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KINGPIN

They came and went all day, picking up more envelopes, dropping off department store shopping bags, sometimes lingering for a time before departing again. The party atmosphere hung in the air, but there was a nervous, excited edge to it now that made Tea curious—but not so curious as to pry.

When the sun had set and the gang had gathered back at the suite, Tea said her good-byes; she had to go home to the East Bay, to be at work at the ice-cream parlor in the morning.

Chris had a better idea. He was starting a website with a business partner—“Sam”—and they happened to be in need of a full-time Russian translator. It would pay better than spooning out Coffee Cookie Dream to yuppies all day.

“Don’t go,” said Liz. “You’ll make more money with us.”

Tea looked over her pretty new friends. They reminded her of the New Russians who had emerged following the collapse of the Soviet regime, flush with suspiciously acquired wealth, consuming with more hunger than taste.

She liked Chris, though—he seemed different. And an Internet translating job would grant her the freedom and flexibility to focus on her college studies. She said yes.

The next day, Chris packed up his team for the next leg in their travels, a road trip to Vegas. Tea, he said, should meet them there for more fun. He told her to get a Yahoo! e-mail account, and he’d send her flight information once they’d arrived.

Back in her apartment, the whole adventure felt like a strange dream. But the next day, Tea had a confirmation number for her prepaid flight to Las Vegas in her Yahoo! in-box. She packed a bag and headed to the airport.

Chris relocated Tea to his own neighborhood and paid for her to rent an apartment in her real name in Dana Point, a coastal town in southern Or-