Tek Money by William Shatner

that?”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Barragray. “It doesn’t, somehow, sound like affection.”
    â€œWhat else could it be?”
    He didn’t answer immediately. Finally he asked her, “You do still like me, don’t you, Jean?”
    â€œWho wouldn’t like you? The man who’s in line to head Gunsmiths, Ltd.” She took a small sip of her wine. “What, exactly, has put you in this lousy mood, dear?”
    â€œDo you like this house?”
    â€œOf course. Otherwise I wouldn’t stay. I’d move out and you could spend more time with your wife.”
    â€œI want you to stay here, Jean.”
    â€œBut you?”
    He crossed to the low white sofa but didn’t sit on it. “The Cosmos Detective Agency sent a man to talk to me today.”
    â€œDid you actually talk to him? You don’t, a man in your position, have to do that, do you?”
    â€œA man, even in my position, with nothing to hide always talks to them.” He frowned up at the circling gulls. “What do you suppose all those damn birds are so excited about?”
    â€œGarbage. Which operative did you talk to?”
    â€œSome flippant Mexican.” He sat down, stood up.
    â€œWere you hoping for Jake Cardigan?”
    â€œWhat do you know about Jake Cardigan?”
    â€œHe’s probably their most famous op,” Jean said, rubbing the rim of the glass across her chin. “I’ve seen him on the vidnews lots of times.”
    â€œWell, the one I got was named Gomez.”
    â€œCardigan’s partner.”
    â€œYes, that’s right. It was all in the report our people gave me on Cosmos.”
    â€œSit down, darling,” she suggested. “We can talk this all out.”
    Barragray remained on his feet, watching the gliding seagulls overhead. “Killing someone, even when it doesn’t go smoothly, usually doesn’t bother me,” he said. “But getting rid of Peter Traynor—it’s not that we were especially close. And—I don’t know—the way it was done.”
    â€œNot very subtle.” She smiled up at him over her wineglass. “It couldn’t be that at your advanced age you’re developing a conscience, dear?”
    â€œI’m not that old—not all that much older than you.”
    â€œOnly twenty-some years older,” said Jean, sitting on the couch and crossing her legs. “What were you referring to when you said you wanted me to stay here?”
    â€œI’m thinking of going away for a while. Short vacation.”
    â€œAlone?”
    â€œYes, completely alone,” he said. “And, you know, the money I’ve been setting aside—I might just take that along.”
    â€œIn case you don’t come back?”
    â€œOh, I’ll come back. But I’d feel better with that along with me.”
    â€œIt’s only about—how much is it now?—a million dollars.”
    â€œCloser to two,” he answered. “I can get along on that for a while if I have to.”
    â€œBut I thought it was a collection,” said Jean. “Paper currency from the twentieth century.”
    â€œIt’s a collection, but it happens to be worth nearly two million dollars.”
    â€œAll the things you’ve done, dear, all the arms deals and the bribes and the quiet assassinations you’ve okayed,” she said. “How come this one upsets you so?”
    â€œI don’t know.” He came over and sat beside her on the low sofa. “It was while I was talking to that damned detective. I seemed to detach from everything for a minute or two. It was like dying, and it scared the hell out of me.”
    â€œA vacation will fix you up.” She put her hand over his.
    He moved his hand. “Your hand is cold.”
    â€œChilled wine does that. When do you figure to go?”
    â€œSoon. In a day or so.”
    â€œIt’s a good idea, darling.”