Conklin looked away, embarrassed.
"He is, Ryan," she said. "If you think about it, none of what the city government has been able to do since the collapse of the dollar would have been possible if it hadn't been for Peter."
"If I hadn't been handy," Conklin said quietly, "it would have been someone else. It's not like I'm the only engraver in Southern California."
"Maybe not," she said, "but for my money, you're the best."
"You still haven't answered my question," Ryan prodded. "What is it that you do?"
"Nothing special. Look, I came here to ask about a room. Cristall told me there were still a few left. And you don't have to worry about getting paid. I work for the city now."
"He's right," Cristall laughed. "I know that his money's good, because it's my job to tell people about it. Yeah. That's right. Peter's the guy who designed those L.A. Angels I've been paying you with."
Conklin held up both hands. "Guilty as charged."
"I don't know," Ryan said, in mock suspicion. "How will I know if you're paying me with real money?"
"I guess you'll just have to take them at face value."
THE END
To be concluded...
Copyright 2008 by P. Orin Zack
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