this news, only one stood out.
“Do the police have computers?”
“Not of this quality or capacity.” He favored me with a
smug, tight-lipped smile. “Civil services don’t have access
to the same financial resources that banks do … Ah! Here
we go.”
He leaned forward and squinted at the computer’s screen,
which I couldn’t see from where I sat. I wondered if it was
coincidence that the view was blocked from the visitor’s
chair, then decided it was a silly question.
“Impressive. Very impressive indeed.” He shot a glance
at me. “Might I ask who handles your portfolio?”
“My portfolio? I’m not an artist. I’m a magician . . .
like I told you.”
“An artist. That’s a good one, Skeeve . . . you don’t
mind if I call you Skeeve, do you?” The banker laughed as
MYTH-NOMERS AND IM-PERVECTIONS 149
if we shared a mutual joke. “I meant your portfolio of
stocks and investments.”
His original warmth had returned . . . and then some.
Whatever he had seen on the screen had definitely improved
his opinion of me.
“Oh. That would be Bunny. She’s my administrative
assistant.”
“I hope you pay her well. Otherwise some other outfit
might be tempted to swoop down and hire her away from
you.”
From his tone, I could make a pretty good guess as to
which outfit might be interested in doing just that.
“Among other things, she holds stock in our operation.”
I said pointedly.
“Of course, of course. Just a thought. Well Mis . . .
Skeeve, I’m sure we can provide you with adequate financial
support during your stay on Perv. What’s more I hope you’ll
keep us in mind should you ever want to open an office