I told Cin I'm on my way.  Told her it all went off without a hitch.  She'd sounded at first as though I was calling to tell her I'd bombed; didn't let me get a word in.  Just rattled off about forgetting about the whole thing.  I mean, she didn't come right out and say that.  It was more like what I was hearin', and sometimes I hear more than what's really bein' said, and I jump on it.  I hit first, ask questions later...sometimes.  Okay, a lot.

Where's that attitudinal valet with the car?  He's kept me waitin' here like this nearly ten minutes.  It's a different shift; new guy.  But what's so hard about locating a used Neon with a negligibly crumpled left bumper?

I do another time check, and ream him some more.  Damn; it'll be nine-thirty in three more minutes.  I wanted us to be at her bank no later than nine-forty-five.  Close out her business early in the day.  No need for her to hang around this mire field any longer than she has already.  I've taken care of all the details for this disappearing act for her and her cute little money sinkhole.

Hello, 'Vada sunshine, thanks for makin' it toasty, bright and a good sign of better things on the horizon for my ex.  Vegas without sunshine is like D.C. without the Washington Monument, the White House, the Lincoln Memorial; an eyesore and sucky.

Good...he's here with it--

"Sorry," the crew-cutted guy who limps a little apologizes after getting out.  "I had trouble getting it to start.  Could be your alternator."  I'm all set to cram the modest tip I cut back on for his trouble into his extended hand when the voice of gloom and doom booms, jerking me back from hopping behind the wheel.  Wouldn't ya know it...

"Hey, Ringo, man, where'd you get the wheels, and where're you running off to in them?"

Byers is right in step with the owner of that voice that bugs the hell outta me at times like these when I'm runnin' on my own.  "Belongs to a friend of mine."  I toss myself into the driver's seat and slam the door, glaring at them.  The valet left the motor running which I gun a time or so.

"Friend?  What friend?" Byers questions, turning the screws by his look alone.  "Here in town?"

"No, on the moon," I shoot back crossly, and Byers sets his jaw like it's made of concrete; real hard and firm.

"Agent Scully just called; we hadn't been back in the room for two seconds.  She's at the airport.  I told her you and Byers would be waiting for her in the lobby."  Frohike's combing his suspicious eye through me.  Yo, is there a problem, man?  Did I just fart?  "You know how she doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Why do I gotta meet her?  Why don't _you_?"

"I'll be busy doin' some more funky scopin'," he fires back.  He looks primed for hauling me out of the car in the roughest way.

Like I'd said before, when I'd broken off from Timmy and Jimmy momentarily to scoot back to the room because I'd forgotten my wallet, and caught my buds using the voice distorter to put the bogus Mulder call through to 'Hike's heartthrob, 'Why do we need _Scully_?'  She'll flash us that tired face she always gives us; like the three of us have crawled out from under the nearest diseased worms-nested-underneath rocks and then she'll kick our collective asses once she calls our bluff.  "Look I'm late as it is, already," I airily smooth over, all brusque-inflected.  "I gotta finish helping this friend put the finishing touches on sticking it to a snake."  My foot's twitching to put the pedal to the metal."What the hell does that mean," Frohike quakes like he's gonna spew lava.

"Long story.  I'll be back in time to get with Scully.  Gotta go.  'Bye!"  My foot makes heavy contact with the accelerator, and I'm outta there, silhouetting them in exhaust and dust; their arms akimbo, their mouths dropped open saying things they'll save for me when I get back.  Who says I'll be listenin'?
 
 

"There's nothin'.  Aw, hell--look.  There's nothin' hard about it, baby."  I was the one who did the tough stuff so she'd be able to waltz.  "You can do this.  You've got nothin' to worry about; like a piece of your chocolate cake, which I didn't get.  Remember?"  Jeffy's climbing all over me and the front seat, since his mom liberated him from his car seat.  One minute he's in her lap, the next, he's leap-froggin' into mine.  "What?"  I'm looking at my watch, peeved that it's so much later than I wanted this to go down.  We wait on this too much longer, and we can do lunch.  I wonder if Byers and Scully are in the lobby wondering where the hell am I?

Cin's eyeing me like I've told her to hold her breath until her son has kids of his own.  Like I should get out of her damn car so she can drive off to put an end to this caper.

"But what if..."

"What if what?"

"What if they know what you've done," she says, breathless and jittery.  "Couldn't they?  I mean, couldn't they just know?  I-I'm really scared, Richie.  They could've found out about this whole crazy thing.  The police could be in there right now, ready to arrest me if I make a move on the money."

I grab her hand and squeeze it harder than it's necessary.  She tears it away like I've bruised it, which isn't that far from being impossible.  I ain't the genteel type.  While she's rubbing her hand, I say, "No way.  It was all clean; everything.  No 'slop-mesh bleeds' on my watch.  I did what the Sys's told me to do, and whatever I did, I did carefully.  I used slews of my inventives and a couple of others borrowed from friends.  There's nothing for 'em to latch onto unless there were Cumstance navigables involved, which I didn't encounter with Swiss Bank; the SOO most likely to have something like that in place.  Hell, only the DOD, for certain 'vaults', and Maryland's DMV use them.  They burn ya if ya let them get even a tiny piece of your programming.  I don't do stupid shit."

"But what if--somehow--they were able to make a connection between those transfers and your computer play?"

Suddenly, I feel the powerful urge to go off on her, but I control it.  She has no concept, and why the hell should she?  "Why don't you trust me?"  I'm _not_ whining, just barely.

Her face clouds.  "It's not that--"

"Trust what I'm tellin' ya.  Believe in me a little, huh?"

"I'm sorry," she says tiredly, a wheeze passes for resignation, and instead of being angry, I niche her under my right 'pit, squeeze her shoulders gently so I don't leave a mark this time.  "It's not that I don't..."  Her kid's chomping on my hair, which feels kinda cool; like he's got the munchies.

I'm seriously into the crush on this dynamo that I've let happen.  He's bright and bubbly, a total little charmer.  What I'd want any son of mine to be.  My mind strains under the reel of the impact of that wild thought; me...some kid's dad.  I'd have my Web tutorials all lined up, and still be a basket case.

"Richie...  Selling me isn't necessary.  I know you're brilliant, baby.  You must be, to even think you could do what you say you've done.  I don't have to be a computer genius to have some idea."

"I am good, I am," I say like I'm in the witness stand, giving testimony.

"I'm not saying you aren't.  You did all my math for me.  It's not like I forgot, you know."

"Not _all_ of it.  Give yourself some credit for not suffering from deliberate dyscalculia."  She kisses my cheek and her precocious kid copies what he's just processed his mom did.  His buss tickled more than Cin's, and it was lots wetter.

"Computer Science too."  She smiles then which makes me squeeze her a little harder.

"Back then, it was like playin' with Legos."  She looks quizzical.  "I know Legos," I firmly uphold, "Frohike's got a niece.  She's about chunka-monk's age."

She looks as if she's met his pudgy relation, somehow, nodding.  "All I'm saying is that something flukey might have happened.  Something you may know nothing about."

"Mommy-Mommy.  MOM...  Mom-Mom-Mom."

Cin gasps and for a moment there she looks as if she's one of the Octium IV's developers must have looked when on the verge of yet another imminent breakthrough.

"What's wro--?"

"That's the first time he's ever said, 'Mom.'  Not, 'Mommy, or Mama.'  Just plain 'Mom.'"  Her eyes have gotten rheumy the way they went last night.  I clip the bouncy shaver's nose between thumb and forefinger.  Jeffy yanks his hands out of my hair, (Ow!  Easy, kiddo) and pokes at his mother's rapidly blinking eyes.

"C'mon," I say with a tightening throat, "let's go collect on his future."

Those plaintive eyes of hers caress my face the way her lips do the same against her baby's forehead, lingering like...(oooh, I know; so not like me to spout poetic) fragile butterfly wings.  "You'll come in with me?" she says, sounding hope-filled, like she's begging alms.

"Better idea, huh?"

Moist, smooth lips press against the cheek she kissed a moment ago, giving it the same treatment she leaves off giving her kid.  "I like your ideas.  I was crazy for not wanting to hear them anymore."

I haven't felt my heart flutter the way she used to make it for such a long time.  "We wanted different things," I say patiently, striving to sound big about what nearly cost me my sanity.  I'm getting lightheaded.  It's like we're back in high school; like right after she let me kiss her for the first time.  She'd been real shy; I was all over her like the shiny wrapper over Bubblicious.  She'd never made a fuss, but now as I remember it clearer, I apologized for trying to take advantage, and she told me she trusted me.

Man...the history we've got.

"I should have kept listening..."

Maybe I could have been more understanding.  This is no time for a maudlin trip.  We all know how it is; hindsight is twenty-twenty vision.  "Let's bounce," I say, rushing the words, she nodding, and I sense she wants me to make the first move.  I grip Jeffy securely around the waist, he wraps his eager arms around my neck.  Johnny-on-the-spot male bonding at your service.  "We're goin' in."

The walk from the bank's unattended parking lot to its rear entrance seems to take forever, like it's one hundred miles 'stead of the few yards it takes to get us there.  Cin offers to take Jeffy from me, but the kid won't be pried, so she holds the door of the first pair we pass through.

I reciprocate for an athletic looking chick, wearing work out duds, who's already opened the door for the second set of glass doors on her way out.  Chicks who work out like it's their religion.  I give it to 'em; there's nothing wrong with makin' the scene, fit.  I should go to the gym more often.  I will, if I ever get around to joinin' one.  I'd be in a lot better shape for tackling the more physical aspects of the exploits which seem to dog us.

Not too crowded, I note, once we're inside this low-key branch of 'Vegas Savings and Finance.'  There're only three people waiting on line.  I look off in the direction where the cluster of 'Customer Service' desks are grouped.  "You do that," I reply after she says what her next move is.  "It'd be better speaking with the Manager, or a Trustee first."

"How much do you think I should get in Travelers' Cheques?" she whispers back, all shifty-eyed and darty.

"You make that call too.  If it was me, I'd take the bulk in Travelers'; large denoms."  She nods, asks if I'll be okay with Jeffy.  "Sure, no sweat," I tell her, corroborated by a 'thumbs up' with my left thumb that's free.  Not a cop in sight; the security guard looks like he's lunch break-bound.  "Wouldya stop lookin' so uptight; look natural.  You're not here to rob the joint."

Her facial expression tightens.  "Uh, not exactly..."

"It'll be a breeze."  She rubs her son's back, still unable to look relaxed.  "You're just closing-out your account.  People do it every day."

"Then why do I feel like everyone's eyes are on us?"

"Stop being so paranoid..."  I think that one over, still grinning at her anyway.

She takes several deep breaths, and squares her shoulders.  "Well, here goes."

"That's my girl."

She's seen immediately by a plumpish guy who looks fiftyish; glasses that look too small for his face, and wearing a suit Byers would wear.  Those Brooks Brothers stick together.  Jeffy threw a little fret, seeing his mother walk away, but when I produced my wallet the color of 'System's On' green lights, and let him hold it, he calmed down quick.  The Velcro fascinates him.

By the mutual smiles at the CS rep's desk, followed by a hearty handshake, the discussion wasn't very long, and seems to have gone well.  And why shouldn't it have?  Cin's dressed to impress in her summery dress that's a bright shade of watermelon.  Her straw, cork-soled sandels are a stain darker than the dress.  She oozes potent charisma, and it's hard concentrating on much else except her.  Hell, if I were that dude I'd be just as agreeable; more.  Come to think of it, haven't I already proven what I'm willing to do for her?  Being here in this bank wasn't on the original itinerary.

They stand together, shake hands again.  Cin's walking back to us with a smile she wasn't wearing when she'd walked away.

"Went okay?" I ask the obvious.  She's even more beautiful when she flashes 'that' smile.  The smile that could outpower Hoover Dam multiple kilowatts over.  I need to get my hands on our digicam so later, maybe I could download it as footage when I need to remember exactly.

"Yeah," she replies, beaming.  "He's taking care of it.  He's the Manager.  When he's done, all I have to do is sign the checks at hisdesk.  He couldn't get over the figure when he checked how much I was talking about.  I asked for two thousand in cash."

"Smart."  Jeffy's holding a ten, making like it's a flag with it.

"Jeffy..." Cin admonishes, "give Richie back his money, honey."  She grows pensive, then says reflectively, "Thanks to him, sweetie..." she looks gushy, as though she'll leak a few tears, "we'll never have to worry about these," she removes the bill from her son's clenched in a fist hand, "disappearing so fast."  She tucks the bill back into its Velcroed home, and slides the wallet down into my back pocket.  She pats my ass' right cheek what feels like very affectionately to me, and I grin like I'm the world's neediest nerd, which I am, who's never had someone as hot as her even ask the time of day.  Not counting Lislita, though.  A pang of guilty conscience sticks it to me.  I ain't cut out for being a two-timer.  Am I?

Chunka-monk wriggles his fingers up my nose, and Cin's quick off the mark to unstopper my 'shnaze,' streaming apology.  "No bigee.  Kinda tickles."  I'm enticed, temptedly close to committing a flagrant PDA in the middle of this sleepy banking community.  As my mouth veers near her lips, she looks knowing, like she's fully aware of what I want to make happen, and she wants it too.

The second reunion of lips is spoiled though, and she recoils.  "Mister Bonabrooke's motioning me over to a Teller." 'Damn,' I mutter, making sure it stays in my larynx, and Cin looks as disappointed as I feel.  Softly, I tuck into her ear, "Rain check?"  There're no words to describe the way she's looking at me.  The way she's making me feel is something I'm beginning to acknowledge I need to explore.  My flush of emotion is overshadowed by a vision of Leese sitting at poolside, taking in my splashy slide into the designated section of the shipboard pool.  I shrug, but can't shake the smile on her lovely face, watching my every antic.

Like it's ever happened before; two gorgeous females sniffing around me.  Could be I'm getting less abrasive on the eyes with age.

"Come with?" Cin entreats by taking my hand, and begins pulling me along with her to the scrutinizing bank personnel.  Jeffy's doing pop-goes-the-weasel in the arm welded around him.  For a scrawny kid, he's not short on energy output.  Hugging him hard does the trick though, and he curtails the jerky, frenetic up-and-down contortions.  "Maybe there's a problem.  He said I'm supposed to go back to his desk when it was time so I can sign the checks there.  Why does he want me at the Teller's?  Something's wrong.  He could be pressing the signal for the cops, beneath the counter."  Her eyes sift, as if she's searching for a way out.

"Slow down, slow down.  Stop thinking like that," I tackle, running discretionary eyes over her paling face etched with worry again.  I can't let her see the tick my left cheek has developed.  "There's nothin' to worry about," I bolster, hoping to convince myself along with her.  I pull on her gently.  "C'mon, we don't wanna keep them waitin'.  " Just before we're in earshot of Bonabrooke and the tall, redheaded Teller, who's staring at his terminal, I barely move my lips when I propose, "Me do the talking?"  Cin nods before a relieved look claims her face, and my mind feverishly works the premise.

"A problem with my wife's account, sir?"  I position the free hand squarely on the barrier's marbleized ledge and limn the head honcho down.

The Manager, looking surprised, eyes me up and down like I've just told him I want free checking.  Too late now to reassess whether or not this whole thing was a good idea, which I chide myself for succumbing to doubt.  I hear Cin choke down a tiny gasp.  A gong gongs in my brain.  'Hey, hippie boy...'  How does Frohike do that; get into my head like this?  'What if they know she's not married, huh?  If she's been banking here a long time, they'd know something like that, genius.'

My lies leap from my hot air hole faster than I'm able to control 'em sometimes.  It was goin' down smooth, and there I go, and pull something half-baked.

Mr. Bonabrooke eyes Cin sharply.  "I thought you said you weren't married."  Talk about major disappointment.  The guy looks like Cin had accepted his dinner invitation.  Her face falls, and she flings a desperate glance my way.  I see his, 'what are you (meaning me) trying to pull here' radiating from stony eyes.  Man, dammit.  I shoulda kept my big mouth shut, but as usual it has other ideas.

"We're divorcing," the team of us duet, and exchange furtive co-conspiritorial nuances.  Great minds still think alike, I reminisce.

Cin's waiting for me to keep running with the ball.  "She's already saying she's not, but we haven't signed anything yet, so for now, we're legal," I gild.  "I'm sorta hoping we can still work things out.  We got the kid.  I don't wanna be a drop-in, drop-out dad."

"So..."  Bonabrooke grills me with chilly eyes.  I slam-dunk his irritation with interest.  "It's Missus Tanner, then."  He rolls his fishy eyes like a trooper; a State Trooper.

"No."  One corner of Cin's mouth upturns, and she cooly says, "It's Langly," with a certain finality which warms me all over.  "But on this account I used my maiden name."  Cinny was always such a stickler for telling the truth.  I know it's killing her having to 'whopper' like this.

'Damn,' I mutbefore," I plow through, increasing my voice's volume, "is there a problem?"  Like Frohike said with that embedded chip on his shoulder, Scully hates to be kept waiting, especially if _I'm_ the bedrock of the holdup.  Let's move this along.

"Is there, Mister Bonabrooke?" Cin greases.

Bonabrooke joins the Teller in joint study of the terminal, frowning, and rapping Cin's bank book on his fingertips.  "An irregularity, but we're trying to get to the root of the problem.  Please bear with us."  If ever Cin looked as though she was going to faint, this would be the time.  My arm circles her waist like a boa engulfing its next meal; at this point, my compression would rival the serpent's.

"What kind of 'irregularity?'" I needle.  Let me behind there, I'll have it pinned down in no seconds flat.  "Do you have the right numbers pun--"

"One moment, please," Bonabrooke curtly cuts me off, and I imagine him stripped to his Skivvies, with an apple in his mouth, the main course of the luau.  I ply myself with, 'cool it dude, cool it' several times and concentrate hard on not losing it.  The two of 'em walk off in a huff.

"Richie, they _know_."

Hell, maybe she's right; maybe they do.  "No..."  Her eyes scream how unconvinced she is.  "Guess you wanna split?" I say lamely, and curse the beginning of having the idea that I could get away with cracking into any friggin' bank, let alone the Swiss...

Worst of all, I've dropped Cin and the little guy in shit's creek, and she was dead-set against the idea of ripping off the baby's father at first.  I won't let her take any of the rap for what I've done.  I coulda given her something out of my anemic Visa account, and sent her on her way, but no, I haveta be the ubergeek.  No thanks to me, I've screwed up chunka-monk's life too.  Does it get any worse?

Cinny looks around me, and her already pale face goes two shades paler.  "Too late," she croaks, "They called the cops.  They're here."

Two uniforms are advancing on us.  Their guns aren't drawn, but their faces are far from offering any reprieves.  That bonging gong's got two toga-clothed guys with Thorian sledgehammers sluggin' it now.  Wonder what I'll take up as a hobby in prison?  Besides shucking and jiving my way out of sick liasons foisted on me.  Yep, no doubt about it now, I can kiss bein' a virgin goodbye.  We're goin' down, and it's all my fault.  Fuh--

"Richie, I want you to know that no matter what happens, you meant well, and I'll always be grateful."  Hold that thought when they implicate you anyway, and take your kid away, I gripe, as I watch the Law coming to net us.  DAMN--  What the hell was I _thinking_?  I hug Jeffy who's snacking on my hair again, and close my eyes feeling like slung shit.

My gut twists after I open my eyes; think I'm gonna be real sick, sicker than last year's flu.  The Manager and the Teller are coming back.  Their facial expressions are distant, impassive....  "What can we do for you officers?" the Manager poses.  Like you don't know, fink...

The more obnoxious looking of the enforcement team shoots us an apologetic look and then says quickly, "'Cuse me, folks.  I'm on the clock, but I gotta take care of this."  He's holding his passbook, and I make out there's a withdrawal slip sticking out of it.  He hands this over to the Teller who's gotten the nod from his boss.

"It's not a problem, Bill," the Manager says, expansively; the words dipped in honey and wrapped in velvet.

"Daughter's orthodontic appointment, and the doc doesn't take plastic.  I'll be glad when these costly pops run their course, and my girl's got a beautiful set of straight choppers."

"Worth every cent.  Lizzy's going to be a star one day, mark my words.  She was the hit in that 'Ovat-Chorum' last year at the high school."  The all sweetness and light Manager relieves the Teller of the wisecracking cop's bank book, deciding to handle the transaction himself.

I told myself it was a false alarm.  Cin and I breathe a heavy, cleansing breath in unison; I actually feel more than a little woozy.  Like that time I ate Fro''s four-day old crepes; death would've been an act of kindness.  Seeing my former's wan smile is better than seeing no smile at all, and my grappling fingers indent the skin of her bare upper arm.  Of course she works out.  That's quite a firm muscle she's got there.  I need a sturdier grip on reality again, and I'm glad she's here to supply one.

Chunka-monk revs up the 'weasel' and in high enthusiasm crows, "Wuv Mommy-wuv Mom-Mom.  Wuv Mom; wuv too."  'Thawump'.  He clubs me dead center on the chest with an open palm.  Can't say he knocked the wind out of me, but he caught me by surprise.  I'm sporting a face-cracking grin I couldn't help but unfold for all concerned, and I hear Cin chuckle the way I made her back in our days.  I could get so used to everything about her all over again.  I never truly stopped hoping that one day we'd see each other again.  "Wuv too," her delighted darling repeats, and his little hand batters me even harder for the encore.  'You're pretty together yourself, little guy...'  We 'hit-an'-run aftermaths' need to band together.

I snag the eye of the cop with the daughter saddled with braces, then the kowtowing Manger's contemplative peepers.  "That's my boy..."  It's rare with me when I wish that an outright lie I've told is the truth.  There cutie-boy goes, wearin' out my cheek again.  I kiss his little one, and time seems to hold its breath within these solemn financial walls.

"That's a good-looking boy you've got there," the paternal cop says.  "They grow so fast..."
 

End Part 6

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