Chapter 7

You think?

“I’m starting to have second thoughts,” I said, “especially now we’re so close to—”

“What’s to worry? You’re not really dead. I know it. You know it. The obit’s a phony. The next day or so, you call the TV stations and some studio execs. Hey, guys, I’m alive.”

“Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” I chimed in.

“That’s the ticket. Who needs Twain when I have you, honey.” Jake sipped on his drink and then lit a cigarette. “Where the hell was I?”

“You had me calling the TV stations, some big wigs at Universal or some such.”

“You tell them you’ve been out of town. The news of your demise—”

“We’ve been over that,” I said, growing impatient.

“Right.”

“What if the plan backfires? What if they find out, discover this…scheme of yours for what it is?”

“You didn’t seem to have any doubts when I brought up the plan. You bought right into it.”

“Yes, I did. But I’ve been thinking.”