63.
“So who is this evil Wizard behind the curtain who’s been trying to kidnap you?” Mink asked.
“You’re not going to believe me,” I said.
“As long as it’s not Timothée Chalamet I’ll believe you.”
I told Mink his name.
Her eyes widened to the size of grapefruits. She swore a few times, loud enough for a family of four from a nearby table to give her annoyed looks. But Mink was too stunned to notice them. “That’s the guy we’re going after? He was on the cover of Time magazine. They interviewed him on 60 Minutes. He sends rockets into space. He has more money than most countries. He owns…everything! Probably even this mall.”
“I didn’t pick him. He picked me.”
She took a deep breath. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just, I don’t know. I don’t know.”
I studied her face. “What’s weird is that you don’t seem all that surprised that a guy like that, with his image, would be involved in something like this. Kidnapping. Murder. You’re scared, terrified even. But not surprised.”
She thought about that. “Well, he’s a gazillionaire. I guess it’s inevitable that someone that rich and famous would think he’s above the law. They all do eventually, don’t they?”
I was going to say something about her being so cynical, but when I thought about it, she was probably right. It seemed to me that pretty much everyone in history who accumulated great wealth and power decided that the rules that everyone else lived by didn’t apply to them. They exploited others by stealing their land or enslaving them or even murdering them, and somehow excused their actions in the name of progress or patriotism. After they had all the money and power they wanted, they often made a big show of being charitable by donating schools and museums named after themselves so the people they robbed would forget what happened. Sad thing: it always worked. Always.
“You know what bothers me?” I said.
“How Selena Gomez manages to keep her hair so luxurious?”