"Zee cards," said Emma, without batting an eye, "predict doom."
The dupe across the table stared at her, fish-mouthed and sag-cheeked. "Are...are you sure?"
She arched an eyebrow. "You doubt?" She waved a hand across the nine battered playing cards spread on the table between them. Seven of them were turned to show their faces. "Zere eet ees. You got no luck in zees world."
The man's hand moved involuntarily toward the flask that was bulging out his jacket pocket. He caught himself and dropped both hands to his lap.
"You know zees," said Emma--currently known as Madame Moldovi, the gypsy seer of visions and teller of fortunes. "You got no luck in love, in business, in friendship, in family. Yah?"
"How--how did you know?"
She smiled. She wanted to say, Your BO, the stained dragon shirt, the fact that you're 300 pounds and your pasty face all scream loser. Instead she batted her eyes. "Zee cardzzzz, zey are nevair wrong."
"But . . . What if I--"
"Our time eez up. Others are waiting." She watched as he waddled out.
Low-cut blouse, long hair, fake accent . . . huge wad of twenties bulging in her skirt. Yep, Dave had been right. The geeks at a science fiction convention will pay anything for twenty minutes alone with a sexy woman.
Opening: Detritus.....Continuation: Khazar-khum