Loe raamatut: «For His Daughter»

“I know you can do it, Daddy.”

With a heavy sigh, Rafe lifted his head and locked eyes with Dani. He clearly wanted rescuing.

Dani lifted her brows as if to say, Sorry, you’re on your own. Really, what harm would it do to look a little foolish if it made Frannie happy?

But she suspected Rafe wasn’t the kind of man to let himself be caught at a disadvantage. Not for anyone. Not even a five-year-old child who just happened to be his daughter.

And then the frown lines across his forehead disappeared. He nodded slowly, even as he muttered a curse under his breath. “All right,” he told them, “I’ll enter the contest. Bring on the pies.”

“Go, Daddy!” Frannie squealed. She bounced in place as if she had springs on the bottom of her sneakers.

Over his shoulder he gave them a look of such seriousness that he might have been a soldier going off to war. “If I end up being sick, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Dani stared after him in disbelief. Maybe Rafe wasn’t completely hopeless as a father. Maybe he was learning after all.

For His Daughter

ANN EVANS

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For the wonderful women of Toronto –

Kathleen, Zilla, Laura and Paula.

If I could bottle your understanding,

patience and expertise, I’d be a millionaire.

PROLOGUE

RAFE D’ANGELO KNEW THE GUY at table four was cheating. He just didn’t know how.

Yet.

Over the past two hours, play at that table in the blackjack pit had heated up significantly. The dealer, a long-time Native Sun employee, was someone Rafe trusted. The table shoe had gone through half a dozen fresh decks. Even the security guys in the Eye-in-the- Sky booth upstairs had reported nothing unusual.

And still this jerk was up two hundred grand.

As pit boss, one of Rafe’s jobs was to spot the cheats. He was good at it. But this guy didn’t fit any profile.

And he was winning, damn him.

Rafe didn’t like losing. Sure, it wasn’t his money, but when he was working he felt as if it were. For all the casino’s fake Native American heritage, Native Sun had been good to him. Sometimes, when he allowed himself to invent a future for himself, he thought he could work here forever.

He’d always moved around a lot but he’d held this job longer than most—almost a year—and people respected him. He had a decent place to live, a good income and enough women to keep his ego happy. At twenty-four, he was probably the youngest pit boss on the Vegas strip, but he knew most people thought he was older. Hell, inside he was older.

Not bad for a runaway from the backwater Colorado town of Broken Yoke.

The sound of feminine laughter made him turn to the left.

She was still there. DeeDee Whitefeather—now there was a stage name if ever there was one—was fawning over a loudmouthed suit at the number twelve craps table.

She was one of the best-looking mannequins who worked for the casino. She wasn’t dressed in her showgirl outfit, of course, since the theater was dark on Mondays, but she still stood out in a crowd. All that long dark hair and those pretty gray eyes.

She wore a miniskirt and a blouse that did amazing things to her breasts. When she bent close to her companion, you could see plenty of skin. Rafe watched her trail long fingernails through the man’s hair and whisper in his ear.

She’d shown up two months ago, passing herself off as part Apache to get the job. If there was one drop of genuine Apache blood in her veins, Rafe would have bet it was there by accident. Still, she held up her end of the G-rated Native American show the casino put on for the stroller-and-convention crowd five nights a week. Kept to herself. Never complained. Never seemed overly eager to find a sugar daddy like some of the other girls. So what was she doing, attaching herself to this guy with a pizza gut and bad hair plugs?

Of course, he was a high roller. Big incentive for a working girl to find something in him to like.

But still, Rafe was disappointed. Of all the women shopping it around the strip, DeeDee Whitefeather was the last one he would have expected that from.

He swore under his breath. Rafe wasn’t supposed to be following her progress, he was supposed to bring the hammer down on the card mechanic at table four.

Mickey Norris, one of his protégés who was only a couple of years younger but about a thousand years behind Rafe in life experience, sidled up to him.

“No face book,” Mickey reported, referring to the file of pictures security kept on hand to help them spot cheaters. “Maybe he’s a hit-and-run artist.”

“Maybe,” Rafe said, unconvinced. “I think he’s got someone spotting for him. I just can’t figure out who.”

Mickey huffed out a sigh of disappointment. “You’re off your game tonight.” The young man scratched his chin. “Maybe you’re distracted, huh?” Mickey jerked his head toward the craps table where DeeDee was allowing Hair Plugs’s hand to roam freely over her tight rear end. “I notice you watching the action on table twelve. Pretty lady. I don’t blame you for—Hey! Don’t I know her? Isn’t that one of our own little Indian princesses?”

Rafe shrugged, struggling for a blank, disinterested look. “She’s about as much a real Indian as the wooden one outside the lobby gift shop.”

Mickey practically smacked his lips. Tonight he seemed dedicated to the business of pissing Rafe off. “Who cares? I’d like to spend time in her wigwam.”

“Go check for a back-spotter, Romeo,” Rafe told him.

Before long Rafe found his eyes turning back to DeeDee. Just his eyes, not his head. Hair Plugs was trying to catch the attention of one of the cash-cart girls.

Rafe couldn’t resist the opportunity. Quickly he slid up next to DeeDee on the other side. She blinked at him, looking surprised. She knew as well as he did that management discouraged the girls from going after players at the tables.

He leaned near, so that only she could hear him. “You think this is a smart idea, Pocahontas?” He jerked his chin to indicate her companion on the other side of her.

Her eyes went flinty hard. “Butt out, Oz. No one’s asking your opinion.”

Everyone in the casino knew him as Oz. It was a nickname one of the girls had given him, and it had stuck. Something to do with a talent he had in bed, he thought, but he’d never cared enough to find out exactly. God knew, he’d been called worse.

For a guy lucky enough to have snagged someone like DeeDee, her companion was busy flirting outrageously with both the cocktail waitress and the cash- cart girl. Rafe ran his hand down the length of DeeDee’s bare arm and pulled her aside.

“I didn’t realize you were partial to sweaty, big- mouthed asses with bad hair.”

She scowled at him. “I’m sure you can’t imagine why any woman would be interested in any man that isn’t you.”

“He looks like trouble, DeeDee. Be careful.”

“Jealous?”

“Hell, no. Just wondering how a bright girl like you can end up being just another dumb hairdo on heels.”

He saw something flash in her eyes that might have been discomfort, but it was gone in an instant.

She shrugged. “Maybe I just got tired of missing out on what some of the other girls have.”

He couldn’t resist a tight laugh. “If it’s a little fun in bed you’re after, I can try to squeeze you in.”

“Tell me something, Oz,” she said softly. “Is there anyone you admire as much as yourself?”

“No,” he admitted. He let her see his gaze travel over her. “Want to find out why?”

“No, thanks. Your reputation precedes you, and I’d rather eat ground glass.”

She was a tough one, all right. He tried a different angle. “You realize that working the guests is strictly against casino policy?”

“Suddenly you’re a rule follower?”

“I guess I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” That wasn’t what he’d intended to say, but he realized he meant it.

“Aww…what a sweetie,” she said in a voice that sounded like syrup sliding out of a pitcher. Then her brows lowered. “Now get lost. Go chase the card manipulators and leave me alone.” Hair Plugs’s hand settled on her shoulder, and she turned with a big smile. “Gil, honey! What took you so long? Should I be jealous?”

Rafe stepped away and left her to her conquest. There was something about the guy he didn’t like— some small meanness around the eyes—but what else could he do? He had bigger worries.

He spent another ten minutes watching the shark on table four continue to rake in chips. The guy seemed completely at ease. No nervous hand movements. No darting glances. Just steady, methodical betting that might eventually leave Native Sun bleeding green big time.

Annoyed, Rafe cut a glance in DeeDee’s direction to see how she was making out. Her date offered her a highball glass full of amber liquid that Rafe assumed was whiskey. Neat, he noticed. No ice.

DeeDee swallowed it down. He suspected she wasn’t really much of a drinker. In Vegas, you got to where you could spot the problem drinkers on sight, and she wasn’t the type.

But in another few minutes, Rafe’s suspicious nature went into overdrive.

Up until now, DeeDee had been friendly to her date—little touches here, a whispered laugh in the guy’s ear there—but suddenly she seemed completely out of control.

She was loose limbed enough to slide under the craps table, and her date had to keep her upright, fastened against him with a hammy hand against her rib cage. She rubbed against him. There was nothing coordinated about her actions. They weren’t natural. They weren’t normal.

Had Hair Plugs added something to her drink?

Just when Rafe thought the guy would lose his hold on DeeDee, another man approached to add his support. The men seemed to know one another. DeeDee’s head flopped back, and the two guys laughed over her, as though sharing the same stupid joke.

Mickey was suddenly at his side again. “No spotters, boss. What now?” He frowned, realizing that Rafe’s attention had wandered. “What’s the matter?”

Rafe turned his attention back to Mickey. Concentrate on what you get paid to do.

And then suddenly everything clicked. “Ah, hell,” he swore under his breath. “He’s counting cards.”

Mickey scowled. “Nah. He’s not even watching the shoe half the time.”

“He doesn’t have to watch the cards coming out of the shoe. He can see them in the whiskey glass by his left elbow. His buddy has been nursing that drink for over an hour. Our friend is reading the cards in the reflection of the glass.”

Mickey nodded. “Nice catch,” he said. Rafe was clearly his hero once more. “We gonna escort him out?”

With that mystery solved, Rafe looked back to see the two men moving DeeDee away from the craps table. She looked more and more like a puppet who’d had her strings cut, hanging limply between them and smiling vacantly.

They were headed toward the bank of elevators. Once they got upstairs, DeeDee was going to find herself flat on her back in one of their hotel rooms.

Go after her.

Shut up, he told his brain. I’m not getting paid to save the world.

“You ready?” Mickey said beside him.

He nodded, heading toward their cheater. “Let’s do it.”

“I love this part.”

Rafe couldn’t resist one final look back. Hair Plugs had DeeDee propped up against the wall by the elevator. Giggling, she reached out with a finger and played it down the guy’s cheek. Beside him, his friend laughed and kissed her. She frowned, as though suddenly realizing that she had herself two asses to deal with instead of one. The card mechanic on four wasn’t the only one in for a surprise tonight.

Rafe pulled up short, yanking Mickey back as well. “Mickey, go do the honors with our cheat, would you? Make sure he gets the spiel about us filing trespassing charges if he ever shows his face in here again.”

“Me?” Mickey’s eyes went huge. “All by myself?”

“You know the drill. Consider it on-the-job training.”

The elevator had arrived. DeeDee was getting manhandled onto it. Just another drunk who needed to be put to bed, people would think.

Mickey looked stunned. “Oldman ain’t gonna like that. Wait a minute! Where are you going?” he said in a low voice as Rafe took off in the direction of the elevators.

“Business,” Rafe called over one shoulder. I’m going to lose my job because one idiot female doesn’t know when she’s playing with fire.

But he didn’t stop.

CHAPTER ONE

THERE WERE TIMES IN LIFE that called for begging.

This was one of those times.

Danielle Bridgeton looked across her desk at the state editor of the Denver Daily Telegraph, the newspaper she worked for. She lowered her head, sighed dramatically and pasted on her best wounded-puppy look. “Please, Gary,” she said, softly pleading with him to understand. “Get me out of here. I’ll do anything you want. Anything.”

Gary Newsome shook his head sadly. “You know, when I was young I used to dream about a beautiful woman saying that to me.”

Gary was fifty-something, bald and complained frequently of acid reflux. He was the most honest newspaperman Dani knew. He was also torturing her.

Dani steepled her fingers. A nun couldn’t have seemed more penitent. “Look at me, Gary. This is me, begging.”

Gary pushed air between his lips in a disgruntled rush. “I came up here to see how you were getting along, not to make you beg. I can’t do it, Dani. You piss off the pope, you get excommunicated. It’s as simple as that.”

But it wasn’t simple, it was unfair. Cruel. Even the pope believed in forgiving people, didn’t he?

“It was one lousy article,” Dani pointed out. “One. And I’ve learned my lesson.”

“No, you haven’t. You’re the most unrepentant journalist I know. Honest. Sincere. But definitely not repentant. Didn’t I try to tell you what would happen if we ran your story? You’re not the only one who’s got the publisher on his back, so take your lumps like a good girl. Work the I-70 corridor for a while and enjoy being a bureau chief. I’ll let you know when it’s safe for you to come back to Denver.”

Bureau chief. Gary made the job sound like a promotion. And it might have been if the bureau she’d been assigned to had been one of the state’s hottest news spots. But what kind of reporting could you expect when all you covered were the small towns that ran along the highway between Denver and Grand Junction? Those mountain towns were cute, scenic… and dull as dishwater.

“It’s been two years,” Dani pleaded. “I’m dying out here.”

Gary laughed. “It’s been two months.”

“Well, it feels like years.”

A lot more than two, in fact. Living in Broken Yoke could leave her brain-dead. There weren’t any interesting stories here, or in any of the other one-horse towns she was supposed to cover for the Telegraph. It was humiliating that she’d been reduced to this.

How was she supposed to continue building a respectable career in journalism? The most exciting thing she’d written in two months had been about some tourist who’d slipped off a ledge in the Arapaho National Forest and broken his arm.

Yes, officially she was the region’s bureau chief. But what a place to be in charge! And what a miserable end to a story that should have won her a bucket load of awards and national recognition.

Last year Dani had been resourceful and lucky enough to make a very important contact at Humanity Haven—one of the most prominent, respected and lucrative charity organizations in Colorado. By the time she’d finished months of digging, she’d uncovered all the inside dirt. Questionable expenditures made by key executives. Murky business deals. Fraudulent balance sheets.

Her five-part article hadn’t brought Humanity Haven down—its own culture of ambition, greed and arrogance had done that—but she’d certainly started the ball rolling.

Unfortunately, Dani had also unearthed that her publisher’s mother-in-law had been secretly dating Humanity Haven’s good-looking, much younger chairman of the board.

To say that Lorraine Jennings Mandeville had turned into a bitter, vindictive woman over the death of her now embarrassingly public love affair would have been stating things too mildly. Lorraine had had Dani exiled to the boonies. Dani couldn’t prove it, of course, but only an idiot would fail to see the connection.

“Pretend you’re on vacation,” Gary suggested. He looked out the tiny window that was the only source of light in the enlarged closet Dani was forced to call an office. “This is definitely a prettier part of the state than brown-cloud Denver.”

That might be true, but who needed pretty when you had a career to build? “They don’t even have a decent bagel shop. Do you know how many times I’ve had to listen to ‘Welcome to Broken Yoke, ma’am. Yoke—like the harness, not the egg. Ha, ha, ha.’”

Gary looked out the open office door toward the reception area. “Your office help seems nice.”

Dani scowled. Cissy Pendergrass, the receptionist/ secretary/ad salesperson sat just a few feet away at her desk, polishing off a salad from the little restaurant down the street.

“She hates me,” Dani said in a near whisper.

All right, that wasn’t true. But if it made Gary reconsider this punishment, she’d be willing to look as though she feared for her life.

“Then she’ll have to get in line behind Lorraine Mandeville,” Gary replied.

He rose, hitched up his pants and walked over to the map that adorned one pine-board wall. It showed the entire western half of the state, every county a different color. This was Dani’s turf now, and Broken Yoke her home base. If anything of interest happened in any of those mountain towns, Dani would make sure it found a spot in the regional weekend supplement of the Telegraph. So far, there had been darn little.

Slapping his hand against the map, Gary said, “Come on, Dani. There have to be dozens of stories out here just waiting to be unearthed. The people who settled in these mountains are sons of pioneers. These canyons are filled with tales of stolen treasure, unsavory characters, heroes who weren’t afraid to take chances.”

“This town is so small that their McDonald’s only has one arch.”

“So you think Broken Yoke is too insignificant, filled with boring people leading boring lives?”

Afraid that Cissy might have heard, Dani got up, gave her receptionist a smile and shut the door for privacy.

“It’s not just the size of this place,” she said. “It’s the whole area. Most of the people I’ve met have been very friendly, very eager to make me feel at home. Some of them are…eccentric. A couple are downright weird, but you’d get that in any town. It’s just that… there’s nothing here for me to sink my teeth into. The biggest thing coming up is the summer festival, which I hear bombed last year. It’s so boring around these parts that I might as well be writing obits.”

Gary gave her an impatient look. She could tell he was either in need of his antacid tablets or heading into lecture mode.

“What will destroy a journalist’s career, Dani?” He shot the sudden question at her. “What can destroy you fastest?”

“Lorraine Jennings Mandeville?” she ventured.

“No! It’s the unwillingness to open your mind to possibilities. Keep your ear to the ground and your eyes open. You’ll find something you can use.” Her boss took her arms between his hands, looking her straight in the eyes. “Just keep a positive attitude.” He reached out and placed his fingers on either side of her lips, forcing them into the semblance of a gruesome smile. “That’s my girl.”

Dani’s lips might have been fixed in a grin, but her eyes were sending him the kind of warmth that blows in off a glacier. She was whipped and she knew it.

Numbly she followed Gary outside while he said goodbye to Cissy and then walked out into the afternoon sun. His car sat at the curb. This late in the day, the street was thick with shadows, a pleasant, nondescript spring afternoon to fit a pleasant, nondescript town.

A young woman climbing up the outside steps of the bureau office smiled at Dani as she and Gary made their way out.

“Who’s that?” Gary asked. “She could be bringing you the next big story.”

“Becky from Becky’s House of Hair,” Dani said in a lackluster tone. “Stop the presses. She’s probably just discovered that the Farrah Fawcett shag is on its way out.”

Gary looked disappointed. “I always liked that hairstyle on Pauline,” he said, referring to his wife of thirty years. When even that didn’t get a smile from Dani, he gave her a regretful but determined glance. “Come on, Dani. I hate leaving you like this.”

“Then don’t. Take me with you.”

He took an exaggerated interest in his surroundings to keep from starting this one-way argument again.

She watched his eyes roll past Landquist Computers next door, the drugstore, the café where Cissy had bought her lunch, the hardware store that only yesterday had begun advertising Easter baskets. She stood in a warm pool of sunshine and waited. She’d made that mental trip down Main Street so many times, she knew the exact sequence of stores and just how many sections of sidewalk lay between here and the post office at the opposite end of the block.

“Somewhere on this street could be a story just waiting to be written,” Gary said in his best sleuthing voice. “Somewhere. You just have to look.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Or maybe it’s someone.”

The question in his voice made her follow the direction of his gaze.

The best-looking man in three counties was coming out of a shop halfway down the block. Your typical tall, dark and handsome guy, with an extra edge of male virility that a girl couldn’t help but notice. When he saw Dani watching, he lifted his hand in a wave and smiled.

Gary was quick to pounce. “Well! I see you’re not completely oblivious to the people around here. You’ve scoped out one of the more…interesting Yokers.”

“They like to call themselves Yokels. Get it?” Dani inclined her head back toward the sidewalk. “That’s Matt D’Angelo. He’s one of the local doctors.”

“A doctor!” Gary’s enthusiasm was only slightly less than that of a Jewish mother in search of her daughter’s future husband.

“He’s getting married to his nurse at the end of this month. I’m covering the wedding. Childhood sweethearts reunited. Friendship turns to love…blah, blah, blah.”

Dani could see she had left Gary speechless at last. In all fairness, she knew he sympathized with her exile.

Giving him a genuine smile this time, she went to the driver’s side of his car, reached up on tiptoe and planted a kiss on the side of his cheek. He went beet-red.

“I know you’re trying,” she told him. “Just don’t forget about me up here.”

“I won’t,” Gary promised. “I have a voodoo doll with Lorraine’s picture on it, and the moment it works, I’ll be on the phone to you.”

“Great. My fate lies in the hands of a man who believes in the power of black magic but can’t balance his checkbook.”

He gave her a hopeful smile. “Lorraine’s fate lies with the voodoo doll, Dani. Your fate lies with you. Make this time work for you.”

She nodded and stepped back from the car. She watched him pull away, turn at the corner and go over the bridge that crossed Lightning River, the creek that bisected the town. He’d be in Denver in less than an hour, but it might as well be the end of the universe. It was all she could do to finally turn away and go back to the bureau office.

Becky was still there, sitting on the corner of Cissy’s desk, playing with a pen between two brightly polished nails. She didn’t even look up when Dani entered.

She lifted one hand as though preparing to swear on a stack of bibles. “If I’m lying, I’m dying,” she said to Cissy. “Althea Bendix saw him through the window of the real-estate office yesterday making eyes at that slutty Nina Jordan, who just about fell at his feet. Of course.”

Cissy didn’t look all that impressed. “Could have been business.”

“Monkey business, if you want my guess,” Becky said with a sharp nod of her head. “He’s up to no good, I’ll just bet you, and you know Nina. The woman can speak six languages but doesn’t know how to say no in any of them.”

Dani had been making her way back to her office, but suddenly swung around to join the women’s conversation. People who were “up to no good” were of considerable interest to her. Rule followers seldom did anything worthy of the front pages of the newspaper.

“Who’s up to no good?” she asked the two women.

“Rafe D’Angelo,” Becky supplied. “He’s back in town.”

The name meant nothing to her, although she knew that the D’Angelo family ran the Lightning River Lodge resort up Windy Mountain Road. The upcoming marriage of their son, Matt, was the talk around town. “And that’s a bad thing?”

Becky pursed her lips. “That remains to be seen. Lots of folks around here were glad to see the last of Rafe when he left.”

“When was that?”

“Straight out of high school. At least twelve years ago. Hasn’t been back since.”

“And people are still holding a grudge?” Some of Dani’s enthusiasm dissipated. This was starting to sound like stale news to her. Besides, she’d heard the D’Angelos were some of Broken Yoke’s town leaders. She didn’t need to make any more enemies.

“Not holding a grudge, exactly. Just hoping that his stay here is temporary.”

Cissy laughed. “Considering the way Rafe and his dad got along, I’m sure it will be.” She whistled through her teeth. “Just being around the two of them during one of their disagreements was like spending an hour in a blender.”

“Never dull, that’s for sure,” Becky agreed. For Dani’s benefit she added, “But what could you expect, really? His parents had their hands full trying to keep up with him. Rafe was such a daredevil. And the women—he was like the Pied Piper.”

Dani waited for more, but Cissy had discovered a final black olive in her salad and was busy chasing it down with her fork, a feat that Becky seemed to find fascinating.

“I can’t wait to see him,” Becky said at last. “He was so great looking as a teenager. Imagine what the man must look like.”

Dani could think of several boys from high school who had not aged well at all. “A lot can happen to change a person in that amount of time,” she said. “Are you sure he’s still worthy of all this anticipation?”

Becky rolled her eyes. “Honey, I went to school with him. You didn’t. Trust me, he’s worth it no matter what age he is. Besides, he’s one of the D’Angelos. They’ve all got that mysterious Italian blood. They age like fine wine.”

Cissy had found her olive and now sat happily munching it. She nodded agreement to Becky’s claim.

Dani frowned down at her. “You couldn’t have been more than ten when he left.”

“I was nine. But I remember my older sister being nuts for him. She snuck out of the house once to meet him. Ended up getting grounded for two weeks. Even after our parents had yelled at her, she just looked at me all dreamy-eyed and said with a goofy smile, ‘Cissy, it was all worth it.’”

Becky’s head bobbed. “You can find stories like that all over this town.”

Dani sniffed. “I wonder if that’s not all you can find all over this town because of Rafe D’Angelo.”

Becky looked confused, but Cissy arched one blond brow. “You mean little kiddies? Naw. Any woman who hung around with Rafe will tell you he was always a gentleman, even when you were getting dumped by him. Sexy, powerful…”

“How can an eighteen-year-old have any power?” Dani asked, truly skeptical now.

“You’d have to have been here to understand. Demanding, daring—but according to my sister, he always took good care of you.”

That made Dani laugh. “Ah. A thoughtful cad.”

Becky tilted her head at Dani. “I’m sensing you have some hostility toward men.”

“Really?” Dani replied. “Because if they rounded up every man on earth right now and sent them all to the moon, they would still be too close to suit me.”

She sounded so bitter that she wished she hadn’t said anything. But the truth was she knew all about devilishly attractive men who didn’t have it in them to be faithful or trustworthy. She’d just broken off with a first-class rat. Two years ago, she’d come close to moving in with one. Even as far back as when she’d been working in Vegas she could remember one particular playboy whose favorite hobby seemed to be breaking hearts. Oz had been his name—the Wizard of Women.

Her mother had been right. Men never failed to let you down.

Becky gave her a sad-eyed glance. “Divorced, sweetie?”

Oh, well. Might as well admit the truth. Besides, she was well over Kirk. “No. But I just dumped a rich, powerful jerk who sounds just like your Rafe D’Angelo.”

Becky perked up considerably. Even Dani had heard that Becky was looking for husband number three. “Does he live around here by any chance?”

“No. Denver. And you’re welcome to his address if you think you can make him concentrate on anyone but himself for more than ten minutes at a time. The louse has a Ph.D. in arrogance and a master’s degree in snake-oil salesmanship.”