Chapter 1

Only the University would send an actual paper letter anymore. When James had received it, he was pretty sure it was bad news. Opening it confirmed that.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! He just couldn't drag his eyes away from that line: "In light of your unacceptable academic performance over the last two semesters, we ask that you withdraw from the University."

They ask? And he quickly looked at the second page - a blank form which began, "I, _______, hereby resign from the undergraduate program at the University of..."

James sat down, still looking at the papers in a state of disbelief. He'd actually flunked out of college. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. So much for a degree in Physics!

Thank God, James thought, that his mother wasn't around to see this.

The fact was, nobody was around to see this. James was alone in the world. His parents had been killed in a car accident when he was 17. They had both been only-children, as was James. He had no parents, no siblings, no aunts, uncles, or cousins. His grandparents were dead. He didn't even have a girlfriend. Heck, he barely even had a friend!

Actually, there was a bit of a story there - he'd had a friend and a girlfriend. Yeah - his roommate, Tony, was his best and only friend. And he'd had a girlfriend, Sally. Until, that is, the day that Sally got word that her cat had died. What the hell was that cat's name, 'Smurf'? Fuck.

James and Tony had been drinking Rum and Sprites when Sally had come in, clearly upset. She told the boys that her cat had died. Sitting between them on James's bed, she'd started sobbing. James, who had never had a pet, tried to console her. He held her in his arms as she cried. But her sobbing increased, and Sally - not sure she wanted to be comforted - had squirmed in his arms until her back was to James. Somehow they ended up lying down on the bed - James, with his back to the wall, spooning against Sally, who sobbed in his arms. Tony sat beside Sally, and reached out and brushed the hair from her face. Tony was a cat person, and began to ask all the right questions from Sally about her cat, and soon Sally was laughing through her tears as she told Tony stories about 'Smurf', or whatever the hell her cat's name had been.

James had lain there helplessly as Tony reached down and gave Sally a hug, and she'd pulled him down so that they were three on the bed, lying like sardines on the narrow dormitory mattress. Only it was James who was behind Sally, and Tony who faced her and who hugged her. And as the day's light faded into darkness, it was Tony who was kissing Sally, and who's cock, crammed in his jeans, was pressed against Sally's mound. James was there, spooned against Sally's back, when Sally and Tony realized that they were deeply and seriously in love.

And, of course, that left James alone. Again. Still.

The day after flunking out, James was vacuuming the carpet in his room. The carpet was clean. That's what his life was like, thought James; vacuuming a clean carpet. A lot of back and forth and back and forth, leaving insignificant tracks in the shag, and accomplishing nothing.

He'd ended up calling Tony and Sally the previous night. He had to listen to their glowing voices detailing wedding plans for ten minutes before one of them finally asked what was up, and James told them about having flunked out.

"Oh, shit, man, I'm sorry," Tony had said, sounding truly sorry. "What are you going to do now?"

James didn't know. He hadn't known then, and he didn't known any more by the next afternoon, which was why he was vacuuming a clean carpet. And that was how he almost didn't hear the phone ring, and how, once he did hear it, he almost pretended he hadn't. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk to anyone. Mostly, he just wasn't sure of anything.

But the phone kept ringing, and James finally shut off the vacuum and picked up the phone.

"Hello?" he said sullenly into the receiver.

"Hello James, it's Mr. Blackstreet. How are you doing?"

Mr. Blackstreet had been his parent's lawyer. It had been Mr. Blackstreet who had helped James deal with the financial and legal side of his parent's deaths. James had, of course, been the sole heir of the "estate", such as it was. Mr. Blackstreet had analyzed things and determined that there wasn't much cash, and that the only major asset was their home. So Mr. Blackstreet had James sell the house, find a small rental place to live in, and invest the rest of the proceeds. It was from that stash that James's college expenses had been coming. Now that fund was going to have to keep him solvent until... until what, James wasn't sure.

"How are you doing, James?" Mr. Blackstreet asked again, when James didn't answer the first time.

"Um, not so good," said James, morosely. "I, um, flunked out of college. They sent me notification yesterday."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

Finally, James heard the verdict from Mr. Blackstreet.

"That's a very unfortunate circumstance, young man. Very unfortunate indeed. Very... Disappointing."

"Yes, sir," James answered, lamely.

"Well, while you are trying to figure out what to do next, I've got some news for you, James. Sad news."

James noted that Mr. Blackstreet didn't sound sad.

"Your mother's uncle, Prescott Humes, his son Wescott, and Wescott's family were all killed in an airplane accident yesterday in Colorado. I'm so sorry."

Sorry? Why? James had never even met his great uncle nor his - what would Wescott have been - his first cousin once removed, nor his second cousin. Heck, James hadn't even known he'd had a second cousin. All he knew about Prescott Humes was that he'd been James's closest blood relative once his parents had died, and that Prescott Humes had shown no interest in helping James once he became an orphan.

"Oh." That was all James could think of to say.

"I got a call from Mr. Humes's lawyer in Poughkeepsie, and he wants you out there for the reading of the will on Tuesday. I've got a plane reservation for you for the morning - I'll email you all the details. The lawyer didn't say why he wanted you there, but I assume there might be something left for you in the will.

"Okay," said James. At least it gave him something to do in the morning.

After hanging up, James thought about what he'd do with an inheritance. At least it might keep him in beer until he figured out where his life was going.

The reading of the will was held in the offices of Mr. Humes's lawyer, Mr. Guemes, who seemed incapable of smiling, or even of looking pleasant. There were plenty of other people in the room, and several things soon became clear to James. The first was that his great uncle had been a very, very, very wealthy and powerful man. Second, that most of the people in the room were business associates of Mr. Prescott Humes, and that they were very concerned about the businesses involved. For two hours, Mr. Guemes read out details of how various business holdings were to be distributed. There was much shouting and consternation and jubilation amongst the various factions represented in the room. James understood little of what was going on, except that the bald man sitting next to him seemed not to have gotten what he'd wanted. The old man's eyes were bulging out of his face, and his hands gripped the arms of the chair so hard they'd turned white and shook. As Mr. Guemes read the disposition of the last of the business properties, the bald man's face paled to an ashy gray, and he noiseless slid from his seat to the ground.

"God Damn", said the man on the other side of James, upon noticing the prone figure. "Prescott managed to kill off Bullnose in the end!"

James sat in shock, staring at the form at his feet. Mr. "Bullnose" did indeed appear to be dead. There was a bit of a commotion, as paramedics were summoned. But as the business holdings had been dispensed with, most of the people in the room took the opportunity to take their gnashing of teeth, their wringing of hands, their shouting, and their gloating out of the room and out of James's sight.

So after the paramedics had dealt with "Bullnose", and had wheeled him out of the room, James and Mr. Guemes were the only people left.

"And you are James Murphy?" asked Mr. Guemes.

"Yes sir," said James.

"Well, young man. Let me share with you the rest of the final Will and Testament of Mr. Prescott Humes."

And with that, Mr. Guemes began to read from said will, and James quickly became lost in the details. None of it seemed to have to do with him. At issue, it appeared, was the disposition of the liquid portion of the Humes estate, that much James figured out. Most of the money had been supposed to go to Wescott Humes and to other people that James didn't know. Maybe to his second cousins. The will was very long, and James got bored listening to Mr. Guemes read legalese.

In fact, James was staring out the window and wishing he was outside, when the sound of Mr. Guemes clearing his throat several times brought him back to the present.

"But if, in the unlikely circumstance that I should outlive all those previously mentioned, or if we shall perish simultaneously such that it is not clear that I did not outlive them, then I leave the remainder of my estate as follows. Four fifths of my estate shall go to the Hard Rock Mining Executive's museum in Kettle Rock, Colorado, one tenth shall go to Sister Evelyn's Home for Disgraced Girls in Nyack, New York, and one tenth shall go to my niece, May Murphy - nee Humes, of Vendalia. Illinois, or to her heirs if she should predecease me."

"So there you have it, Mr. James Murphy. You have inherited one tenth of the remainder of Mr. Prescott Humes's estate.

"Oh," said James, stupidly. "How much will that be?"

"Oh, there's still a lot of figuring to be done, Mr. Murphy. A lot of assets will need to be liquidated, a lot of taxes will need to be paid, a lot of lawyers will need to be remunerated,..." and here, Mr. Guemes finally smiled. "But, I expect you'll get somewhere between thirty five and forty."

James's heart sank. "35 or 40 dollars?" he asked, sounding somewhat forlorn. More money had been spent on his motel room for the night, let alone his air fare.

At that, Mr. Guemes broke into what could almost be described as a chuckle. "Thirty five or forty MILLION dollars, Mr. Murphy. Your great uncle was a very rich man. Unfortunately, as with many rich men, he liked to fly around in his private plane. In my opinion, private aircraft are God's way of telling you that you have too much money. Stay away from them, Mr. Murphy, that's my advice."

James was in his apartment, talking on the phone with Tony and Sally again. He'd sort of mentioned that he'd inherited a lot of money from his great uncle, though he hadn't specified how much. He had sort of hinted that it was in the seven figures, not quite willing to admit to eight figures. Tony and Sally, of course, treated the news like they treated all good news from James.

"That's really great, James. I'm happy for you," said Tony, in the same tone he would have used if James had told him he got a B+ in Art. "But we have some even better news - we're pregnant! Of course this means we'll be moving the wedding forward a few weeks, but isn't it exciting?!? We're hoping you're free on Saturday, July 10th - we can't get married without our Best Man, now can we?"

It was then that James decided to fly somewhere very, very, very far away on July 11th.

James packed his bags and got to the airport by 9:00 a.m., and he still had a touch of a hangover from the night before. Sally's wedding dress had been more than enough to make James drink, with its oval cutout to let her pregnant belly show through. He wasn't sure if the blue sash running across the gap (they'd done ultrasound and knew it was a boy) made the effect worse or worser. Nothing could have made it better.

To make matters even more difficult, he'd had to dance with Sally (the bride always dances with the Best Man), and he'd had to endure a touching thank you from her for introducing her to Tony, complete with an overly-intimate kiss.

To top it off, there wasn't even any alcohol at the wedding, in light of Sally's 'delicate position'. The 'champagne toast' was done with some sparkling peach crap.

Fortunately for James, he bumped into a cousin of Sally's who had nursed a crush on her for years. Jonathan had brought a flask of Bacardi 151 which he was willing to share with a man similarly afflicted. It was a big flask and there were only the two of them drinking, so in morning-after second though, perhaps it hadn't been fortunate.

James had his passport, and his two, new, high-limit credit cards with him. His bag had just a few clothes and a bathing suit. He'd buy anything else he needed. He was going, and he wasn't looking back.

He scanned down the International Departures board. The flight to Athens didn't leave until noon. Next on the list was Bangkok, with a flight leaving at 10:32A. Cairo was 3:45P. Bangkok it was. He headed over to the ticket counter and managed to score a first-class seat. Fourteen grueling hours later, during which he managed to drink a lot and sleep a little, he emerged from the airport into a scene of blazing sunshine and alien faces.

The truth was, prior to leafing through the in-flight magazine, James hadn't been exactly sure where Bangkok was. He knew it was somewhere in Asia, but so were Katmandu and Shanghai. He really didn't know anything about it, and he didn't care. He was as far away from Tony and Sally as he could get.

Seeing a queue of taxis in front of the airport, he stepped up to them, and was hustled into the first one by a very officious Director of Taxis. Or whatever title such a person holds. The driver turned to him as if to ask "Where to?", and it only then occurred to James that there might be a language barrier.

Trusting to luck, James said, somewhat boldly, "Take me to a nice hotel. The best." If you've got millions of dollars, why not?

"Which hotel? You have reservations?"

"No, I don't have reservations - just take me to the best hotel."

"Tut tut tut, No reservation might be very bad. Hotels all full. But we try, yes?"

Whatever. James just hoped that the room would have air conditioning and a bed. Moments later, however, James just hoped he'd survive to the next traffic light. Bangkok taxi drivers are notorious the world over, but James was ignorant and unprepared. Zero to sixty and back to zero in a half-block. Lanes created as if to be cut across at high speeds. Curves hit so fast that there was nothing for James to do but hold on until his knuckles were as white and trembling as Mr. Bullnose's had been shortly before his demise. All the while, the taxi driver was on his cell phone calling hotel after hotel and talking rapidly in a language James couldn't even find the words in.

Taking a break from his phone, the cabbie called back to James.

"You here for the International Trade Association Special Technical Session meeting? That's why all the rooms are full. Lots of people from all over the world are here for that. City is super busy. You lucky you got a taxi. Now I try to find you lucky room."

James wished the limo driver wouldn't watch him in the rearview mirror when he talked. James wished he'd watch where he was going.