Ringer by Brian M Wiprud Read Free Book Online Page A

left soon parted to reveal a leafy park. As instructed, I exited into this park and curled down toward where the path encircled a statue. It was the statue of Peter Pan, a bad one. It didn’t look anything like Robin Williams.
    I spotted her immediately, and she me.
    With a thin waist and compact behind, she was in black slacks and a white wraparound halter that cradled her implants to wonderful effect. Her raven hair curled at her temples like little devil horns.
    By the way her blue eyes inspected mine, I knew she was not displeased by my appearance. A little surprised, in fact.
    I raised an eyebrow and took her hand. “I am Morty.”
    “No you’re not.”
    “No?”
    She shook her head. “You’re cute.”
    I cocked the other eyebrow, favoring her with a knowing smile. That was my way of disguising the displeasure of being called cute.
    “Perhaps this is so,” was my reply, “but I can also be dangerous.”
    I am so charming sometimes I can hardly stand it.
    She shifted her weight to the other hip and curled her hand around my bicep. “I would hope so.” We began to walk slowly around the bad Robin Williams statue. “So you first. I have to be careful.”
    “Very well. May I call you Dixie?”
    “Mmm.”
    “Well, Dixie, I have come from La Paz, Mexico, on a quest. Of course, I had no idea I would have the pleasure of expediting this quest with someone as fascinating as yourself.”
    If Antonio Banderas is not available for this movie, I implore you to see if Benjamin Bratt or Jimmy Smits is still around. I suppose by now Erik Estrada is up on blocks in Pasadena.
    She smiled to herself. “Go on.”
    “This quest of mine is to make things right, to correct an intolerable situation that has gone on for far too long. I am not here to assign blame, let me be clear. That is not my place. Only God can judge men.”
    “I see you are being careful, too. Let’s do be clear, though. How much do you want?”
    “It is not money Father Gomez seeks.”
    She knit her brow. “Gomez?”
    “ Father Gomez. He is the one who sent me, from the orphanage Nuestra Señora de Cortez. I know Robert Tyson Grant is a very generous and charitable man, but it is not charity I seek.”
    “Ah, OK. So what will it take to make things right with Father Gomez ?”
    “Do you not even want to know the details of my quest?”
    “Less I know the better. So we’re talking about a donation ? Is there a size donation you had in mind?”
    I took from my side pocket the box containing the finger and creaked it open. “This is the finger of a conquistador. Hernando Martinez de Salvaterra. It is very old, a religious relic, and it is very powerful. Yet it has been desecrated.”
    Dixie wrinkled her adorable little nose, and her eyes betrayed concern, but she held her tongue. I continued.
    “Somehow this finger has become separated from the gold Hapsburg ring bearing the cross of Caravaca. That ring is now on Robert Tyson Grant’s finger instead of this one. I seek to return the ring to the desiccated finger of my ancestor, Hernando Martinez de Salvaterra.”
    Dixie released my arm and turned to me. “You mean to say all you want to complete your quest is that ring? The one Bobbie wears?”
    “God willing. That is why I am here.”
    “You’re here to right a wrong, to correct a situation that has gone on far too long?”
    “You are as perceptive as you are beautiful.”
    She stepped back from me. “You are cute and dangerous, aren’t you?”
    “You will discuss this with Robert Tyson Grant?”
    “Over dinner.”
    “Ah, I see. My misfortune.”
    “How so?”
    “I have come all the way from La Paz and am a stranger here in New York. It would have been an honor to buy you dinner and discuss matters more pleasant than desiccated relics.”
    “Slow down, cowboy.” She wagged a finger at me, but she was smiling. “Rope another calf, I’m spoken for.”
    I shrugged. Never let a woman think you care.
    “My error, then. As you are not