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------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- “Look, Morrie! Must be twenty chickadees taking turns at the feeder.” ------- “I wouldn’t call it taking turns,” Morris said. ------- “They have to stock up for winter. I read about it in the paper. They hide seeds, and their brains get bigger so they remember where they put it.” ------- “You serious?” ------- “That’s what it said. Squirrels can’t remember where they put their acorns, so they have to bury a lot of them. Chipmunks hibernate. The Birdwatcher thinks chickadees should be our national bird because eagles are mean. They steal food from other birds.” ------- “Eagles look mean,” Morris agreed. “But maybe stealing is more our thing than planning for the future.” ------- “Isn’t it amazing, though, about bird brains?” ------- “Yeah,” Morris said. “Too bad we can’t grow bigger brains when we need them. Reminds me of this guy that did the accounts for the mob. Terrific mind. Handled billions of bucks without ever losing a cent. Then he ups and dies, and. turns out the money’s stashed away in banks all right, but the account numbers were in his head. Two billion bucks out in the blue! I remember the guys at the funeral. Looked sicker than the corpse.” ------- “So, what happens to the money?” Terry asked. ------- “Still earning interest. Being loaned out by banks, making the world go round. A contribution to international finance from the Jewish mafia. Makes me laugh. ------- “Erlich was a funny guy, but he and I got along pretty good. Gave me a copy of a book he wrote on gambling. Wait a sec. It’s one of the few things I brought with me when I bailed out.” ------- Morris pulled a small volume from the bookshelf and handed it to Terry. ------- “See the inscription.” ------- “To Al,” Terry read. “A true friend. Keep the book, buddy. It’s worth a fortune, Mungo the Magician.” ------- “Yeah, ‘Mungo,’ it’s what they called him. And that’s before he made two billion disappear!” ------- “Why’d he say the book’s worth a fortune?” ------- “Good tips? Gambling’s a fool’s game unless you’re a genius.” ------- “He makes it sound like the book is worth something.” ------- “A few bucks maybe, to a serious gambler. Why?” ------- “I was thinking, Morrie. It’s just.... Everybody writes important stuff down somewhere.” ------- “I told you. He memorized the account numbers.” ------- “Yeah, but don’t you think that...just in case... Maybe he hid them in the book?” ------- Morris stared at her. “Jesus,” he said. He held out his hand, and she gave it to him. “Why would he give it to me?” ------- “Because you were his friend, Morrie. You were nice to him. You’re nice to everybody.” ------- “Some kind of code you think? How do we figure it out?” ------- “I don’t know, Morrie. You’re smart. You got to think like your friend Ed. He’d want you to figure it out.” ------- “Actually it is the sort of thing he’d do. You’re something, Terry. You and those chickadees.” ------- ------- It took a week, but there it was finally, right in the first paragraph of the book. You turned the letters into numbers and loped off the twenty digit bank accounts one after another. Morris could have transferred fifty million from the First Bank of Barbados to his own account in five minutes. Fifty million, Mr. Lerner? And what was the source of this income, sir? Yeah, the IRS might be curious. ------- “What’ll we do with it, Morrie?” Terry asked him. ------- “I could cash some if I was careful. But it’s not worth it, Ter. We got plenty. It’s just as dirty, but it’s all legal now. ------- “Tell you what,” he said with a sudden grin. “We’ll give it away. We’ll scatter a little birdseed.” ------- ------- ------- |