the smuggler’s bible

Parthenope

Either choice is liable to be fatal, so Parthenope flips a coin. It spirals nicely, glinting under the flourescent lights, and hits the table flat—dead on, no bounce or twist. Tails.

“That’s crazy. I’ve never seen that before,” her case officer says.

“Yeah. Wild.” Parthenope rubs her chin and squints her eyes. “What do you think it means?”

“What? You’re supposed to call it before you flip.”

“I agree. Inconclusive.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“But if we can’t trust the testing data, well, it sours the whole apparatus.”

“So you mean you—”

“That’s correct. I won’t be picking.”