Suckers - J.A. Konrath

card for $260. The card had some tears and a few bends, but I’d stapled some mint leaves to it.
Which I mentioned, in two point font, at the bottom of the listing. Some guys can’t take a joke.
Next I checked my email, where I discovered I’d won the Irish lottery, inherited eighty
million dollars from an unknown relative, and was asked to shuffle funds into my bank account
from the President of Rwanda. They all got my standard response: enthusiastic replies with an
attachment supposedly containing my routing number. The attachment really contained an email
bomb, which once opened would bombard their computers with tens of thousands of naked
pictures of actress Bea Arthur. I called it the Maude Virus.
I had a bit of a hangover, my ass still hurt from where I’d fallen on my keys, and I was
hungry. But the only food I had in the condo was that head of lettuce, which I wasn’t going to eat
even if I were starving to death, so I changed into a slightly less dirty suit and hit the corner
convenience store for an overpriced cup of joe, a dose of Advil, and a prepackaged cheese
Danish.
It was a gorgeous Chicago day, the sun shining, the lakeshore breeze blowing, the pigeons
singing their lovely song. I leaned against the storefront window and called my client.
“Hello?”
“Is this Maxine Drawbridge?”
“It’s Norma Cauldridge.”
I rubbed my nose. “Hi, Maxine. It’s Harry McGlade. I need more money.”
“Did you find something out, Mr. McGlade?”
“I did. And it’s ugly. Real ugly. Plus, I was gravely injured during my surveillance.” I
smiled at my unintentional pun, which was actually intentional. “I’m not going near him again
without more cash.”
“I’ve already paid you twelve hundred dollars.”
My nose still itched, so I scratched it. On the inside.
“I want double that. Think of it as an investment. When the lawyers see the dirt I’ve got on
old Roy, you’ll take the freak for every dime he has.”
I removed my finger, noted something gray and waxy stuck to the end. I’d been picking my
nose for years, and this was the strangest booger I’d ever seen.
“Who’s Roy?”
“Whatever the hell his name is.”
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