He knew it, of course; knew it as well as anyone else in La-La Land (atleast, anyone who’d been on Shangri-La Station longer than a week). Notonly did he know it, he was proud of it, the way other men were proud oftheir batting averages, their cholesterol counts, their stock portfolios.
Skeeter was very careful to rub shoulders with men of the latter type, whonot only boasted of large ‘folios, but carried enormous amounts of cash inmoney belts declared through ATF at Primary (so they wouldn’t be chargedtaxes for any money they’d brought with them). Skeeter rarely failed to gethold of at least some of that money, if not the whole money belt. Ah, thecrisp, cool feel of cash in hand …
But he wasn’t just a thief. Oh, no. Skeeter was a master con artist as well,and those skills (ruthless cunning, serpentine guile, the ability to radiateinnocent enthusiasm) were among the best.
So-in honor of Yesukai the Valiant and for the very practical reason ofsurvival-he worked hard at being the very best scoundrel he could makehimself. Once he’d arrived (freshly scrubbed to get the New York filth offhis hide and out of his soul), it hadn’t taken Skeeter long to create a lifeuniquely his own on a time terminal unique among time terminals.
