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fast-talking con-artists

Jumping Jack: Screwed Again, part 1

I had just knocked my last smoke off topside, right into the drink, when I saw the ship closing in. Even from a distance, I could see she was a honey. A fifty-footer, twenty across the beam. Twin engines for certain—I bet a thousand horse each. She had her foils out, that sleek hull teasing the waves with the barest kiss. She must have cost a fortune. Not that Jorgi would have paid it. He probably just plugged the owner and left him for shark bait. All so he could send that sweet heartbreaker after me. I guess I should have been flattered.