Yesterday, like I said, I wrote in Devil's Handiwork, but I also did a bunch of domestic things. I did up all the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. Carl came over and helped me install the lighting fixture I bought for the bathroom.
As for Devil's Handiwork, here's a brief excerpt of some stuff I wrote yesterday:
"So, you're the psychic," Victor said after a while, breaking my reverie.
I forced myself not to react. "No," I said, finally. "I'm not a psychic, but I’ll take four-ninety-nine a minute to tell your future."
He laughed. "Got a smart mouth on you. Rich never mentioned that." He was silent for a moment. "So what is it that you do, anyway?"
"Is it important that you know?"
"I guess not," Victor said. He smiled and flipped some switches on the panel. "Let's just say that your reputation precedes you."
"Do you mind if we don't talk?" I said.
He grinned. "Yeah, actually." He cast me a side-long glance. "How about some small talk? That okay?"
I remained stoic, to say the least. The last thing I needed was a lovesick cling-on in the likeness of a casino high roller. No, thank you.
I managed to keep him off the topic of me for about three hours. I got him talking about his casino and the day-to-day operations involved with that for almost an hour. Then, he went off on some tangent about the government for another hour or so. When I came back from a trip to the restroom – finally free of the God-awful sequins and wig – somewhere between Denver and Houston, he started in again.
"So, how did they recruit you?" he finally asked.
"You don't give up, do you?"
"No," he said. "So, how about it?"
"Not on your life."
"I can handle it," he prodded. He reached out and laid his hand on mine.
I placed the index finger of my left hand on a nerve at the back of his neck, and I watched as his face went slack. "Listen, Victor," I said. "I think you’re a decent guy and probably don’t mean any harm, but I have to warn you, now, okay? You're on thin ice. Trust me: you do not want to know anything about me. The less you know, the safer you are." I removed his temporarily paralyzed hand from mine. "In fact, it's probably for the best that you forget you ever saw me once this plane lands."
As soon as I took my hand from his neck, his muscles twitched back to life, and he glared at me, his face bright red. "You could have just said, 'no'. You didn’t have to go all Spock on my ass."
"Did I make myself clear?" I asked.
"Crystal."
