Fiddle Game by Richard A. Thompson Read Free Book Online Page A

reports?”
    “Detailed ones. What you found out along the way.”
    “Written?”
    “Absolutely not.”
    “Herman, my man, you are definitely on.”
    “Are you going to be wanting this car anymore?” said the Proph.
    We thought about it for a minute.
    “I got my own wheels,” said Wilkie. “Three blocks back. What about you, Herm?”
    “I never did like Chevrolets.” I looked at the gleeful figure behind the wheel. “What are you going to do with it?” I asked him.
    “There are some truths that even a pilgrim should not seek. Vroom!”
    “I don’t think he trusts us,” said Wilkie.
    “Look, Mr. Prophet…”
    “The Prophet is only the Prophet,” said the prophet.
    “Fine,” I said. “Listen, Prophet, I couldn’t care less what happens to the car, but I’m not going to be party to a murder here, of a cop or anybody else.”
    “Trust in Yah!”
    “I’d prefer a statement of intent.”
    “The karma of the man in the trunk is mystically linked with the sidewalk in front of the emergency entrance at United Hospital.”
    “Will his karma get him there?”
    “If not, his car will. But it will not wait around to rejoice in his enlightenment.”
    “That, I can accept.”
    “He will learn much from it.” He quit making motor noises and nodded solemnly.
    “What do you want to do with all this other junk?” said Wilkie.
    The proph looked at me hopefully.
    “Leave Evans his badge and gun,” I said.
    “That works,” said Wilkie. “Cops get vicious as hell, you take that stuff away. Better leave him his wallet, too.”
    “I am not leaving him any bullets,” said the proph.
    I was impressed. Pearls of wisdom come out of the oddest shells, sometimes.
    “Throw the rest of the stuff back in the briefcase,” I said. “I’ll hang onto it for now. Maybe there’s a clue in there somewhere.”
    “So that’s it?” said Wilkie. “Are we done for now?” He hoisted his bulk up from the back seat and started making departure motions.
    “One other thing,” I said. “Ever hear of a Rom?”
    “You mean, like a computer thing?”
    “I don’t think so. I think it’s some kind of a person.”
    “Never heard of the bum. I’m out of here, okay?”
    “Later,” I said. I watched him walk down the alley, then looked back over at my new Chevrolet owner, who seemed to be pondering some deep truth.
    “It’s not a person,” he said, “it’s a scourge.”
    “You mean Wilkie? He’s okay, when you get to know him.”
    “Not him. The Rom. If they are here, then truly, the barbarians have breached the gate.”
    “Would you care to elaborate on that?”
    “I’m in the elaboration business, Pilgrim.”
    “Call me Herman.”
    “Then, let me tell you how the world will end, Herman.”
    “Is this going to take long?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “How about a short version?”
    “Okay. If you meet a Rom on the road, kill him.”

Chapter Four
    High Road to Chinatown
    I wanted to hear what the Proph had to say about the Rom, but I really didn’t have the time. I suddenly remembered the phone message I had left with Agnes, and I could think of a hundred good reasons why I wanted to stop her before she acted on it.
    “Listen,” I said to the Proph, who was still behind the wheel, “I need a quick lift back to my office. You think you can come down from the mountain long enough to handle that?”
    “Chauffeuring is not a path to spiritual enlightenment. It’ll cost you.”
    “In a Buddha’s eye, it will. I already gave you forty bucks and a car. You can afford to spot me a freebie.”
    “Your karma must be high. You are profound.”
    “I’m also right.”
    “That, too. Pull in your feet, shut the door, and navigate.”
    He was off before I had time to do any of those things. He drove like a kid playing a video game of the kind where you get three free crashes before you’re really dead. But I noticed that he also checked his mirrors a lot and kept his hands on the two-and ten-o’clock positions on