his desire to buy a case of beer and get a card game going. Another day with Uncle Mike puts him into a whole different used boat. He'll get slammed for taxes that pay, but, he'll still make out. Because not only does he get his windfall boat money? He also has a bigger tax return bonus coming."

   "And me and you are going to try to pitch and catch aces for an advantage."

   "We are. To me? This is like… learning the basics of lock picking and getting into things. It's fun, because it's secret insider knowledge. It's slightly exciting, so, it's fun."

   Merry suddenly smiled, and pointed her index finger at him.

   "You. You were testing me, when you had me go get the extra raw ground meat for you, weren't you?"

   "I was really? Just playing a fun little social game, to get you talking to me a little bit. I don't care what we talk about? It's getting you to talk that's important. Stealing the raw meat? I got to touch hands with you. We shared something, that no one else knew. If I can talk to you, and touch your hand gently? I'm not in, but… my odds are up now."

   "Pick up artistry?"

   "Not hardly. You see me signaling I'm the man? No. I'm quiet and low key. My odds go up when you talk to me more, and my odds go up the more I can touch your hand and get away with it. If you start to touch my hand back while smiling? I'm in. I move around, I talk and touch my choices, see if I'm getting anywhere with the pick of the crop. If I'm even looking anyways, which is rare for me."

   "What if you don't get anywhere, back when you were doing this."

   "Whatever. I'm hanging out with girls I personally pick out and find moderately attractive or better. Even if I don't land one, I'm doing better then flying on blind luck."

   "Even if you don't score, you get to hold hands with a girl you think is pretty late that night."

   "Yep."

   "You have a strategy for everything?"

   "I try. Can't always. Great when you can. In general? I have a complaint about pick up artistry."

   "What's your complaint?"

   "If you're really slick and experienced at being a pick up artist? I guess that would be a fun thing to have, but, it kinda makes you… shallow, by definition. But then, if you lack experience in the pick up game? That's no good either. There's a middle ground I was shooting for."

   "Yeah. The trained science girl relationship therapist? Loves hearing this one. This? This is the speech about how you don't want to be too much of a whore, but just enough of one, right?"

   "More or less."

   "In practice? A male or a female needs sexual experience. In the therapy game, you tend to have three broad categories of speeches you hear and read over and over again. You got your puritan prudes. You got your complete whores. Most people are in the middle somewhere. They always launch one of those three speeches."

   "On the internet? They joke about the thousand cock stare."

   "And what do we call such a girl nowadays. There's always a new word."

   "Turbo-whore. I like that one. What was once called the town whore? Is now a turbo-whore."

   "I wonder what was wrong with the town whore nickname."

   "Internet. 90 percent of the otherwise normal women? Have all turned into complete town whores, by the original definition. You simply can't be the town whore anymore, if they're all doing it, so… turbo-whore."

   "So what's my… whore meter reading. I'm curious. Is it number of partners? Or… do I have an hours of use like my daddy's lawn tractor had."

   "How many? That's your body count. A relatively low number of partners, with high hours on the tractor? That's not a turbo-whore."

   "So… I'm not a turbo-whore, right?"

   "No. I guess now you got me thinking about it? It's just the body count that matters; a debt free virgin with no tattoos that takes up with one well chosen real man and stays with him? Is the ideal situation."

   "Oh. What were some of the other control variables that we're ignoring?"

   "Control variables? Nice word drop."

   "Thank you."

   "You're welcome. There's some ill-defined dirtiness meter, that figures into it."

   "Example."

   "Well. Turbo-whore A, will make out with nearly anyone after a few drinks. Third base and hand-jobs are common. Home base isn't guaranteed, but BJs replace it."

   "And turbo-whore… B?"

   "Fucks all the same guys, but she does… anything. Like she's trying out to be a porn star or something."

   "Were you keeping this deprecated control variable hidden from me, because you were trying to avoid the social faux pas of calling me a bit of a whore?"

   "You were adamant about the one partner at a time rule. You brought it up before sex. Or during, or right after. Somewhere in there, I'm sure of that. That's the son of monogamy. A monogamous whore is a vague, undefined creature. Like… an honest politician? A fucking unicorn."

   "Are you interested in mommy's… body count?"

   "I wasn't going to ask. I honestly don't care. Or, I just don't wanna know, which is the same thing."

   "I honestly don't know, off the top of my head. I didn't have any… numbers queens back then. A few size queens. Size queens? Brag about sizes they've had or have. Numbers queens brag about how many. At a time or in total. I didn't keep score on either thing. Want me to ballpark it?"

   "I keep telling you I don't care."

   "This is fun…"

   "What?"

   "Making you squirm. Watching you dance. Okay, I'm done teasing you. I don't run around as an adult like some others do."

   "You also said you take… big breaks."

   "Between partners? Yeah. Like some girl magazine article. Science girl swears off men right after one's gone. I avoid the whole… rebound experience list."

   "Nothing good ever comes out of rebounding around?"

   "Data suggests that some people fall into a… string of mild to moderately bad rebound situations, and kind of ping pong through their middle age. From negative casual encounter, to negative casual encounter."

   "It's not possible to rebound into something better?"

   "It is. Anything's statistically possible, at any given time."

   "Yet you avoid rebounding."

   "Rebounding has a number of pitfalls and traps built in."

   "Hmm. Am I watching you squirm?"

   "A little."

   "I'm technically rebounding, right?"

   "Not really. You were what, a couple months off of your ex?"

   "Yeah."

   "That's not rebounding. 90 to 120 days rebounding? Is very safe. One day rebounds? Very unsafe."

   "Damn. Lost my squirm ride I was trying to enjoy there."

   "Sorry. Everybody has exes and everyone's rebounding, with a different number of days off the rebound. Modern numbers show a number of trends, where people sort of live in the rebounds, like a pinball. I wanna avoid the pinball effect."

   "You prude."

   "My body count though…"

   "Yeah?"

   "It's only home runs, right?"

   "It's a body count, dear. How many different guys have you fucked before. It's not a difficult concept."

   "Well… what counts and what doesn't count."

   "Are you back to squirming?"

   "A little."

   "Well, since you have such a difficult time deciding what counts, go on and ask for clarification."

   "First base is kissing. First base doesn't count, right?"

   "No."

   "So… home runs only?"

   "Hmm. Squirming is back. I don't know the where or the why? But science boy is going to find it. What's second base and third base, anyways. I forget."

   "In between innocent kisses on the cheek or even the lips, with a closed mouth, and fucking… there's a range of… things. First one in from kissing? Open mouth kissing. That's a lot more intimate. Then there's the roaming hands. Licking and biting the neck, or the tummy. Pretty sure third base is heavy petting."

   "Hmm. Blowjobs count for a home run, right?"

   "Yeah, sure."

   "Okay. Blowjob queens like to tap dance around a seemingly low body count, by not counting blowjobs."

   "So… make-out sessions don't count."

   "No."

   "Then I'm thinking… three college degrees, mind you. Living on campus. Playing sports. Twenty? Thirty? And I mean tops."

   "Up until now?"

   "I really slowed down coming out of college. Question…"

   "Yes."

   "Do… work related… count?"

   "Hmm. They were really three pumps and a dump? You never enjoyed one, for the hell of it?"

   "No."

   "I could experiment, and let those come off of your list. What would it do to your list?"

   "Below 20 or around there somewhere."

   "No. Work related kills don't count."

   "Then I'm gonna guess I'm somewhere around 20."

   "With three college degrees, that's not bad. Question."

   "Go ahead…"

   "What… made you nervous about what counts? Something did."

   "Well. We're not counting every single time I kissed a boy. Dragged him around the corner and had him… run some bases for me."

   "Sounds like a lot of your date rapes spent time running between second and third, and didn't get waved home."

   "Some did. So. I'm not a… turbo whore."

   "Nope."

   "I'm touched."

   "Yes, you are. And as we just established? Touching doesn't count."

   "Smart ass. So… what's your… count. Are you a complete man whore? Or are you still a nice guy. Squirm."

   "Home runs only? I'd say… thirty… ish. Twenties?"

   "Are you just matching your number, to mine? Trying to be sweet…"

   "No. Couldn't get laid in high school. Finally got laid in the service. Tried to learn how to bump into randoms I ran into. If I can get more than one out of the girl? I start to call it a girlfriend. I could have a way higher number, if I could include every girl I got to second or third base with, somewhere quiet. Home runs are not locked in until they cross home plate."

   "You've… had some escapees, then."

   "Rape terms? I was hemorrhaging victims. They were squirming out of my evil grasp."

   "You had trouble closing… otherwise mostly successful."

   "Oh great. My rapist girlfriend knows the pick up artist lingo."

   "Of course. I found that shit on the internet? I soaked it up like a sponge, for clinical reasons."

   "Well?"

   "Well what."

   "What was my closing problem, then."

   "Oh. You're very… non aggressive about sex at first. I remember. I had to practically rape you a couple times, to get you moving around a little. That's why you weren't closing."

   "I don't use force against men twice my size unless I have to, so yeah. I have trouble being forceful with a girl I just met. There's a breaking in period, so I know I'm not smacking a girl around to make sure I get some."

   "Well? There you go. There's your closing problem in a nutshell."

   "Are you sure a rapist is allowed to give closing advice, hun?"

   "Funny. But no. If you stop for every last little no and please when you're heading to home plate? Uh… there you go. Damn near every second, third base experience you ever found yourself in? Like 99 percent of them were home runs. One little no please is not supposed to stop you."

   "Rapist advice. Wonderful."

   "Did I not once say, that way over ninety percent of what we're calling date rape these days, was normal human sexual behavior? See for yourself. We outlawed it. Low closure rate, between third and home base? Bingo. Men are so afraid to hear the word rape, they're afraid to have sex. The… turbo whoring? I would see as the response to trying to criminalize 90 percent of the human sex act. It's warping the normal system. Women used to want men to take them. Now that men are nervous about it? Women have gotten used to acting out to let men know they're open for business."

   "I agree that something is warping the system. If you claim that's what it is? I won't argue with you."

   "Mother's nature's formula for us?"

   "Is?"

   "For young people to fool around, and babies get made out of it. It tended to produce pair bonding. Even in today's world? People report they can deal with it, to see the kids raised. I see it as all pair bonding being disrupted."

   "Really?"

   "Go back, to when modern problems didn't exist yet. Traditional roles for the sexes, as nature made them. Strong pair bonding was the norm. Everything was on an even keel. Now, as you loosen the pair bonding… you can see the problems crop up, one by one."

   "Well, that's all well and good. Actually? It isn't all well and good, but… meanwhile, back at the ranch…"

   "I know. Let's go over the card strategy again, right?"

   He smirked and winked at her.