Tin Futures For Fun And Profit
“Couldn’t help but notice,” Bernie said, “that you talked about Astrid being a reader in the past tense.”
“Did I?” said Foster.
Bernie gave him a look.
“Didn’t mean anything by it,” Foster said. “She still is, far as I know.”
“I’d like to confirm that,” Bernie said. “Any idea where I can find her?”
“Not off the top of my head,” Foster said. “What’s your interest in her, don’t mind my asking?”
“I’m working for a client.”
“And who would that be?”
“I’d love to tell you, Foster. But it would make me an idiot.”
Bernie an idiot? No way. He was always the smartest human in the room.
“Okay,” said Foster, “then tell me this: any way this client of yours would be willing to pay for information??”
“Information about what?”
“I think you know,” Foster said.
Did Bernie know? I sure didn’t. How were we doing on the case? Not sure about that either. I tried to remember who was paying. Our finances were a mess, in case I haven’t mentioned that. The Hawaiian pants! And then the tin futures! What were tin futures again? Bolivia? Something had gone wrong, but what? An earthquake? Or some farmer had made a big discovery. Is that in To Fetch A Thief? I opened my mouth very wide, just about my widest. That did the trick.
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