Deceptions by Michael Weaver

York.”
    “Was it a major crash with a lot of fatalities?”
    “I don’t think so. In fact, if I remember correctly, she was flying her own plane.”
    “Was her death reported in any of the newspapers?”
    “Yes. That’s how I found out about it.”
    “All right, sweet thing,” said Lee. “I’ll take care of it.”
    “You never fail me. I bless you.”
    “I’d rather have you love me.”
    “Ah, Jimmy. I’m an empty husk. I’d only disappoint you.”
    “Please,” he whispered. “Disappoint me.”
    “When should I call you?”
    “Every hour on the hour.”
    They had dinner in their room that evening. Gianni had asked Mary Yung to do the ordering, and she turned the meal into an
     occasion, with champagne, good French wine, and a chicken
contadina
that Gianni found superb.
    “You make being on the run seem like the thing to do this year,” he told her.
    “May as well make the best of it.”
    She checked the bill the waiter had left. “Expensive. How are we fixed in the money department? We certainly can’t use any
     plastic.”
    “No problem there. I’ve plenty of cash and a couple of clean credit cards under phony names.”
    “Lovely.” Mary sighed and poured more champagne. “Now I can truly enjoy it.”
    For different reasons, they were both in a better mood than they had been yesterday. Earlier, checking out each other’s newly
     disguised appearance for the first time, they had laughed.
    “I’d never recognize you,” Mary had said. “Would you know me?”
    “I’m not sure I’d want to with all that scrambled hair.”
    She had instantly snatched off her curly wig and disappeared into the bathroom. When she returned, her own hair was brushed
     out, straight and shining against her face.
    “You didn’t have to do that,” he had said.
    “That shows how much you know about women.”
    After dinner they found some brandy in the minibar and settled down with it.
    “How did you spend your day?” Gianni asked.
    “Like you told me to spend it. Taking care of my disguise, staying inconspicuous, and not contacting anyone I know.” She looked
     at Gianni over her drink. “What about you? Were you able to do us any good?”
    “I hope so,” he said and told her about his meeting with Angie and finally prying loose the fact that his father was alive
     and living in Pittsburgh under another name.
    “Which means what?”
    “That I go to Pittsburgh tomorrow morning.”
    “Me, too?”
    “There’s no point. You can’t really help me there.”
    “I just feel so darn useless.”
    “You’ll get your turn,” Gianni said. He had no way of knowing she had already started on it.
    For the second night in a row they lay in their separate beds in the dark. It was late but neither of them was asleep.
    “Isn’t this kind of crazy?” she said.
    Gianni didn’t have to ask
what
was crazy. He knew.
    “How long ago did your wife die?”
    “About six months.”
    “Was she sick very long?”
    “Yeah.”
    “When are you going to bury her?”
    Gianni stayed silent on that one. Was he doing something wrong? Suddenly feeling defensive, he resented Mary Yung’s intrusion.
    “I’m not a dog in the street,” she said through the dark.
    “I never said you were.”
    “You don’t have to say it.”
    He took a deep breath. “Leave it alone, Mary.”
    “I can’t. I may have to die with you.”
    “So?”
    “I don’t want to die with someone who doesn’t even know who I am.”
    “Then for God’s sake tell me who you are,” said Gianni. “Then, if we don’t die, maybe we can at least go to sleep.”
    She allowed herself several moments to think it through. When she spoke, her voice was flat, toneless.
    “I’m a liar and schemer with a soul of a drifter,” she said. “I’m an exiled alien who’s never had a home. My only friend is
     a starving, dirty-faced, three-year-old gook with shitted pants who lives inside my chest. Someday, if I’m lucky enough and
     find the courage, I’ll cut