Act of Evil by Ron Chudley

? What exactly to you mean?”
    Vince raised his eyebrows. “Man, you always were in a world of your own. Okay, I’ll spell it out. This is real estate, Hal. I’m a property developer, for chrissake!”
    Hal laughed. “Ah!”
    â€œNot so exciting as being a Don of the Medellin Cartel, but a lot safer, I’d guess.”
    Hal moved closer to the map. The little colored blocks ran to the dozens. “All this is yours?”
    â€œNah—some I own, or co-own, or lease, or have an interest in. But all of them I had a major hand in developing. That’s what really intrigues me—the building bit. You understand?”
    â€œActually, I think I do—it’s like rehearsals.”
    â€œCome again?”
    â€œWhen I’m working in the theater, the thing I get the most kick out of is rehearsals: opening night is great, and a few performances, but then it starts to get boring.”
    Vince nodded vigorously, indicating the map. “That’s it!” When a project’s finished, I’m happy, but it’s a yawn.” He indicated a blue area. “These are what keep me occupied most days. But these  . . .” His hand seemed almost to caress one of the yellow dots. “. . . These are what I dream about. I guess it’s like when you guys get to act Hamlet or something.”
    Hal chuckled. “Point taken.”
    â€œIt’s the new projects that really get under my skin. When they’re working out—when the property is coming under my control and I’m winning, I feel like the king of goddamn creation. But when I’m taking shit, being crossed up; when I can’t get my parcels together, or I’m having other problems . . . well, what can I say? Life ain’t quite so sweet.”
    For the merest moment, Vince’s expression was surprisingly grim, then he grinned, snapping the map so that it rolled back up and vanished. “You asked what I do, so now you know. Sorry, buddy!”
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œFor hustling you away from your quiet supper to come to my circus.”
    â€œYou kidding? Vince, it’s been cool. What you’re doing is quite something.”
    â€œYeah? I guess you’re about the last guy I’ve got left to impress.” He laughed. “Running into you like that, I just couldn’t resist the opportunity. How much longer are you going to be in town?”
    â€œNot long—a couple of days.”
    Their youthful friendship had been a product of circumstance, created by their differences from the herd rather than in any real affinity for each other. So Hal was neither surprised nor disappointed when, without further ceremony he was ushered back to the party. Almost immediately a man approached and took Vince by the elbow. The newcomer was a fit-looking fifty-year-old who seemed somewhat out of place amongst the classy guests. He had the physique and appearance of a tough outdoorsman, this image enhanced by a U-shaped scar high on his forehead. But his voice and manner were unobtrusive. After a few muted words, Vince turned back to his old schoolmate.
    â€œHal, this is my associate, Lyall Penney. He always seems to need to talk business just when I’m having fun.” He clapped Hal on the back and it was as if their short time of intimacy had never happened. “Parties are okay, but they’re just grease for the old wheels of commerce, eh? Enjoy, old bud: eat, drink, and all that shit. You’ve got some admirers here, I’ll bet. Maybe you can find one who really wants your autograph—if you catch my drift? See you later.”
    Vince winked and, already deep in conversation with Penney, vanished into the crowd. Hal finished his drink but declined another. He stayed a while, chatting easily but in no mood for adventures. He didn’t catch sight of his host again. Before 10:00 PM he was heading back down the