Ringer by Brian M Wiprud

nodding with concern. “Has he told you why he would not surrender the ring?”
    “Robert is my boss. Like you, I don’t pretend to understand why he does everything that he does. So you’re saying there is no way we can offer you money instead?” Her small fingers rolled in my palm.
    “Were it up to me, an entreaty from someone as lovely as yourself would be impossible to refuse. However, when it comes to such matters, my boss is uncompromising. I think perhaps you should make sure that Grant understands that my boss is God. You do not want to cross Him, do you? When it comes to rewards or punishments, He does not care if someone is rich or poor.”
    Dixie looked a little pale, I thought, and pulled her hand away. “I’ll try again, but I don’t think this is going to work, Morty.”
    “Yes, but I am already here. My boss knows where the ring is.”
    It is interesting to observe certain women, especially those who have made a man their meal ticket. While I did not understand this at the time, Dixie was becoming convinced that they had made a pact with the devil, that I was with a Mexican cartel. Her understanding was that if they did not volunteer the ring, Grant might himself be killed and the ring taken from him. She had climbed one rich philanthropist after another in order to reach this one. Once head of his foundations and apple of his eye, she needed to rid him of Purity, to unburden him for even more riches that would undoubtedly be hers. There could only be one woman in his life. One possible heir.
    Looking back, I don’t think Dixie was necessarily as calculating as I suggest. Like many women, though, she sought security, she sought the best match she could make for herself. If this is not so, why do women swoon over doctors and lawyers? It is not because one probes smelly human crevices and the other composes tedious tracts.
    A complication had arisen, one that could undo Dixie’s entire business plan and all her ambitions. As with women of this type, she determined to marshal her resources.
    Dixie’s hand was on mine again, her dark eyes crafty, her breasts somehow more inviting than ever. “Morty, I’ll get you that ring, but we have to do it my way, and it may take some time. Can you do me a favor, and give me a little time, darlin’?”
    “I will do what I can. If you will.” There was the spark of mischief in her eyes, and I grinned. “Dinner? So we can discuss details of my wait.”
    She stood and handed me a card with her address on it.
    “Be there at eight.”
    As she walked out, the sway of her behind promised as much as the front.

CHAPTER
    SEVENTEEN
    MY HEART DANCED A RUMBA in my chest as I left the Lyric Diner. After my two unfulfilling dates it looked like the third might be a charm. I had all day to prepare. Perhaps a manicure was in order, or a massage, or both.
    At a newsstand, I bought a newspaper and began walking. I glanced at the cover. Then I looked again.
    In a box in the corner of the front page was a file photo of Purity Grant surprised by the flash of a photographer’s camera on the streets of Manhattan as she emerged from a police station. Below it read: GODIVA GOES TO COURT, PAGE 6.
    I turned to page 6 and read:
    Purrrity Grant’s day in court for stealing a horse in Central Park is slated for this morning, and sources say it is likely the judge will say “neigh” to a simple fine. Court watchers anticipate the catty heiress will get more than her claws clipped.
    I stopped in my tracks and hailed a cab, and in the time it took to read the funnies, horoscopes, and advice columns, the driver had delivered me to Centre Street. I didn’t know for sure where Purity’s hearing would be, but I knew where the courts were, and thought perhaps the paparazzi would mark the spot somehow. If not, I would simply ask.
    What was my object? To be brutally honest, I wanted to gawk at Purity the way everybody else did. I had spent a considerable amount of time reading up on Robert