"Hey, Patrick, is it true your dad's in prison?" Patrick Jane was in art class, sitting at a table with Andy and Tran and working on his table decoration when Abigail the Cat Alphabet Girl walked past.

"Who told you that?"

"My friend Kim Napier from my table. Is it true?"

"What did she say?"

"She heard he was a thief and he was in prison."

"Where did she hear it?" Patrick asked, curious.

"Oh, just around," Abigail replied though her eyes treacherously flickered towards the Jockabees table. Rico again. He wasn't confronting Patrick directly any more but clearly Ashley's rebuttal of Rico's previous gossip had reached his ears and the guy was filling in the gaps with whatever he could make up. Patrick grinned. Two could play at that game. He had already formulated a strategy for dealing with gossip about his dad and Rico was inadvertently assisting. Still smiling he addressed Abigail.

"What's your name, Abigail? Your full name, I mean." Patrick couldn't keep thinking of her as 'Abigail the Cat Alphabet Girl'.

She only hesitated for a second. "Abby Marie Rizzi."

"Abby Marie. I like it. Are you an only child, Abby?"

"No, I'm in the middle. My older brother Ricky is in high school, Sophie my kid sister is still at Carson Springs Elementary."

"There's just me," Patrick answered her unspoken question. "I don't have any brothers or sisters and, well, Kim's right about my dad. He is in prison. He's a pirate."

Andy Williams make a small noise beside him, halfway between a snort and a choke. Abigail's eyebrows shot up.

"He is not!" she was laughing.

"I guess you could call it theft," Patrick replied thoughtfully, eyes twinkling, "but he stole from rich people on yachts and it happened at sea. They said it was the first case of piracy in California for over a hundred years. He was in the paper last week."

"I don't believe you." Abigail's face was full of suspicion.

"He wasn't a very good pirate," Patrick admitted. "After all, they caught him. He didn't fly a black flag with a skull and crossed bones on it or anything."

Abigail looked him up and down for a moment, amusement in her eyes, then simply said 'Huh' in a surprised tone and walked back to her table. She glanced in his direction again when she sat.

"She likes me," Patrick announced to Andy and Tran.

"Where did that come from, Patrick?" Andy managed. "I thought it was something to do with bad investments and the stock market crash."

"How do you know she likes you?" Tran asked.

"I could see it in her eyes, the way she looked at me," Patrick replied to Tran, then grinned at Andy. "I think I'll ask Abby Rizzi to be my next girlfriend. What girl wouldn't want to go on a date with the son of a pirate?"

Later in the lunch hall Patrick spotted Abigail sitting with Stacey and Kim while he was still in the line.

"I'll catch you up," he muttered as Andy and Tran went to find a seat then made for Abigail's table.

"Hi ladies," he began, looking only at Abigail as he said it. "May I sit here?"

Stacey giggled nervously, Kim said 'okay' but he remained standing until Abigail shrugged and said 'sure' a fraction later. He gracefully sat without taking his eyes off her.

"So, Abby, why did you ask about my dad at the start of art class?" Patrick looked amused though he kept up his scrutiny of Abigail. She didn't blush or look uncomfortable at all under his gaze. He could see Stacey and Kim exchanging an uncertain glance out of the corner of his eye.

"I hate gossip," Abigail stated without hesitation. "People should know what's being said about them. I always ask a person directly, if I can."

"It happened to you, didn't it," Patrick began. It wasn't a question. "People changed how they behaved towards you and you even lost some friends, but you didn't know why until much later when someone finally told you what everyone had been saying about you."

Now Stacey and Kim were looking from Abigail to Patrick and back. Abigail's eyes widened as he spoke then she nodded.

"At elementary school." She didn't tell him any more but couldn't stop herself from looking him up and down again. It was only a flicker but Patrick saw her do it.

"Thank you, Abby, for being so honest with me. And for asking me about it earlier rather than spreading gossip." Patrick continued to hold her gaze and she continued not to look away. Patrick thought Abigail wouldn't appreciate the subtle guiding and taking charge he had used on Ashley. Abby was a strong-minded girl who liked to know where she stood. He smiled. "That's the third time you've been kind to me. And I think you're very pretty. Do you have a boyfriend at the moment?"

Abigail eyed him in silence for a moment as, in the background, he caught Kim and Stacey exchanging another significant look.

"Yes."

"May I ask who the lucky guy is?"

"Kim's Big brother David. He's on the basketball team. Your friend Andy Williams knows him." Still Abigail wasn't blushing or looking uncomfortable. She maintained eye contact but her eyes had flickered over him again. She had a boyfriend but was looking nevertheless…

"A jock," Patrick nodded. She couldn't deny that's what he was but he could see Abigail didn't like him thinking she was the kind of girl who went for jocks.

"I knew him long before he was a jock."

Patrick smiled. "Of course, he's your friend's brother. I just wish we had met before you started dating him, Abby. I hope he treats you like he should." Patrick broke eye contact, made as if to leave.

"And how is that, Patrick?"

Patrick looked back at her. Abigail was good at this, he liked that nothing he'd said or done so far had ruffled her composure, he loved a challenge. She'd be expecting him to say 'like a queen' or some other such nonsense.

"A gentleman should always treat a lady... exactly how she wants to be treated," he replied enigmatically and was gratified to see surprise and curiosity in her eyes. Watch out, David, he thought. In the periphery of his vision Patrick saw someone coming over. He assumed it was David, it was a big guy anyway and he'd got up from the jocks' table. As a parting shot Patrick added, "Not treat her as though she's his possession." He broke eye contact, picked up his tray, nodded a polite 'Ladies' to all three of them and slipped away – but not so fast that Patrick failed to catch the first thing out of the guy's mouth.

"What did he want..." The boy sounded sullen, not the right tone to take with Abigail if Patrick was any judge, certainly not when someone had just put the idea into her head that her boyfriend thought he owned her. He smiled as he sat down with the New Gang.

"Did she say yes?" Andy Williams asked, sounding once again as though he was in awe of Patrick's confidence with girls.

"She already has a boyfriend," Patrick replied, adding with a grin, "for now, anyway. You even know the guy, David Napier."

"Oh yeah, he's on the team, plays center. She is his girlfriend, kinda. I forgot. I mean, she is, he asked her weeks ago, but she doesn't hang out with the team all the time like the other girls. I mean, most of the other girlfriends are cheerleaders and she's, uh, not. Not that she's ugly or anything!" Andy was blushing, getting flustered at the looks his words were drawing from Liss and Julia. "She's a brainy kid, she's on the school quiz team, I think David's sister knows her or something, that's how come he asked her."

"Yeah, he's her friend Kim's big brother," Patrick replied. What's he like?" he added casually.

"Pretty good, I mean he's no Bill Russell but he's a big guy, good at shooting, good at defending."

"I think Trick here meant what's he like as a person, not a basketball player," Liss grinned. Even Patrick laughed at the nickname Liss had remembered from last week.

"Trick, yeah, that suits you, man!" Tran was first to comment.

"Yeah, dude, that's an awesome nickname!" Andy was enthusiastic about it too, glad something had diverted everyone's attention from himself, no doubt. Liss smiled smugly.

"Attending the pool hall New Years party, Mr. And Mrs. Shot and their gifted son, Trick!" Julia managed before collapsing in giggles. Okay, Patrick was going to be stuck with this one. As nicknames went it wasn't the worst. Actually it was pretty cool.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your support," Patrick began in his best 'Bob Hope' voice. "If I ever need help I now know who not to ask." He waited for their laughter to die down before continuing. "So... David Napier. What's he like?"

"David? He's, uh, he's not the team captain."

"Off the court, Andy," Patrick grinned.

"Nah, what I mean is during basketball games he's on court for a lot of the time, he would be a good captain in theory but Coach Brennon made Jimmy Adams the captain, not David. He's, uh, he's a good solid team player but he's not captain material. A follower, not a leader."

"Kinda conventional in his outlook?"

"Yeah. Conventional. That's a good way to describe him. He doesn't rock the boat."

"And how about his girlfriends?"

"Well he only had the one. He was the last guy on the team to get a girlfriend this year, all the team got a girl now except – except me. Uh. I remember him telling Jimmy that it was wrong to cheat on a girl."

"Jimmy cheated on his girlfriend?" Julia seemed outraged. Adams... Patrick wondered if he was her brother. He didn't know anything about Julia's family.

"Is Jimmy a relative?" Patrick asked.

"My cousin," she confirmed, "and I know Lizzy Duke, too, so does his momma." Julia looked angry.

"Nah, this was a while ago, before Jimmy started dating Lizzy," Andy said quickly.

"Still, David's attitude is better," Patrick approved, as much mindful that they were at a table with three girls listening to their every word as applauding David. "And you don't have to worry about getting a girlfriend, Andy, you're a year younger than those other guys, you don't have to rush into anything." Patrick flashed him a grin.

"Yeah," Andy replied gloomily, "that's just what my mom says." To Patrick's surprise Andy then glanced at Ashley. Patrick glanced at her, too. She hadn't participated in the conversation at all, instead she was gazing into the distance and looked... a little put out. About the attitude of the basketball team? Patrick didn't think so, more likely about him wanting to date someone else. Well, she had no right to be. It was her mom who split them up. It had been a week. Did she expect him to, what, pine over her? He liked having girlfriends. She should... His mind shifted up a gear before he even completed that thought. She should find a nice kid that her momma approved of, someone on a school sports team, perhaps. A kid who didn't get detentions, who had a stable home with a mom and a dad, who liked her and who needed to find a girlfriend so he didn't get ribbed any more by his fellow-teammates, maybe. He didn't think Andy had had a girlfriend before, he wasn't good at talking to girls... He parked up that train of thought for later and turned his attention back to grilling Andy.

"Would you say he likes girls with opinions, feminists? David, I mean, I can't imagine Jimmy does."

"I don't know, man." Andy was looking increasingly uncomfortable about the whole conversation. "I don't think any of the guys think about it much. You're on the team, you have a girlfriend. The guys talk about how girls look, not how they think. Sorry," Andy added to Liss, Julia and Ashley, looking embarrassed. "There's always plenty of girls who want to date guys on the team." Andy explained unhappily. That surprised Patrick until he remembered Andy had felt the same way about guys who only wanted to be friends because he was a jock.

"So... Not the jealous type, David I mean?"

"I dunno, man."

"That him? That big guy over with Abigail?"

"Yeah, that's David."

They were arguing, or at least Abigail was telling David off about something. Why had a smart girl wanted to go out with a jock? Then again girls got crushes on the weirdest guys. Patrick could spot it happening but he hadn't ever been able to explain it. David was her friend's big brother, maybe that had been enough. Abigail was confident and smart, the leader of her little group of friends whereas David was a follower not a leader, conventional. He had been happier asking his little sister's friend for a date rather than one of the girls who liked to date jocks. Was Abby getting bored with David? Patrick was sure she had checked him out. "Interesting," was all he said.

Patrick's heart sank when he saw Ms. Portman waiting for him outside her classroom as he rounded the corner of the hall that afternoon to keep his usual pre-class appointment. Even from here he could see her sour expression. Usually he had to wait outside for her while her previous class cleared the room. He guessed she was less than happy about his test and sure enough, as soon as she spotted him she lifted her hand to reveal a familiar piece of paper as he walked up to her.

"What is this, Patrick? I thought we had a deal!"

"What grade did I get, ma'am?" Patrick replied curiously.

"You failed, Patrick, by a long way. Twelve percent! Twelve! And half of those marks were for penmanship! The pass mark is thirty-five percent so that's an 'F', Patrick, a fail. You were supposed to pass this!" Portman hissed.

"It's no big deal, we just carry on with the same arrangement. I'll meet you here to get assignments and spend your classes in the library unless you're doing assessments," Patrick shrugged.

"No big deal? I signed your damn permission letter because it was temporary! A few days of letting you skip class before – before you moved up! I could get in trouble if it goes on for a whole year!" Portman was trying to whisper and shout at the same time, angry but aware of the ears that might be listening.

Patrick had never come across anything like that before and was fascinated. It seemed to concentrate her fury, having to restrain herself like this. His dad, Lily, neither cared if people heard or it attracted an audience. Patrick had never imagined that he might ever feel grateful about that. Portman was clearly an amateur when it came to anger but this was effective, he would hate to see Lily or his dad be angry in this hissing, concentrated manner. Patrick realized Portman was waiting for him to speak. He ran over her words in his head: he was sure Portman had stumbled over 'before' because she had been thinking 'before I got rid of you'.

"I don't see how you could get into trouble, ma'am. You mark the class register after you see me so it'll agree with the registration from home room. You get to mark my homework and tests, same as every other student in class. I spend the time in the library, I'm not out causing trouble." Portman still looked uneasy so he added, "You, uh, you're not the only teacher who's made this kind of arrangement with me."

"I'm not? Who else? Liz Jepson?"

"Why did you say her?"

"She gave you that crazy year-long hall pass –"

"Not Ms. Jepson. I don't have her for science."

"Who then?" she asked again.

Patrick eyed Portman in disbelief.

"Would you like me to tell them about my agreement with you?" He watched her eyes widen. "Didn't think so. I can keep quiet about it. So can you."

"But – but –" Portman couldn't voice exactly where her objection lay.

"Look, you don't want me in your classroom. I don't want to be there. It's not that hard."

"You failed this test deliberately!" Portman sounded as though she had only just realized. Patrick eyed her calmly.

"I haven't taken a test in over two years, ma'am, I've been home schooled since I left elementary. I must have panicked."

"I don't believe you. No-one who's ever taught you is going to believe that."

"But no-one else will bat an eyelid. I'm just another kid in care who failed a test. That isn't news. It sure as hell isn't gonna get anyone wondering what's happening in your classes."

"Oh! You have to come to my class, Patrick." Portman didn't look happy about this new thing that had come to mind. "I have to give you extra tuition so you catch up. There's paperwork that goes with it, uh, it has to appear on your next report card."

"Extra tuition during regular class?" Patrick remembered Smith had said something similar about math.

"Yes, and filling in... Well, it's something like a special register. I have to document the tuition, anyway."

Patrick looked exasperated – why couldn't she just fill it in without his participation? – then his eyes turned calculating. "I'll do my 'catching up' in the library, thanks all the same. Why don't you give my extra tuition to Chi Tran and pretend it's me?"

"Tran? You mean the other seventh grader?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Well, no, I suppose–"

"Okay, then," Patrick said as the bell started ringing.

By the end of Monday the rumors about Alex Jane had reached fever pitch. Patrick's dad had been convicted of piracy, art theft, jewel theft; of robbing a yacht, a mansion, a casino; the guy he stole from was a mobster, an actor, a millionaire; Alex was a thief, a con-man, a cat burglar, a safe cracker. He tweaked the story at every opportunity or simply refused to acknowledge or deny the truth of anything, stoking the flames still further.

"You're enjoying this," Andy said on the way out of school.

"Hell yeah," Patrick grinned back.

Dear Dad,

It was great to get your phone call, I guess Mr. Taylor gave you Brodie's phone number? I keep forgetting I live in a house with a telephone. I was going to write how weird it was hearing your voice like that, but actually what has been weird these last few weeks has been not hearing it.

Alex blinked a few times at that. He thought he had heard it in Paddy's voice but it was something else for the kid to write it down like that. Alex had also felt more moved than he liked to admit when he heard his son's voice on the phone. Paddy drove him to distraction sometimes but it wasn't until he called his son a few days ago that he realized how much he missed the boy. Paddy never shut up but Alex was missing even his chatter. At least the boy was smart. Alex had little patience with fools and Thomson, his new cellmate, was a fool.

I shall bring $110 with me when I visit. We may not be able to afford $25 a week for the whole time you're in prison but I can try to get the big items under budget this winter. There is money to be saved on costumes, for example, if we go for tuxedos rather than having something made. There are usually good pickings in the Sacramento goodwill after New Year.

Alex hadn't even thought about spending on costumes. He had that new suit he'd worn in court which was pretty lightweight fabric, so long as it wasn't a hot summer that might see him through next season. Tuxedos from the goodwill wasn't a bad idea either.

I don't have much news from Stoney Ridge. It was around a year ago that Danny Ruskin got his first set of picks, he thinks he has enough material now for a turn, if not a whole act. He is trying to get Pops to find someone who could give him a five-minute slot. I already told him we couldn't take him on next season. There is one thing: Billy Ruskin thinks he'll be taking the show up into Oregon and Washingon for around three weeks next summer, we won't be able to follow them.

Yeah, three weeks of dead time at the height of the season unless Alex could think of some way to make money during that time. He'd have to ask the boy to get the exact dates from Billy Ruskin before he could make any firm plans.

I've been wondering how to measure excellence

More goddamn excellence? Still? At least Alex didn't have to write back this time, the boy would be visiting before he'd get a letter now. Measure excellence! Okay, Paddy, how exactly are you gonna do that? They don't sell that kind of slide rule in Wal-Mart.

I've been wondering how to measure excellence. As you pointed out, the bottom line is key. Does that mean we don't try so hard when the work is less lucrative?

Hell yeah, that's exactly what it means, son!

Does that mean we don't try so hard when the work is less lucrative? I think instead we should make sure the work is always lucrative enough to make us want to work to the best of our ability.

Wait, what? Alex had to read that again. Was Paddy talking about choosing the cons again?

In order to measure excellence we need to know what excellence looks like, though I think it would be a mistake to be too rigid in trying to pin down a definition of excellence when it comes to the act. We both know what a good performance feels like, or a poor one for that matter. I think excellence for the act means making sure our good performances get better, mediocre ones become good and we give fewer or no poor performances. The measure of excellence must surely be how much the act improves. I would suggest 'good enough' becomes a phrase we only ever apply to our earnings, not our performance.

That sounded to Alex more like the law of diminishing returns rather than a recipe for excellence. The psychic act usually made enough to get by. The cons were Alex's gateway to life's little pleasures. He knew a handful of reliable cons and had a good eye for spotting marks. They didn't need more, although...

The truth was that he didn't need more. Now the boy was getting a bit older he'd want some spending money in his pocket, more than the odd fifty he slipped to his son every now and then. Although he'd given Paddy a hundred after that 'magic rock' stunt...

Alex had made ten grand that day. A hundred dollars was only one percent. Alex had felt he'd been more than generous at the time but what had Paddy thought? Cash was usually divided equally whenever Alex worked a con with a team and the boy knew that. Paddy was only a kid, he couldn't expect an equal share but one percent now seemed a little thin even to Alex. Had that been a mistake? Could Alex have screwed his future because he hadn't bothered to think in terms of percentages in the past?

Maybe – Alex grimaced involuntarily – maybe sharing some of the income from now on would be a good way to keep Paddy working the double act for an extra few years after the kid turned eighteen. Yeah, that had worked with Lily, it could work with Paddy, though the boy would have to earn it if he was gonna spend it. They weren't earning enough for both of them to take cash out of the business, not the sort of cash Alex liked to take. Maybe that was the reason behind Paddy's new-found obsession with excellence.

I think I can see a way forward. Planning ahead means that we can smoothly handle screw ups. Remember when the microphone failed in that place just outside Milwaukee? As the second mike was in a known location near the stage it took us less than ten seconds to replace it and continue with the act as if nothing had gone wrong. If it had been shut away somewhere in the storage trailer instead that performance would have been over before it began.

Alex did remember. That old mic had been causing trouble during rehearsals that day and although it had seemed to clear up Alex hadn't trusted it. In a flash of inspiration he'd dug the big heavy old mic out of storage and left it by the side of the stage. Paddy had made the smoothest changeover to the replacement mic and the show had continued without further incident. More forward planning along those kinds of lines might not be the worst idea the boy ever had.

Making sure we have enough of the right kind of well-rehearsed back-up plans can be one way to measure excellence. For example, If one of us feels the act is a little off at any time we could use a trigger code word to shift into a second string. We could even each have a back-up solo third string in the event of a serious problem (say one of us is taken ill or otherwise incapacitated during a performance).

Having a whole backup performance was something Alex had never thought of. Having solo backup performances sounded ominous, as though that scheming little runt wanted to rehearse his new solo act right under Alex's nose on the pretext of it being a backup plan. That wasn't going to happen.

The other thing we can do is to take a moment, say when we're driving to the next showground, to talk about what went well, what went badly, see if we are still doing things simply because we always have. The way to excellence is surely through constant improvement and you taught me that there is always a way to improve if we look hard enough.

Love,

Paddy

What the hell? This wasn't a good idea. They often did talk about the act in the RV between showgrounds. Generally it involved Alex pointing out where the boy needed to do better. It sounded like that cocky little jerk wanted to give Alex marks out of ten now. He'd often told Paddy there was always a way to improve if he looked hard enough for it. Was that going to bite him on the ass now, too? Paddy was the child, he was the one who needed to improve, not Alex! Goddammit, when he said he'd think about the new act this wasn't what he'd meant!

Brodie was again taking Patrick to visit his dad in prison. Patrick had gotten Brodie talking in the car in an attempt to avoid Brodie's questions as much as wanting to hear what Brodie had to say. Brodie had now accompanied Patrick to several poker games at Taylor's house and Patrick was usually prepared to explain carny or poker jargon to him these days when he asked, but not today.

Patrick learned that the Brodies stayed in touch with many of their former foster kids after they had grown up and left home. They all had standing invitations at Thanksgiving: Sally would be cooking turkey dinner for twelve adults and eight kids this year. Their daughter's family would be visiting her husband's folks in Idaho but their son would be coming to Carson Springs with his wife and daughter. The others guests were former foster children and their families plus one old lady from their church. Sally was fully occupied this weekend preparing for Thursday, filling the freezer with baked goods and side dishes. The Ng kids were helping Sally, Liss was over at Julia's and Brodie confessed to being glad he had an excuse to get out of the house for a few hours today.

They turned through the security gate into the prison car park. Volano penitentiary was huge and ugly. Squat, functional buildings were spread widely as far as the eye could see. Surrounding all was a double ring of high chain link fencing that seemed to stretch to the horizon. Watchtowers were sited at intervals along the no-man's-land between. It was intimidating and it was meant to be.

Patrick wasn't sure exactly how he felt about going to visit his dad after the last time. He did want to see Alex, there were some things he could talk about with no-one else. His dad's absence had left a huge gap in Patrick's life. The unexpected phone call last week had been an emotional reminder of how abnormal his life now was and had left him feeling something like homesickness. Even an afternoon at the Ruskin's place watching a movie with his old gang hadn't fully cured it. A lot had happened in a few short weeks and it was surprisingly unsettling to think that his dad had had no part in any of it.

"Anything you feel you should leave in the car this time, Patrick?" Brodie cut through his thoughts.

"Uh, yes, sir." Patrick emptied his pockets, returning the money but wrapping everything else away tidily in his roll of lock picks before putting it in the glove box. Now he had nothing metal on his person except some genuine small change and the buckle of his belt. He would have to put both into a tray when he walked through the metal detector, according to the pamphlet about prison rules Taylor had sent him. He would also be searched for non-metallic contraband. He wasn't looking forward to that. Nevertheless Patrick nodded over towards Brodie and said, "Okay, now I'm ready."

It was minors visiting day. There were quite a few kids in the line, some youngsters although the majority were older than Patrick. They joined the back of the line, Patrick idly watching the security procedure at the front. Every few minutes a recorded voice announced female visitors and minors could choose to be searched by a female prison officer.

After watching for several minutes Patrick was sure he didn't like the way the guy on the right frisked the older boys, he seemed unnecessarily thorough compared to his colleague. Occasionally a visitor would be led into a side room, presumably for privacy during a more intimate search. Patrick really didn't like the idea of that happening to him. As they approached the front of the line Patrick turned to Brodie and spoke very quietly.

"Mr. Brodie? Is it okay if I want to be searched by the female prison officer?"

"Sure, Patrick, that's what the announcement says. I'll wait for you on the other side."

Patrick approached the woman with trepidation. She didn't smile, was swift, professional and surprisingly polite. Brodie was only a few steps away and had watched the whole process with something like amusement.

"You never been frisked at an airport, Patrick?" Brodie asked.

"I've never flown anywhere, sir. They do that at airports, too?"

"Not every passenger and not so much on internal flights but I've certainly been searched on international flights. They're keen on it in European airports."

"They searched you?" Patrick grinned. He couldn't imagine it, Brodie was so straight-edge.

"I have a metal pin in my shoulder, broke my collarbone when I was a kid. It doesn't usually set off the detectors in the US but I guess the ones in Europe are set up to be more sensitive. I've been frisked a few times," Brodie smiled back.

"You been to Europe a lot?"

"I did go quite a few times with my job a few years ago, London and Frankfurt. My company was expanding it's presence in Europe at the time and I was helping with that."

They had reached the visiting area now. It was similar to the one in County, though much larger. Prisoners and their visitors sat in a big room with metal tables and benches bolted to the floor, more crowded than Carson Springs County Jail though not completely full. An anteroom contained vending machines and was available to visitors only. Alex was again waiting for them. He stood when he saw them in the doorway and waved them over.

Patrick eyed him a little warily but Alex seemed genuinely pleased to see him. He hugged Patrick spontaneously in a way he hadn't in years. Maybe absence really did make the heart grow fonder. Patrick smiled at that, hugging his dad back: he had of late entertained the notion that Alex didn't have a heart. Alex beamed at Patrick for a long moment when they broke apart.

"It really is good to see you, Paddy. Have you grown a little bit? You seem taller. Thanks for the letters, and the photos. And for getting the magazines sent here." Alex turned to Brodie, warmly shaking his hand. "Thanks for bringing Paddy to see me again. Would you, uh, like to sit down?"

Brodie smiled too, he couldn't help it. Alex in a happy mood made you feel good about yourself. Patrick knew it was a large part of his dad's charm, part of what made him a good con-man.

"Wouldn't you prefer some time alone to chat with Patrick? I'm sure you have plenty of catching up to do and you don't want me being Mr. Butinski. I'll head over to the vending machines. Can I get you something?"

"Thanks, Mr. Brodie," Patrick smiled as Brodie took their orders and headed out. Patrick sat but Alex remained standing for a moment, grinning at his son, before he sat too.

"You sure are a sight for sore eyes, Paddy," Alex began in a much quieter voice. "This place, it's better than County but there's no-one here to really talk to. My cellie's okay, that guy called Thomson I told you about on the phone, small-time burglar, but he's dumb as a brick, not a great conversationalist. I'm trying to teach him pickpocketing but he really is clumsy as an ox."

They both snorted a brief laugh. It was the phrase Alex had used to criticise Patrick when he was teaching him to pickpocket, right up to the day Patrick had quietly and competently emptied all of Alex's pockets, twice, just to prove the first time wasn't a fluke. "I wanted to tell you off about pursuing excellence, for chrissakes, but now you're here I haven't the heart, Paddy, it's just too good seeing you, having a real person to talk to. I guess prison's turning me into a sap." Alex was still grinning.

"It's good to see you, too, dad. I had a bunch of questions–"

"Yeah, I know you do, but first things first. Good job on my commissary account, the money order came just when I needed it but like I wrote, I need more. I guess you sent sixty because of what I said over at County? Twenty-five a week would be better here in the state pen."

"I don't think we can afford that right through until–"

"Get the canvas cheaper, get the mics cheaper. That quote from Lewis in Sacramento? You can do better than that. Go to San Francisco marina, you'll find a better deal there if you shop around. Same with the microphones, you'll find them cheaper at one of the music stores over there. Find a slightly older model, one that's just been superseded, and haggle. Or find someone that's going out of business, there's just been a stock market crash, there'll be someone who needs to sell their stock off fast. You can find another two-fifty, three hundred bucks easy."

"It'll leave us with almost no safety net at the start of the season. If something breaks–"

"We'll cope, son. We're adaptable. Once we're earning–"

"We have to stay in California next season, Dad, because of your parole, and you always said California wasn't the place for, um, outside earnings. Billy Ruskin's carnival is going out of state for four weeks now, eighteenth July thru fifteenth August. You can't break your parole conditions, It'll be dead time unless we think of something–"

"I thought of something," Alex interrupted, grinning. "I'm still working out the details but we got the tent, we got the staging, all we need is different set-dressing and some new music which you can get for me, Paddy. We'll pull the sky grifter stunt. The twist is faith healing. It's real big on the TV they let us watch here. There's no overheads, no organizing committee to pay fifty percent of the gross, we'll have to do our own signage and hand bills but the tip's a shoo-in and they want to pay up when we hand a collection plate around. We run 'faith healing' twice a night, only stay two days in every stop. I even got a rough itinerary. Small towns but not too small, where the Sheriff or the Mayor's a God-fearing man so permits won't be a problem."

"Preaching and healing?" Patrick said uncertainly.

"No magic crystals," Alex grinned knowingly, "just laying hands on their heads and praying. People don't expect us to heal them, we say it's their faith that does the trick. Shit, Paddy, they charge ten bucks a time just to mention your name on the TV, not even to pray properly for ya like in a church, just for some grinning asshole to read out your goddamn name. There's no law against it, parole officers like it when you get religion and it's easy money. What's not to like? Not afraid of thunderbolts from the sky, are ya, son?"

"No, dad, no thunderbolts." Patrick gave a small smile. "We can call the tent a 'tabernacle', that's a word from the bible for a religious tent."

"That's my boy! You got a good idea there!"

Patrick pressed on. "I think we should keep it spiritual without doing it revival-style. We could take some holy words from gurus in India and Buddhism as well as the bible and, I dunno, karma? Whatever else is out there, anyway. I can do some research in the library, send you some notes. There's a lot of 'age of Aquarius' types around California these days that won't go near a Christian revival tent but who'd come to a spiritual show like that. If you call it a show not a church service you can charge admission as well as having a ding for donations, get some guaranteed income. How about direct sales, too? A tape of the show, the preaching anyway. Some branded trash for souvenirs, maybe even some magic crystals," Patrick added with a wry smile. "Gives us a second ding."

"Is this in pursuit of excellence, Paddy?" Alex sounds amused rather than annoyed.

"No need to be sloppy about it if a little research and preparation beforehand will make it tight," Patrick replied with a slight frown.

"You sayin' I'm sloppy, boy?" Patrick knew that voice, seemingly amicable but with an undertone of menace. Usually at this point Patrick would back down. Alex would be expecting him to. He had to frame this next bit carefully.

"Absolutely not, sir. You're the one who taught me there's nothing so useful as being prepared, even if it's just being prepared to run if you have to."

"Huh," Alex grunted. He did say that to the boy, to make sure he kept up with practice. Although now he thought about it, he hadn't said it in a while, the boy did practice, even before all this bullshit about excellence.

Patrick took this as a sign that Alex hadn't noticed he wasn't completely capitulating. He wanted to learn exactly how much control his dad was willing to concede. Not much, he guessed, but he wanted to know for sure. It would make a big difference to how he approached, well, everything in the future.

"At the end of last season you were talking about updating the 'Boy Wonder' act so we answer written questions from the audience. It's a natural evolution for the act now I'm getting older, you said so yourself. I know when you were arrested you said we wouldn't do that now – but why not? You were gonna look at our current act anyway while you're in here. The code is much the same even if the way we use it is more complicated for questions than objects. I can get up to speed once you get out. Saying the marks' names, knowing their questions, giving 'psychic' answers, that's a more impressive act than identifying things they pull out from their pockets and it ties in with a general spiritual experience. We would just have to add in preaching and so on for the four weeks when we're on our own."

"You think you can pick up a whole new angle on the code in a day or two?" Alex didn't quite sneer at his son. Patrick ignored his tone.

"I'm sure of it, dad. I can start learning the changes sooner if you can talk me through them during visits. They, uh, they'll return any letters that mention a code, the rules said." Alex remained silent. "I'm quicker than that guy Thomson that you mentioned on the phone," Patrick added.

"A fuckin' rock's quicker than Thomson." Alex paused again in thought. The boy was getting as bad as Lily at making him re-think himself. It was as he'd feared, Patrick seemed determined to change Alex's cozy little world. Patrick's ideas would probably involve more effort than Alex had put into anything in a long time. On the other hand, Alex needed to do something, he was already going stir-crazy in here and it was true, he had planned to make those sorts of changes to the act next year before he'd been arrested. "Okay. I can see the benefits. I'll start working on that kind of act."

"You should do the preaching, too. Adults will take that kind of thing better from another adult. You got a good line with the 'reformed sinner' story, just add something about 'many paths to god' or whatever and you're good to go."

Alex frowned, displeased. "You telling me how to run the act, now, Paddy? I don't want to be reminding people I did time," he growled. There's the other shoe, Patrick thought, smoothly changing his approach.

"You were on TV, dad, in all the papers in California because of what the governor said. People will remember your face, your name. You don't want that happening at an awkward moment. It's better to confess up-front. Tell them that it took sinking to this lowest point before you found the, uh, 'spiritual humility' that provided your 'gateway to the infinite' or something." Patrick pronounced the words with heavy irony. "Say that your motivation is helping people to attain the same spiritual heights without having to plumb the same depths. The admission charge covers our costs, donations are needed if we're to expand the good work." When Alex said nothing Patrick continued, "Saying it up-front is the obvious way to play this. It gets your retaliation in first. Anyone points the finger at you after that, they'll be the ones who look bad. C'mon, dad, you know 'repentant sinner' is a good story!"

Alex reluctantly agreed with his son but he wasn't happy about it.

"Yeah, I'm repentant all right, I'm never gonna try to swindle marks like that again. Too damn easy to get caught." Alex looked thoughtful again. "Yeah, it is a good story. I forgot we went into that much detail when we talked about changing the act for next season. You sure you're up to doing it? You won't have long to learn anything new."

"Why don't you be the judge of that, dad? We still have the old act. We can rehearse both when you get out and you can start us off small if you think I'm not up to it, maybe only introducing one or two questions to answer at the end of the old act."

"Huh." Alex thought that was another good idea.

"You said it yourself, short pants don't look so good on a kid who needs to shave." Patrick didn't like the look on his dad's face so he hurriedly continued. "We'd need to move the act on anyway, next season or the one after. I'm gonna start looking my age sooner or later, maybe you're right and I've started getting taller already since your arrest. My voice is gonna break and we don't have any control over when that happens. We want to be ahead of all that, not having to scramble to catch up." Alex couldn't stop a grimace appearing on his face for a fraction of a second when his son mentioned his voice. It had been his biggest fear last season, overnight being stuck with a kid who couldn't be a 'Boy Wonder' any more.

Paddy was waiting for Alex to speak now but he'd derailed Alex's train of thought.

"Go on, I'm listening," he managed.

"I'll be getting new costumes anyway for next season, why not be more grown-up looking to reflect the change in the act? 'Boy' doesn't have to mean 'little kid', dad, it can still apply to teenagers, even young adults If it's done right. It's the attitude, not the costumes, that'll stretch out the 'Boy Wonder' stage name until I'm twenty-one."

Alex nodded thoughtfully. He now knew that Paddy had been thinking about their future, too. Damn. "I get final say about what we do. There's some good ideas you got, Paddy, but they're not a working act."

"Of course, dad. You're the showman, after all."

Alex was thinking so Patrick let him, not interrupting as his dad worked on fitting Patrick's suggestions into his worldview. Finally Alex looked at Patrick.

"Okay, Paddy, your questions."

"That theatre gig we did in Saint Paul."

"Ha, yeah, thanks for reminding me, Paddy, that's a sweet memory to play with in the long dark nights. I'm not going to be seeing a real woman again until I get outta here."

"How did you deal with it? At the time, I mean. All those dancers it – it didn't faze you at the time."

"We were working, Paddy," Alex replied, looking at his son curiously. "You weren't fazed either." Alex grinned. It wasn't a euphemism he'd used before and it seemed quaint to him.

"No, sir, but…"

"You been, uh, fazed by girls since then?" Alex teased. Paddy wasn't usually this coy. "This foster girl who's in the same house, is she fazing your ass, maybe? That what got ya thinking about those dancing girls from Saint Paul?"

Patrick nodded. "I think I worked it out. It's because I'm not expecting her. I wasn't fazed by any of my girlfriends, well, not so much, and I think – I think that's because I'm expecting them to turn me on, I'm prepared for it to happen, that's why it never gets too bad. It isn't that Liss is pretty, she catches me unawares. I mean, she isn't ugly, I'm sure other boys think she's okay but I'm trying to think of her as a sister and you don't think of your relatives in that way."

"Can you do that, Paddy? Act like she's your sister? I thought it might help but you never had – I mean you're an only child."

"Yeah, it helps in most of the house, but if she comes into my room or I go into hers–"

"You go in her bedroom? Shit, Paddy, I thought you were smarter than that."

"I can't always avoid it! And she comes into my room, too, which is just as bad!"

"So whaddaya want me to do about it? You know why it happens, you know what to do about it, keep away from her!"

"I just wanted some advice, dad. For when keeping away isn't practical." Patrick said it quietly and there was something like disappointment in his eyes. Alex rubbed his hand down his face. Well, shit.

"Okay, Paddy." Alex took a deep breath. "You're thirteen. Next coupla years you gonna have whole days when you got a boner, not just a few minutes when you're with a girl. Jerking off helps, I know you know how to do that." Patrick's expression said that still wasn't helping. "Biggest sex organ's your brain, y'understand, son? Find something else to occupy it, next couple years'll go easier. That's why I wasn't, uh, fazed in that dressing room in Saint Paul. We were working, my mind was on the act, not the girls."

Patrick nodded. It was good to have his thoughts on the matter confirmed by his dad like that. Patrick needed to find other distractions that were as effective as an imminent performance on stage.

"What about when I am with a girl?" Knowing what to expect only got him so far.

"Don't screw virgins." Again Alex saw disappointment cross his son's face, and again he found himself wanting to change that expression.

"Dad! I'm not –"

"Like me, yeah, I get it." Alex took another moment. "At your age, you gonna meet a hell of a lot more virgins than any other time in your life. they'll all be underage. You'll find parents, fathers, they get protective of their little girls when boys start sniffing around, especially carny boys. You don't wanna bring angry fathers of underage girls or Sheriffs with arrest warrants back to the lot. The Ruskin name stands for a family show, they got a reputation to uphold, they ain't gonna thank you for jeopardizing their good name like that." Alex nodded absently, gathering his thoughts. "But y'see, thing is, it's different for girls, their first time, it's different to yours. For one thing their first time hurts, even if you do it right – and you don't have the experience to do it right, won't have for a long time yet. Only the worst kind of bastard would want to be the first for a girl he didn't love."

Patrick was astonished. It sounded as though his dad was trying to explain a kind of morality.

"I like girls!" It sounded weak but it was the only reply Patrick could find. "I really liked all my girlfriends!"

"Not the same thing. I like women too, enough not to lie to them, but it's not the same."

Patrick snorted. "You lie to women all the time, dad." Alex unerringly sought out women who were vulnerable to his kind of charm. They were always one night stands, except during winter when Alex had what Patrick thought of as his dad's little harem, women from Carson Springs and the surrounding area that he might see two or three times over the course of a winter season.

Alex shook his head seriously. "I'll spin a convincing tale if she's the mark, Paddy," he began, "but I treat women good compared to a lot of guys out there. I never lie to women just to get 'em into bed. They know I'm not gonna stick around." Alex grinned. "If she's still interested, well, I'll make sure she has a good time. There's a lot of guys out there who'll tell a bunch of lies to get a woman into bed, or cheat on 'em, string 'em along, pretend they're not married or say they're gonna leave their wives. There's a whole load more, even if they don't lie they still don't know how to make a woman feel good, or don't care how she feels as long as they get theirs."

Patrick didn't know what to say. He was beyond astonished now, he'd never imagined his dad had any scruples whatever, certainly not as far as women were concerned.

"What do you say? If you don't lie to them, what do you say?" Patrick was in unknown territory here and was wildly curious.

"I listen, son." Alex was serious but not solemn. "So many guys, when they meet a woman, they don't listen to her. I'm good at listening, you know how much listening is involved in our line of work. Women like that. No boasting, no lame jokes, no judgement, no telling her how to fix her broken life, just a friendly ear taking an interest. A lot of women out there, son, they never had a man really listen to them or take them seriously their whole lives."

Listening. It was one of the things to which Casanova had attributed his success with women in his book. Patrick had assumed it was what had worked hundreds of years ago in Europe yet here was his dad suggesting the very same thing worked for modern-day women in modern-day America.

"Where did you learn that?"

"Well the act is a big clue, most of our audiences and clients are women, you have to pay attention in order to read 'em right. Then one time when I was a teenager I strained my voice, had to leave off talking for a while. That summer was a real learning experience in lots of ways." Alex grinned.

"Have you ever been in love, dad?" Patrick suddenly asked. An expression settled just for a moment on his dad's face, one he'd never, never seen there before, then it was gone. Patrick knew the answer in that moment but wanted to hear it, wanted his old man to admit it even if this was the only time in his life he ever would.

"Of course I have. Don't ask such dumb-ass questions, boy," Alex practically growled. This was more like the dad that Patrick knew.

"Never thought you were such an old romantic, that's all, dad," Patrick grinned.

"Less of the 'old', kiddo." There was silence between them for a moment before Alex suddenly asked, "What's this I heard about you having a run-in with Barton?"

Patrick had to think for a moment. "Barton? Yeah, I forgot, it seems like a long time ago now. I took a girlfriend to test night before Katy Barsocky's wedding and Barton scared her. I, uh, had a few words with him. We're cool now," Patrick added. At least, he hoped they were. No-one had mentioned that Barton was out to get him.

"What did you say to him? The way I heard it he ran off licking his wounds."

"No, sir, we shook hands then he left of his own accord."

"What did you say, Paddy?"

"I just wanted him to stop scaring Ashley, dad. She's only twelve, I was her first boyfriend, Barton was being a dick and he was scaring her."

"What did you say to Barton?" Alex was insisting now.

"I just found something that scared him, too, at least enough to make him back off. Do you really want me to spell it out?" Patrick added in a whisper, glancing at the guard as he said this.

"You threatened Barton? Are you out of your mind? I'm gonna be coming out of prison into the middle of a feud?"

"No! Jeez, dad, I'm not an amateur. I reminded him he's not indispensable, that's all. Pointed out that hitting on Ashley or hitting me in front of all those people would be the best way to prove he wasn't. I did it quiet, I didn't humiliate the guy in public. We shook hands after. I'm not his best buddy but there's no feud."

"You sure, Paddy? Absolutely certain?"

Patrick wasn't. "Yeah, dad, no feud. I'd have heard something if there was." Probably.

There was another silence as Alex scrutinized his son. Patrick found he wasn't as crushed as usual by his dad's criticism. That was something to take away and think about.

"Anything else important you not told me, boy?"

"No, nothing. I told you about the prank. Wanna hear the details?"

Alex considered for a moment then, "Okay."

Patrick grinned. It had sounded offhand. That meant his dad was itching to hear all about it.

"First let me tell you a bit about this kid called Rico..." As his son launched into the story Alex relaxed. After a while he found himself grinning too. Paddy was growing up. Change was coming, like it or not. Alex could either ride that wave or be dragged under by it and it wasn't in his nature to let anything drag him under.