A/N: To all of those who've reviewed, favourited, alerted, or simply read this, THANK YOU! You have no idea how happy you make me. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter - it's very long! I go back a little in this one. It's Neal's POV, and in the next we get back to Peter. I find Peter so much easier to write, for some reason... Neal's so complicated... Mozzie's even harder. Forgive me if anything's off. This starts slow, but I will pick up the pace. You have to trust me on this one. Everything will come full circle. Be patient.
Disclaimer (since I forgot last time): I don' t own any of it.
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When Neal first saw the painting that hung proud in the wall of Mr. Vogt's dining room, he was not impressed. Vogt, before knowing Neal was even remotely interested in art, told him it was in the tribal style, and sure, it was pretty. It was a large canvas painted in oil pastels, the background colour was a deep blue that darkened at the edges, and the outline was done in black. A shimmering stream flowed down the centre of the canvas, large water lilies floating in the water, and it was surrounded by forest. Flowers and leaves stood out, painted fluorescent green and pink, and cat-like animals ran in the higher branches, always in the shadows, only their eyes shining in neon colours. It looked like a glow-in-the-dark painting, like someone had dipped it in highlighter. It had seemed a bit too much. Silly even, and he didn't comment on it.
But that had been on his first day. When he returned to look at it again, he saw it under a very different light.
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Mozzie chose the house. Not a day after their plane landed in a shady airstrip to the north, he'd seen it from the raft that took them upriver, and they stopped in a beach of fine red sand and met with Josef Vogt in a jetty by the water. Mr. Vogt owned both the house by the river and an older, larger house over a hillock, by the fields. He was pushing sixty and had white hair, and he'd been a cattle farmer all his life. He also raised horses, and by the looks of the River House, he did well, but he lived in almost complete isolation, and he'd built that second house for a son that had emigrated to the city. Before Neal and Mozzie got there, it had been empty for almost a year. They had both agreed there was no need to look any further.
Neal fell in love with the River House from the moment he first saw it. While Mozzie wandered around the farmland in order to assess their possible escape routes - should they ever need them - to evaluate the moral standards of their neighbours (which mostly meant drinking with Mr. Vogt), and to case the area for future perfectly legal and/or low-risk jobs, he made the house their own. He filled the walls with art, at Mozzie's request he had all the windows and the veranda wrapped in mosquito netting, and he implemented the use of double doors. Everything else was perfect.
The River House (so named by Mozzie to tell it apart from the Main House), was built up on stilts in a grassy lowland that was too wet for farming and too muddy for pasture. It was two stories and quite small, but it had a wide front veranda looking down at the forest that surrounded the farm, and the view from the second floor was stunning. From every North-facing window there was an unobstructed view of the river, fanned open in braids and flowing slowly in a South-East course - it was not huge, but still it reminded Neal of the great river of the city he'd grown up in. Every inch of the house, he found beautiful, the palm fronds of the ceiling, the wide winding stairs that led to a second floor deck, the red mahogany of the walls and the boards of the floor... You could not buy wood like that elsewhere, Mozzie had said, it was endangered and banned from commerce, but here it had its source. When it rained, the whole house smelled of wood and for Neal there was nothing quite like that smell.
The Main House was not visible; a hill acted as a divider between both houses, and below the hill ran a canal with water redirected from a sluice-gate at a stream – separate from the river - that came in from the forest, and that filled up the treated water tanks, the watering troughs, and the pools where they farmed fish. The Main House was three stories high, with long windows with shutters, wrap-around balconies on the top floors that shadowed the veranda on the first one, and with diagonal boards over the straight wood walls that reminded one of a house in the Alps. It was surrounded by other buildings, a barn, a windmill, the stables, the work-men's quarters and the ever stretching fences that held the cattle.
Josef Vogt lived in the Main House with his daughter Laura, who worked in the settlement, his younger son Hugo who managed the farm, and his only grandkid, son of his eldest son Erick, who lived in the capital, and who was supposed to inherit the River House. It had not been up for sale, but once Mozzie put down his offer in cash, there had been no questions. It hadn't even been an outrageous offer, after all their lack of liquidated funds was largely the reason why they had not bought themselves an island somewhere in the Mediterranean or possibly the Indian Ocean (Neal had been particularly interested in the Maldives). They had left in a rush. They had not prepared cover stories, they had not set up aliases or invented details about who they were, about what they did for a living, who they knew, or what was the source of their wealth. Both Neal and Mozzie had works that could be sold, but that took time. They couldn't do it too quick or it would raise flags. They had chosen this secluded river valley in the rainforest because here they were far away from people who would know about them, they were far away from telephone or internet access, far away from civilisation in every way, and while Mozzie's contacts sold what remained of the treasure, they could lay low and in waiting.
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"Spoke to Mr. Vogt this morning," said Mozzie, climbing up the steps to the dining table in the veranda - they hardly ever used the dining room, outside the heat was not as stifling. Neal sat in front of an easel, scraping up the last bit of black pigment off his oil pallet. All of his last paintings were a bit off in colour as his supplies dwindled. "He seems to be under the impression that you and I wish to become cattle farmers. I told him we had no intention of doing so, so he's going to manage our land as his own."
"That's fine by me," said Neal. He didn't mind anyone out in the fields, all he wanted was the house.
"You do realise that means we'll have cows grazing in front of the porch. And that cowboy Hugo rounding them up in the ungodly hours of the morning... Seriously, it's like the far west out here," said Mozzie, and he stared out into the plains from the veranda. The fields were almost completely surrounded by dark forest, only the side dipping into the river landing was clear.
"But it's greener," said Neal. "And it rains."
"And there are no coach robbers. Though I have heard rumours of river boat thieves..."
Neal scoffed, and dropped his brush on his solvent cup. He was out of black, now. He sighed, and made his way out of his chair and lied down on the hammock, letting the netted edges wrap over his head like a cocoon. He felt at ease there, but as always, after a while, he started to wonder with some fear how much longer it would be before he started to get impatient, staying there in such an isolated place with nothing to do. Maybe they should've tried to go to the islands despite their money issues; to a place with nightlife and excitement and people... As much as he loved the house, and the green plains, and the clear river with its sandy beaches, and the spectacular sunsets every night, he would be lying if he said he didn't miss New York or Peter or Elizabeth or the fast pace of his old life. But this isn't permanent, it's all right, it isn't forever. They were just waiting for the excitement and the search to blow off, and for their illicit bank accounts to recover. They didn't have to worry about being found in the meantime, they didn't have to memorise new names and back-stories, they didn't even have to lie. A quiet year would be enough, according to Mozzie, and then they would be ready to move on - that way it would never be boring.
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"Oh, and by the way, Mr. Vogt has invited us over for a game tonight. It's Friday. Apparently it's tradition," said Mozzie, looking up from the giant crossword puzzle he'd unfolded. Neal shook his head.
"I think I'll pass," he said. He straightened up, and flicked his wet brush at the canvas in front, an odd coloured reproduction of a Turner seascape. "I've got to finish this."
"Oh? So you have buyer lined up? A dead-line? Come on, Neal. Seriously. Save your paints for times of need."
"I just don't feel like sitting with strangers who ask questions."
"I hate to break it to you, but we live here, they're our neighbours, so unless you're planning on staying in forever you'll have to know them eventually." Mozzie put down his puzzle. "And Mr. Vogt won't ask questions. We're foreigners who bought a house with cash over the counter and with no exchange of property, obviously we're not in good standing with the law. He's not stupid. He'll be less likely to think you're a serial killer or some other sort of dangerous criminal if he actually knows you. Besides, last Friday he beat me five dice to none, I need a rematch. With you sitting beside me we'll be invincible, trust me, Neal, that game's made for you."
"Dice? I'm not a fan of games of chance."
"It's Liar's Dice. There's hardly any chance involved."
Mozzie turned away, rolling his eyes. Neal grunted in frustration as he tried to mix his remaining pigments for black, but it showed up blue in the canvas, and he tossed the brush back in the cup. He didn't know why he'd avoided Vogt and his family so far. He guessed he still wasn't used to this new life, he had not imagined that being on the run again would be so hard, even in such a quiet place. After two years of stability, it was hard to go back to the mobile life, to the lying and the scheming that he had thought he'd missed when all he'd missed was his freedom. Or maybe not his actual freedom, because there was hardly ever a time when he felt anything stronger than a longing of stepping out of his two mile radius (even if just for the sake of it). It was more like the idea of freedom that he'd missed. The possibilities. Now he was free, but he still couldn't do whatever he wanted. He knew deep down that had it not been for Peter's signal, he never would've left.
"Who will be in the game?" he asked. He had never played the game of dice that Mozzie seemed to have developed an addiction to, but he was sure he could handle it.
"Vogt, Hugo and the kid. And both of us. Oh, and maybe Laura, too. She got back from town on Wednesday. I don't think you've met her yet..."
"Laura? Didn't you say yesterday that she was a shut in... who spent all day in her room... sewing?," said Neal, raising his eyebrows. Mozzie shrugged, smiling.
"I may have exaggerated a bit, knowing your natural disposition towards the female persuasion..."
"Mozzie... Don't tell me you like her. Is that why you spend so much time there?"
Mozzie sighed. "Okay, so she's not exactly hard on the eyes, but she's been in town, I have only played with Mr. Vogt. He says she's ruthless in a dice game, though."
"Well, we'll see about that."
"So you'll come?"
Neal smiled. "I'll think about it."
Mozzie left early, and he stayed there on the veranda on his own, still painting. He longed for a good wine, but he'd drunk his last bottle the day before and he wasn't sure when he'd be able to get another. He missed the good bottles he'd left behind at June's, but he hadn't exactly had time to pack, and now there was a 6,000-metres-above-the-sea-level mountain chain between him and the nearest grape-growing region of the world. Old Vogt was not a wine-drinker, though he had managed to get them a few good local, Spanish, and Chilean wines from his last trip to a city on Mozzie's insistence. They had been a pleasant surprise, but between him and Mozzie they were gone now. He was missing New York far more than he cared to admit, he had never gone through that much wine so quick. Good coffee, thank God, they were never short of. There was no Italian roast, of course, but looking out to the mountains on a clear day he could see the Arabica plantations of several farms over, and Mr. Vogt had an oven for roasting. Small mercies, though. He still missed June, and her big house, and the view, and her granddaughters, and even her little dog. He missed Sara, despite the way it had ended. He missed opening the door to Peter's house and sampling Elizabeth's food experiments. He missed the office. He would've given all the home-roasted fresh coffee in the world to be pouring that machine-pressed sludge into his cup and Peter's while discussing a case. He'd left all that for a life of thrill, and yet here he was, in the middle of nowhere, with no life and no thrill.
After the sun had set but before the sky was dark, when the clouds were pink and purple and low on the horizon, he heard the distinct thudding of a horse galloping on grass. Even before he could see it, he could tell it was a special horse, unlike the working ponies he'd so far been allowed to ride for transport within the farm's boundaries and to go get ice from the town. When the horse came into view from over the hill, it did not disappoint. He had known they kept the good horses in a separate stable, but he'd never seen them, and he was impressed. It had to be Hugo's horse, a black Arabian mare called Mara. But it was not Hugo riding her - it was a girl. He could only guess it was Laura, though he'd never actually seen her before. She rode past the house at a gallop and then dismounted when she reached the circle of dry river sand that acted as a manege where she had the horse do laps. He was obscured by the screen - she could not see him.
She was older than Hugo, who was in his early twenties despite his thinning hair. She wore boots, as did everyone when outside, but hers were not the coarse rubber yellow-soled Wellingtons, they were riding boots, somehow made waterproof. She had brown trousers despite the heat, a white sleeveless shirt, and a broad-brimmed straw hat. Hugo also wore broad-brimmed hats, one of the reasons Mozzie called him 'the cowboy', and Neal had to admit that they were useful. On his first day at the farm, Neal had been wearing camel shoes, cream chinos and a white long-sleeved shirt, which he'd considered weather-appropriate. Hugo had told him, laughing, that he only needed a Panama hat to look like an expat version of Pablo Escobar, and Neal had kept his brand new paper-braided fedora deep in his luggage since then. He had refused the Wellington boots; after all there was grass all around the house, why would he need them? It wasn't even raining. Then his leather shoes had sunk in the tall grass and into the soft red mud beneath, to be forever stained. Two weeks in, he'd stopped wearing any of his old clothes, forsaking looks for practicality and comfort, convincing himself it was only temporary. He still longed for the suits and ties he'd left behind, and several times, he'd wondered what Peter would think if he saw him now.
Still, he wasn't sure if the change of clothes was enough to make him fit in. If he compared them, they were not all that different from what Laura wore, but Laura was a local and she seemed to belong like only locals could. Neal had felt like he belonged only in New York, and now he didn't feel like he could be at home anywhere else, but he was doing his best. Now, as Laura mounted again and left for the hills, he stood and went in, set on putting on his best hat. He was already an outsider no matter what he wore, and if he was to be compared to Escobar, he might as well put on a good performance.
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Mr. Vogt sat at the head of the dining room table. "Come on. Sing!"
Mozzie nodded, and lifted the edge of the upturned leather cup he held against the table, and peered at his dice. For the first time in two weeks he was playing with more than ten dice, and he was still adjusting to the larger numbers. There were twenty-five dice in the table now, Hugo, Laura, Vogt, the grandkid and himself each had five dice under their cups - it was their first round. He'd been the one to start but now the turn had gone all around the table and had come back to him. David, Vogt's grandkid, had just called nine aces, and was now staring mischievously at him from the seat to his left.
"That must be a good hand you've got there, kid," he muttered.
"Is it?" said David, smiling. Oh, you rascal. He wasn't telling. If Mozzie doubted, and the kid had five aces, he was done for. His odds were 1/6 faces and 9/25. He did the formulae in his head, and the result was not good. Ten aces was too much, but nine? It was perfectly possible. The kid's face was straight, he revealed nothing, and Mozzie didn't know him so well so as to be able to tell if he played honest or not. For all he knew, David could have no aces at all.
"I'm afraid David's put you on a spot there," said Vogt, smiling. "Don't feel bad, I've been playing with him since he was two."
You could've mentioned that earlier... Mozzie wanted to say that though he'd never played Liar's Dice before coming to the farm, he was no stranger to lying. But he held his tongue. This wasn't Poker, there was more to this game than bluffing. There was maths, and probabilities, and strategy, and yes, of course, bluffing was a major part of it. If Neal sat to his right, they could set up quite the game...
"So what do you say? Up, or doubt?" David insisted. Mozzie looked at his dice again, and considered his options. If he upped, and said ten aces, Hugo would doubt him without blinking. If he doubted David, he was at his mercy. He could pass, but his dice weren't all the same or all different values, so Hugo could doubt his pass and he would lose anyway. The only thing he had left was to guess that there were nine aces on the table exactly.
"I'll square it," he said. There were surprised gasps, and David chuckled.
"You should've doubted," he said, pulling up his cup to reveal a hand with no aces. Mozzie cursed.
"I wouldn't be too sure," said Old Vogt, as he looked around the remaining open cups. Mozzie had one ace, but Old Vogt had three, Hugo had two, and Laura had three.
"One... three... two... three... That's nine! Square nine, I beat you, kid, HA!" Mozzie cried out, and picked another dice from the leather box that held the cups they weren't using. David frowned, looking sullen despite the fact that he didn't have to give up a dice to a square, but when he saw Mozzie grabbing a sixth dice for his cup he leapt up.
"He can't have a sixth dice! You don't earn a dice when you've already got five."
"That's right. Give it back, Mosquito Man," said Vogt. Mozzie tossed it back in the box.
"I swear, you invent the rules to suit you," he grumbled. He placed his five dice back in his cup, rattled it against his hand, and slammed it against the table. Four consecutive slams sounded as the rest got ready for the next round, while Vogt turned back to fill back their glasses with bright yellow passion fruit juice. He topped his own glass with clear grape brandy, then set down the bottle on the table for others to grab, but he slapped down David's hand as he reached for it.
"That's not for you."
"I'm just joking, Grandpa," he said, laughing but holding his hand back. Having lost, he was just about to peer at his dice to make the first call when the door was pushed open.
"Got a place for one more?" said Neal. Mozzie raised his head, and gaped in surprise.
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"You look like a Miami drug dealer," Mozzie hissed, making a seat for Neal to his right. Neal sat down, and smiled at his friend.
"Thanks," he said. "I like this jacket, the fabric's really light weight. I was going for Pablo Escobar, but Miami drug dealer will work too, I'm just missing a mojito." He reached for the clear bottle in the table, and read the label. "Pure Pisco. Nice," he said, and turning back he picked up a tiny glass from the counter, and poured himself the drink. It was not quite a shot glass, it was narrower and curved upward. When he raised his eyes he was satisfied at finding Laura staring at him. Up close, he could see her hair was a chestnut colour, not dark brown like he'd thought seeing her at a distance. She had a redhead's freckles, and her eyes were a pretty light amber.
Mozzie stepped on his shoe, hard. Neal pulled his eyes away and raised the glass to his lips.
"Ugh! You drink it like that?" said David, sitting to Mozzie's left. "It's like rubbing alcohol."
Neal smiled. "On the contrary, this is the only way to appreciate the taste," he said, taking a sip of the strong liquor. Old Vogt scoffed, and drunk a big gulp of his tall glass.
"You like Pisco?" Laura asked. Her voice was low-pitched, and she spoke Spanish with a coastal accent.
"It's good. Though I prefer wine. I'm Neal, by the way." He stretched a hand towards her. She seemed a little puzzled by it, as if the gesture was alien to her, but she shook it anyway.
"Yes, I know," she said. "What was it you were here for? Working on your language skills?"
Neal cast Mozzie a look out of the corner of his eyes. They had agreed not to use that cover story anymore. He smiled at the girl.
"Actually, I'm an artist," he said, and the word seemed strangely foreign in his mouth - that is, without the word con before it. "Mozzie said you worked in the village. What do you do?"
"I'm a teacher," she said.
"Oh. I taught in college once..." Neal said, ignoring a warning look from Mozzie, which was followed by a second stomping of his foot. Of course, he'd faked his way into that position, but Laura didn't have to know. "What do you teach?"
Laura blushed, as if with shame. "Not in a college. High school English and chemistry, and primary school science." She turned away, lifting her chin. "There is no higher education in this district and there's only four of us teachers, I fill in where I can." She almost looked ashamed. Neal nodded, feeling bad for embarrassing her though that had not been his intention. By her accent, he'd guessed she had studied in the capital, she could've probably worked much more comfortably there, but she had chosen a small rural public school instead. He was about to ask why, when Mozzie butted in.
"Can we get on with the game?" he said.
"Of course, that is in order," said Vogt. "David, give our guest a cup."
"But we've already started..."
"And you got squared. We all have five dice, what's the difference?"
David grumbled, but complied, handing Neal a stitched leather cup that was beautifully embossed, and that held five dark wood dice of uneven shapes inside. He smiled.
"So, what's this game about?" he asked, though he already had an idea of how it went. They all sighed, annoyed, and they raised their cups and turned them up again, while Mozzie turned to explain.
"We each have five dice under our cups and you can only see under your own cup. You guess the minimum number of dice present on the table. If I start with, say, five threes, the person next to me can only up, be it in face values, saying five fours, five fives, or in dice numbers, saying six threes, or in both, saying six sixes. There's no limit, only it has to be up. Aces are like jokers, they count as any number, except when we're calling aces, in which case you only count aces, obviously. If we're in numbers and you want to switch to aces, the number of aces equals half plus one of the previous number of dice called. Say, you call ten sixes, I can say six aces. But if David here wants to switch back to numbers, he has to go with, say, thirteen fours. Each turn you have, you can either up, pass, or doubt. If you pass, your pass can be doubted, you can only validly pass if you have all different or all equal values on your five dice. If it's your turn, you can also choose to doubt someone else's pass even if the person next to them didn't. If you doubt, we all reveal our dice, and if the amount you doubted is present, you lose a dice. If it's not, the person who called it loses a dice. If you guess the exact number, calling a square, you earn a dice. Last man standing wins."
"That's right," said Old Vogt, and he ruffled and slammed down his cup on the table again. The others did the same, and Neal copied them, hitting the wood a little too hard and making the glasses rattle. "David, your turn. Sing!"
"New guy should start."
"David..."
"No, it's all right. I'll give it a go," said Neal. He peered at his dice, twisted his lips like he was counting, then he put down his cup. "Eight twos," he said.
"That's ambitious. You want it to end fast? Nine twos," said Hugo, to his right.
Neal lifted his cup. He had no twos, he'd picked the number at random. There were thirty dice on the table. He smiled, and looked up, waiting for Laura.
"Five aces," she said, switching the values, and she opened her cup and pushed two aces out, then she ruffled the remaining three dice in her cup, and brought it down to the table again.
"Can she do that?" Neal asked Mozzie, carefully planning the hesitation in his voice. Mozzie nodded.
"Ah, she's playing it safe." Old Vogt chuckled. "Where's the fun in that? Eleven twos."
Neal smiled. They were all still going with the twos.
"Eleven fives," said David. He probably had a bunch of fives, thought Neal.
"Twelve twos," said Mozzie.
"Twelve. Out of thirty?" said Neal, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
"Remember it's the aces too," his friend told him. Neal frowned, though inwardly he was smiling, and he peeked at the edge of his cup, covering the edges with his hands but lifting it far enough for the others to notice. Then he put it back down and laughed. "All right! I'll go with it. Thirteen twos." There was at least a minute of silence while Hugo checked his dice, then peered at Laura's aces, mentally calculating his odds.
"Fourteen twos," said Hugo. Laura looked up at Neal, and without a second of thought she shook her head.
"I doubt it," she said, pulling up her cup, revealing a six, a three and a four, besides her two aces. Neal counted quick. Ten twos on the table. Not fourteen. Not even close. Hugo tossed a dice in the centre, and Old Vogt smiled, looking at Neal.
"You're a card player?" he asked, recognising him as the initially bluffer. Neal nodded. He had initially considered playing dumb a few rounds, just to get an idea of the game and how the rest played. But it was called Liar's Dice. He hadn't been able to resist himself.
"I've played some poker," he answered, flashing a smile, but his eyes were glancing sideways at Laura.
"This ought to be an interesting game," said Old Vogt. Neal rolled his dice under his cup again.
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After twenty rounds, ten dice remaining on the table, only Neal still had his five, Mozzie staying with one, Laura with three, and Old Vogt just having lost his fourth dice, spurring a special round. David was out and just sat there trying to get everyone to doubt, while Hugo had long left the table.
"Straight face, or no looking, your choice," said David. So far everyone down to one dice had chosen a straight face for their individual "reckoning" round. Now Vogt shook his head.
"We'll do this without looking," he said. They all slammed their cups down, but refrained from peering underneath. Neal's mind raced. He needed to plan this round, make it so it did not come to him in the end, because he could not bluff now that he did not know his hand. He needed a right setup.
"Four threes," started Vogt. Four out of ten was a high number to start.
"Five threes," said Mozzie, opting for raising the value so the weight would fall on Laura or back on Vogt. Neal pondered a moment. 50% of all dice being either aces or threes was stretching it, but he couldn't doubt on Mozzie.
"You go six threes, and I'll doubt you," Laura warned. She'd been trying to doubt Neal ever since Hugo no longer sat between them, but Neal had always managed to push the game so it did not end with her. She was really trying, though. One dice she'd lost to doubting Neal's pass.
"Five sixes, then," he said. Laura's eyes twinkled.
"I'll square," she said, smiling.
"Sure you want to do that?" The odds of her guessing were up against her.
"Let's see your dice, mister," she said. They all lifted their cups, and she quickly counted three aces, two sixes. Just right. She stretched her hand to the middle and grabbed another dice for her cup. She turned to Neal, showing him the dice.
"You owed me this one," she said, then she ruffled and banged her cup hard. "Your call now."
Neal made Laura give back her fourth dice on the next round, but when she called next, she was ready for revenge. She peeked at her cup, with a sly smile, then she looked up at Neal.
"Four twos," she said.
"Four sixes," said Vogt.
"Five twos," said Mozzie, staring at Laura. Neal was staring at her as well, and he was thinking of that smile she'd had on when she had started with twos. He had never doubted Mozzie, and she was counting on it.
"I'm sorry, Mozz. I'm going to have to doubt you here," he said. Mozzie turned in shock, then Laura lifted her cup. She had no twos. Neal had two, and Mozzie had an ace. Three. Not enough. He threw his last remaining dice to the centre of the table and kept his arms crossed. Beneath the bed, his foot stomped Neal's again.
"Traitor," he hissed.
"You should've seen it coming."
Vogt was gone in the next round too, and he left the table. With only eight dice remaining, having two more was a great advantage, but as it turned out, it was very different to play one on one. The first time he called, he called a number he had, just to be safe, and Laura took the risk and immediately squared, gaining back her fourth dice a second time.
It was the twenty-third round. He had no aces, and no threes, so when Laura called four threes he thought it was an easy doubt, after all, it was impossible to raise. Then he lifted his eyes towards her. She was smiling a big-toothed smile, her eyes crinkling. She knew she had him in a corner.
"Do you have those four threes?" he asked, staring as intently as he could, but she didn't let anything on. His eyes went down to her hands, checking for odd movements, but they were still, all her fingers clutching the cup.
"Maybe I do."
"I think you're lying."
"Maybe I am. You should doubt me."
"I should." He leaned back against the chair, then his smile wavered as he realised what he'd just said. He cursed himself for it, he should know better.
"Ah, so you're saying you've got no threes?" she said, catching on.
"No, I'm not saying that."
"Really? Because it seemed to me that you just did." She leaned back across the table, her heavy hair covering her cup. He was surprised to find she was speaking in English now, her voice was smooth and grave and her accent neutral with only a slight Spanish stilt. Neal realised he had no idea. He took a sip of his drink to try and make the anxiousness disappear, but why should he be anxious? It was such a strange feeling, but he understood where it came from. Because he didn't know. He couldn't tell. He should be able to call her bluff, but he couldn't, and he felt transparent. Was she lying? Was she telling the truth? He didn't know, he couldn't see it, and it frustrated him to no end. He always knew, but she had no tell, or was it that he hadn't seen it? If she was telling the truth he had no choice but to square, and it would be a stale mate. If he doubted, he'd be down one dice. But if she was lying, he had to doubt. He couldn't change to another value, because he had no higher value. He could not change to aces because he had no aces, and it was quite obvious now that she knew that too, and he would be handing over all control to her. There was no safe choice here. He looked up at her, and smiled.
"Does it matter to you if I have or don't have threes?" he said. Laura wasn't bothered.
"Not at all, it matters to you. It's your turn, isn't it?"
"I don't think you have those threes."
"Then why don't you doubt? Come on. I'm getting bored. Just doubt."
"What if you have four aces?"
"I don't have four aces. Seriously, the odds of that? I'm telling you, just doubt. Trust me."
Neal laughed. "Right. Do you have those threes or don't you?"
"You want me to tell you?"
"Yes."
She leaned in closer. "I have one hell of a hand, two aces and two threes. Now, you can call four fours if you like. Play safe." What angle is she playing?
"That's not safe. You want me to doubt, don't you?"
"You can do whatever you want, but just do it. This game's already taken way too long."
"I agree," Mozzie butted in, still sitting arms crossed, but Neal cast him a look, and he was silent. Neal stared at Laura, trying to catch a slight reddening of her face, or maybe a twitch, a nervous tick. Nothing.
"You have those threes. You can't be this good a liar."
"Then square. You know, I won't lose a dice if you do. How about we make a wager?"
Neal raised his eyebrows.
"What do you have in mind?"
"The dark hole for twenty minutes," David suddenly called out in a shrill voice from his seat, looking excited. Laura laughed.
"We're all adults here," she said.
"What's the dark hole?" said Neal.
"It's a clearing in the forest. You stay twenty minutes, and then come back."
"That doesn't sound too bad... We could do that," Neal agreed.
"Are you sure?" said Laura.
"Come on. Are you scared?" he asked her. She scoffed. "So it's settled. But what about the winner?"
"What, you want a prize, too?"
"Sure. That horse you rode today," said Neal - he didn't even have to think about it. "If I win, I get to borrow her for a day."
"Mara's feisty, you know."
"Oh, I think I can handle it."
"And what if I win?"
"I'll make you a painting."
"Oh. So you really are an artist, then.."
"Of course I am. I'm quite good, ask Mozzie. So how about it?"
"I think we have a deal," she said. "Better make it a very pretty painting. Now, call."
"Yes, please, Neal, call. It's getting late. You know the bugs will eat us on the way back," said Mozzie, though he seemed a little more interested in the game now. Neal stared at Laura, sighed, and made his decision.
"I will square," he said, lifting his cup. He immediately regretted it, God, she knew he had nothing and she was smiling now, he should have doubted, he should've doubted.
"I told you to doubt, Mr. Astronaut," she said, revealing an ace, two threes, and a four. Three-threes, she'd been playing with fire, trusting Neal had nothing, trusting he wouldn't doubt. How had she known? "Throw one in the centre, Neal. And it's your call now." Neal threw his smallest dice, and tried to laugh it off, she still wasn't winning, they were tied, he could win this. Then, as he reached for the bottle of brandy, he felt pressure on his foot again.
"Neal, a word," said Mozzie.
"What? What it-"
"Excuse me, my friend and I need to discuss the game strategy now that the stakes have been raised," said Mozzie. Laura just shrugged, a twisted smile on her face.
"Go ahead. I'll refill your drinks with something stronger in the meantime."
Mozzie led Neal to the corridor and from there under the shadow of the stairs.
"Seriously, Mozz, if you keep this up, my toenails will fall off..."
"What are you doing?" Mozzie hissed. Neal shrugged, smiling.
"What? It's just a game."
"Please tell me you let her win that last round..." Mozzie waited. Neal looked away, uncomfortable, until Mozzie gasped. "Neal!"
"What? She's good!"
"You're better! What's wrong with you? You weren't even trying. Is she distracting you?"
"Oh, come on, Mozz, really, it's just a game..."
"Exactly! You should have no trouble with it, it's Liar's Dice! What has the Suit done with you? You're completely out of practice."
"I'm not out of practice! Look, I just haven't found her tell yet. I need her tell. I don't even know her, or the game, what did you expect?"
"What did I expect? For you to win! Easily! As always!"
"Mozzie..."
"If you say you've still got it, then win."
"I'll win." Neal nodded, and started back to the big table. "I'll win."
Laura was still sitting in her seat, though David had left for the living room. On the bench of the kitchen, a few feet apart, Old Vogt was repeatedly slamming his cup against the wood, counting the rolls it would take him to get all faces alike. Laura leaned forwards, and drunk a sip of the amber coloured drink now in her glass.
"Ooh, scotch?" Mozzie asked, grabbing the glass eagerly. Laura tossed her head back, her laugh deep-throated.
"It's Lazarus Rise."
Mozzie stared at her. "That's the name of the drink? Are you serious?" he said, pulling the fat bottle towards him. Then he raised the glass to his mouth and took a sip. He raised his head, eyes wide. "It's good...!" Then he swallowed, and looked at the bottle again. "What is this?"
Neal sat down, and Laura turned towards him.
"So, you're back ready from your pep talk?" she said, but Neal didn't humour her by blushing, and he kept his grin straight. He placed his dice back inside his cup, rattled them, and brought it down to the desk without touching the drink she'd served him - he was determined now, he was going to win. He peeked at his numbers. He had a good hand, but he felt he still was in a position of inferiority by having to call first. He put his game face back on, peering for a second in the mirror behind the bar to be sure it was fool-proof. He called, she raised, then so did he, and then Laura doubted, showing her dice. Underneath the table, Mozzie stepped on his foot.
"Damn it, Mozz, that one hurt," he whispered.
"You lose another one. Now call," said Laura.
Neal ruffled his dice again, his eyes fixed on Laura's hands trying to catch a cheat, but there was nothing. He decided to lie this time.
"Three aces," he called.
"Doubt," said Laura. She didn't even blink. She didn't think about it. She had no aces. Neal tossed another dice, only two left now, and he raised his head towards her, laughing, pretending he didn't care that she was putting him to shame when actually, he really did.
"How do you do that?" he asked.
"Practice. It's a predictable game. Your call."
"One six."
"Coward."
"I said one six, what's your call."
"Two aces."
"Three aces," Neal upped. He had no aces, but tried to make it sound as though he had two.
"Four aces," said Laura.
"Doubt."
She raised her cup. She had four aces. This time he let out a hissing breath. She tossed her head back, laughing.
"This is just not possible. You're cheating, somehow..."
"Cheating?" She kept laughing. Even her laughter was grave.
"I don't know how you're doing it, but-"
"Oh, come on. It is your first time playing this game, you shouldn't feel bad," she said. "Or are those twenty minutes in the forest starting to sound not so inviting?"
Neal just scoffed, and ruffled his last remaining dice.
"No looking this round," he said.
"Sure. Only five dice left, remember that."
"I will. One two," he said. Laura smiled a smug smile, and then, as if she was going for the knockout, she said:
"I'm going to doubt that."
She raised both her cup and Neal's at the same time. There were no twos. There were no aces. She laughed and whooped like a little girl, and Neal had to hold his breath. No one was so lucky. He tossed his last dice away, to join the twenty-five already in the middle. He'd lost. Lost. It felt so strange.
"So, how quick a painter are you?" Laura asked him. Neal shook her hand - her grip was tight and long - and smiled. He didn't lose often, but whenever he did he was a graceful loser.
"I'll have something for you next week. It was a good game, congratulations."
"A pleasure playing with you, Mr. Astronaut."
"It's Neal."
She shrugged. "Never heard of anyone called Neal besides Neil Armstrong." Neal frowned, catching the mistrust in her voice for the first time. She doesn't believe it's my real name.
"My mother gave me that name," he told her, despite feeling Mozzie's disapproving glance.
"Ah, well." She stood, and looked outside. "Ready for your twenty minutes in the hole?"
"Oh... Is that still on? Thought we were joking," he said, rolling his eyes and stepping back.
"Sure you did. Or what is it... are you scared?" she used his own words and imitated his accent to perfection. Neal smiled, but this time he was sure it looked more like a smirk. He still could not believe he had lost, not this way, not in a bluffing game, and not to her, a schoolteacher from the South American rainforest. She was staring at him now, expectantly. It was almost as if she wanted to see him humiliated, and what had he ever done to her? Did she resent their presence there? Maybe he'd been a little condescending... He had definitely underestimated her.
"A deal's a deal," she said. Mozzie looked annoyed.
"Oh, let's just call it a night. What are you two, twelve? It's almost midnight, there might be jaguars prowling outside..."
"Jaguars? There are no jaguars this far west. It's snakes you should be concerned about," said Laura. Mozzie opened his eyes wide and was about to protest, but Neal stepped up.
"Mozz, it's fine. You'll just stay here."
"I don't like being out so late. You know the great majority of jungle critters are nocturnal? Including the predators."
"Mozz..."
"Midnight is also the prime feeding time of female Anopheles mosquitoes, which, in case you've forgotten, are the kind that transmit malaria. And I've already got... three, no, four! bites on my arms." Mozzie scratched his forearms furiously, but Neal just rolled his eyes.
"Laura's right, a deal's a deal." He shrugged, and plastered a bright smile on his face. "It's just twenty minutes in a forest. Piece of cake."
"Child's play, right?" Laura agreed, and the three of them walked to the veranda, David following close behind with a rattling box held in his hand.
W-C-W-C-W-C-W-C-W-C-W-C
Laura told him to go on a straight line, and so he did, but three steps in, when he looked back, he could no longer see her, or Mozzie, or David. He drew a deep breath, taking in the damp air that smelled of clay and wet leaves, and he kept going forwards in large strides, counting. The path he followed wasn't clear, plants grew as tall as his waist and they brushed against him sending shivers up his spine, but he knew it was a path, because everything else around him was a solid dark wall of vegetation. He counted ten paces, just ten more to go, and he thought of just staying there, it wasn't like Laura would know he had not reached the clearing. Only she'd told him there was a small pool of water there, collecting at the depression in the ground that they called the hole. If he came back and his feet were dry, she would know he had not gone the entire distance. He also considered getting there, dipping his feet, and then going back near the field where the trees were not so dense and it wasn't so dark. But, again, he guessed that she would know. Somehow. If he had not been able to fool her in a game, he imagined lying and getting away with it might prove difficult.
He counted fifteen and his feet started to sink more into the mulch-covered ground beneath. He took another step, and had to duck over a branch. Something slithered away. Every time he got close to the source of whatever creature was making noise, the noise would stop. He imagined that if he lit up one of his matches he would see a whole army of strange bugs and creatures scurrying away. But he only had three matches, he had to save them. The twenty minutes only counted once he was in the hole, and he imagined it would be even darker there. He walked on, ignoring the sounds and the plants brushing against his clothes and his face, and he felt strong. Laura probably thought he would chicken out, she probably thought he was a proud, arrogant American who didn't know a thing about this place she called home. She wasn't entirely wrong. He was proud, but he was not stupid or frightful, and he would stay those twenty minutes in absolute calm. If she only knew the sort of situations he'd been trapped in before... This was nothing. This was just a game.
His feet sunk and cold water seeped through his shoes and socks and up his pants.
"Okay, I'm here!" he called out. He got no answer, but he knew the timer had started. He made a point of setting off his own timer before leaving, because he suspected they would not tell him when the time was done, and he pressed the button of his watch to get it started. He regretted wearing the old watch he was wearing, one with a back light would've been useful. He tried to shuffle back to drier land, but when he took a step towards where he thought was the way he'd come from, he only sank deeper. He missed the ugly wellington boots, and wished he'd worn them that night, too. He imagined he would get leeches up his bare ankles.
He couldn't sit. Though standing was uncomfortable and it did not avoid the bugs, the idea of something crawling up his back under his shirt made him shudder, and he remained straight, tucking his shirt under his belt and pulling his socks above his pants. It wasn't long before he grew restless, and he figured he might as well use one of the matches now. It lit up in his hand, and was very bright for a moment. Then he saw something move, and he wheeled around, splashing in the pool. A giant spider web was inches from his face, and he leapt back and almost fell. He dropped the match, but he immediately lit another, the dark crushing now after the light. He held it until his fingers burned, and he peered at his watch. Only two minutes? That couldn't be! He must have set the thing wrong...
He saved the last match for the way back, because though he was only twenty paces away from the field, he had no idea in which direction it was, and he was having a new understanding of how easy it was to get lost in the jungle. He could've been just a pace away, and he still would not have known the way. Swatting whatever came close to his face away, he squatted low on the ground with his hands wrapped around his knees. Peter, you'd laugh if you could see me now. He reckoned Peter would like Laura, or at least he would like the way she had disarmed him, very much like Diana had that first day. But Peter would suspect Laura. She was too good a liar for a schoolteacher, and if that was clear to him then it would be clear to Peter too - scratch all that, Peter's never going to meet her. But yes, she was a con, he just had no idea what her con was. Maybe they could team up. She was smart, he could tell, and he liked her name. Her family pronounced it Lah-oo-rrah, not Law-rah. He wouldn't say she was beautiful, not like Sara or Alex were beautiful, but there was still a grace to her, he liked the grave sound of her voice. Or was this just instinct talking, because she was the only girl around? That just goes to say... isolation is affecting me.
It was very dark, but he wasn't bothered by it. It was kind of like swimming without goggles. He had always liked it when the water was deep and he couldn't see the bottom, because when it was clear he would see the shapes beneath and every cluster of algae would look like a shark. There was a certain thrill in not knowing what was down there that he'd always liked. He remembered the murky water of a river he'd swam in when he was a boy, and how they'd had this game where they would dive and reach for the sandy bottom, each time deeper and deeper, until someone chickened out. He was good at that game. He had never been afraid of the dark river bed, and he wasn't afraid of this dark forest either.
He knew he had to wait, and he waited. He tried not to move, his eyes tight shut and his hand covering his nose as he breathed in case a mosquito decided to fly too close. In his mind, a Caribbean island was sounding better and better. Or, better still, a beach in the Costa Brava, or in Nice. An island in the Mediterranean. Bright, deep, turquoise ocean, not slow green river-water, brimming with pirañas, and leeches, and slimy fish out of nightmares that were capable of swimming into one's insides. Yes, Southern Europe sounded very good.
Then light flashed. In an instant, it was gone, and he thought it had been lightning, but though he waited he heard no thunder. Then he saw them. Little flashes of light, turning on and off. The moon slowly rose, and when he turned around and watched the forest appear around him once more, this time under a softer light, he understood Vogt's neon painting on the dining room wall. Everything, suddenly, seemed to glow. The silver light caught on the leaves and they shone bright blue, the pool glimmered and reflected the moon. He could see the outline of trees traced by fireflies akin to Christmas lights, flashing on and off until they were lighting up in seemingly synchronised patterns. Fireflies. He could not remember the last time he'd seen a firefly, and never so many, never of so many colours, they were almost like the neon lights of a city. They were brighter than the stars, and they moved, and when they were close he could hear them and their buzz did not bother him like the buzzing of mosquitoes. It was like a vibration, nice and steady.
It felt like a dream, and he was not bothered any more. He could not believe he was so close to the house, standing there felt like he was so far, miles and miles from any semblance of civilisation, as though he was standing in a place no living person had ever stood before, seeing things no one had ever seen. And yet he didn't feel alone, or anxious, or insecure. It all felt right.
The clicker of his timer stopped, and he reached out for the trees to get back into the path. He found it on the first try, and he made his way back to the field without having to light his third match. The moment he was out, he saw Laura's eyebrows rise in shock, and Mozzie ran up to him.
"What? You expected me to scream for help, come back running in fear? It's just a forest," he said. Laura frowned.
"I was just going in to look for you, your friend was freaking out."
"What on earth took you so long!?" Mozzie shouted. His glasses were fogged over and even in the dark his face looked flushed.
"What do you mean?"
Laura showed him her watch, with the chronometer. It marked 39 minutes.
"That can't be right, I set up my own timer." He peered into his watch. The time read four minutes past 12 AM. "I must've turned it too much..."
"Turned it too much? Are you joking? I thought you were writhing in pain following a bite from a bullet ant!" Mozzie's high voice echoed in the hillock, and Neal placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Mozz, I think you drunk a bit too much of that liqueur, keep it down, please. There're people sleeping in the house."
Mozzie crossed his arms, and turned away.
"Most people spend less time there than they think, not more," said Laura, turning towards him. Neal shrugged.
"I'm not most people. If I'd been eight years old I might have been scared... Got a few bites and I need a shower, but it was a walk in the park otherwise," he said. He sounded more nonchalant than he actually felt, but he was feeling confident again, and he knew he'd fooled her this time. She needed to know she'd underestimated him, too. Next time they played, he would win. "I'll have your painting soon."
"Right," said Laura, and she smiled and turned for the house. "I'll see you next Friday."
"For a rematch?"
"Maybe."
"We could make it best of three."
"Now, wouldn't you like that..."
"Neal, Anopheles mosquitoes. Need I remind you again?" said Mozzie. Neal kept staring at Laura, until she finally started walking away.
"Listen to your friend, Neal," she said. Neal nodded, pulling down the brim of his hat, and he turned too.
"Good night."
They started walking in opposite directions, and once they had gone over the hill, she was no longer visible. Mozzie was talking about something, his voice fast and worked up, but Neal felt his mind wonder away. Suddenly he wasn't worried about his old life and his old problems, and he didn't feel hollow when he remembered what he'd left behind. He felt excitement again, something he'd been looking for without realising it. The excitement of possibilities.
He thought of the painting again, the one at the head of the table on the wall of Mr. Vogt's dining room. He had to make his own. He had to put the colours he'd seen on the canvas, tonight, while they were fresh on his mind.
Mozzie kept veering to the left as they walked up and down the rolling hill to the house. Neal had to pull him by his shirt back on track, keeping him clear of the sleeping cattle, but he was feeling slightly unsteady himself and they took almost half an hour to get back up the veranda. Mozzie went straight to bed, but Neal closed the netted door and slumped on the hammock, turning the lights off so that he could see clearly out into the forest. He stared at it for a long time. Sometimes he thought the fireflies were really lights, and that there were people there deep in the jungle. Then they'd fly off, lighting up the already starry sky. He had missed the stars. He had not seen them during the two years he'd spent in New York, and it had been even longer since he'd last laid eyes on the stars of the Southern Hemisphere. He recognised the Cross, and Orion's Belt, but he'd forgotten about the other constellations.
Over an hour passed, before he finally stood and went inside. Thrown among other things in the storage room, he'd seen a large blackboard, and he went to pull it out. The place was covered in spider webs, so he had to go in bug-spray in hand, but after some wriggling around the stuffed room he managed to drag the board out to the veranda and find beneath it a complete set of brightly coloured chalks. Perfect. He didn't even bother to change his dirty web-covered clothing, and he started working right away. He'd promised Laura a painting, but that could wait till the morning - he'd do her a quick copy of Starry Night and she would probably be more impressed with it than if he tried something original.
He wasn't looking at Vogt's painting, and the scene he'd chosen was different. It was not a river, but a forest, as seen from the ground looking up at the canopy. He didn't have to think of Vogt's painting to remember the colours and the shapes and the style. He'd seen the forest aglow himself. He was not making anything up, and the phosphorescent colours simply looked right. They were not forced, or exaggerated, they were right, and the shape of the leaves was right, and the way light crept in between them, shining blue, was also right. He had not felt that while painting in a long, long time, because this, he realised, was not a copy of a style, but of a place. It came from his mind, and his hands knew what to do and they followed his thoughts exactly. He kept at it, moving on to the sides of the blackboard and changing his colours as the night sky changed, till the very edges of his work were the bright blue of daylight, and the sun lit up the trees in front of the veranda at dawn.
W-C-W-C-W-C-W-C-W-C-W-C
When Mozzie walked into the veranda table, holding the tray of his breakfast and looking very hung-over, he almost spit out his coffee when he saw the blackboard. Neal was staring at him from the hammock, beaming, waiting for his friend to find words again. But when he did, they were not those he'd been expecting.
"I hope for your sake that your female nemesis is not responsible for this," he said in a paused tone. Neal dropped his smile, looking annoyed, and he sat up on the hammock. He stared at Mozzie, raising his eyebrows expectantly.
"Is that all you've got to say?"
Mozzie looked at the board again, stepping back so that he could see it whole. He tilted his head to the left, then to the right, then he shook it, and grabbed it with his hands as if he'd regretted the movement.
"Sorry. I got a headache, that girl tried to poison me. I'm not getting this thing."
Neal rolled his eyes, and stood to sit at the table. Mozzie had not seen the forest at night, he would not understand, and he didn't feel like explaining it to him. Mozzie gave up, and sat down to drink his coffee. The tiny painted china cup he held reminded Neal of June's coffee, and he smiled.
"Oh, no. I know that look."
"What?" Neal raised his eyes, but kept his smile.
"That look! Right there! Neal, you can't do this to me."
"Seriously, Mozzie, I don't-"
"The girl. Laura."
"Actually, I was thinking about June."
"Your lies don't work with me."
"I'm not lying."
"So you haven't giver her any thought? Even after she publicly humiliated you?"
Neal rolled his eyes. "Well, she's suspicious. She's not like Vogt and Hugo. Did you hear how she said my name? She thinks we're lying."
"Because we are lying. And let me tell you, that Escobar impersonation act yesterday? Definitely helped. And when I say 'helped', I mean, made it a whole lot worse. You did this for her, didn't you."
"No. This is for me. I'll sketch her Starry Night later."
Mozzie removed his glasses and squinted at him, but Neal remained still until his friend placed his glasses back on and sat back down, sighing with relief.
"All right. But remember," he raised two fingers in the air. "Don't lose sight of the goal. We're here to lay low. We don't want to end up in an extradition trial. After we've moved on, it's open season, but right now, we're just two boring expats looking for a quiet year abroad to perfect our language skills."
"Stop telling that to people! That story sucks."
"Then think of another, genius. See how you like having to change your story every time. That's how it'll feel like if that girl blows our covers and we're forced to run from this place because you refused to use your alias."
"We don't even have covers, Mozz."
"But you did have an alias!"
WC-WC-WC
Whoa, really massive chapter! And there will be more soon! I hope you didn't find this chapter confusing, and if you did let me know if there's something I can do to fix it. Thanks for reading, leave a review if you like! They truly make my day! I have a few Original Characters in this fic, but for plot purposes mostly.
PS: So dice is plural. I confused the plural and singular for dice (die), and I ended up using the plural for all of it. I'll go back and change it later but for now please forgive me.
