When he was at the Times with
just Dad and me, what did he have? A fruit fizz.
Well, at least I could see it after I had my nose rubbed in it. Joe
Kivelson was simply gaping at him. The Reverend Zilker seemed to be
having trouble adjusting, too. The shipyard man and the chemical
engineer weren't saying anything, but it had kicked them for a loss,
too. Oscar Fujisawa was making a noble effort to be completely
unsurprised. Oscar is one of our better poker players.
"I thought it might be something like that," he lied brazenly. "But,
Bish ... Excuse me, I mean, Mr. Ware..."
"Bish, if you please, Oscar."
"Bish, what I'd like to know is what you wanted with Ravick," he said.
"They didn't send any Executive Special Agent here for five years to
investigate this tallow-wax racket of his."
"No. We have been looking for him for a long time. Fifteen years, and
I've been working on it that long. You might say, I have made a career
of him. Steve Ravick is really Anton Gerrit."
Maybe he was expecting us to leap from our chairs and cry out, "Aha!
The infamous Anton Gerrit! Brought to book at last!" We didn't. We
just looked at one another, trying to connect some meaning to the
name. It was Joe Kivelson, of all people, who caught the first gleam.
"I know that name," he said. "Something on Loki, wasn't it?"
Yes; that was it. Now that my nose was rubbed in it again, I got it.
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