"So have you decided how you are going to handle your big case?"

"I might have thought of something more appropriate to say after this"

"Don't be so insecure, Hart. Did I complain?" She rolled languidly away, pulling the sheet with her.

"No . . . you didn't . . . but a parade might have been nice." The pillow missed but I still fell off the small bed trying to duck. "Okay, no more love talk." I got up and got my clothes back on, kneeled on the bed and kissed her bare shoulder. "I'm hungry now so would you like anything from the deli?"

"Mmm, one of those turkey wraps and a coffee. Your machine looks like it was used to mix paint."

"It's been in storage. Needs a woman's touch."

"I'll give it that while you're gone."

"No, that's okay. I'll only be a minute." Stairs three at a time is not a really good idea when there is a door at the bottom.

Verna had dressed and done some face decorating and smiled at the turkey wrap. I checked my coffee pot and breathed a sigh of relief - it was safe.

"These are so good; Harry should put them on his menu."

"Why don't you tell him?"

"Harry's menu is stamped in steel, never to be altered."

"Hmm, I love his Thai Shrimp though."

"You never answered my question about your case."

"Okay. I'm going to check back with James Cord to see if he really can still get the insurance to pay out, then I'll-"

"I don't get that. Why would an insurance company pay a crook to buy back what he stole?"

"It's an old scam. Somebody steals a valuable item, in this case the necklace, then holds it for ransom to the insurance company for an amount less than the value of the insurance. If the company refuses to pay, the crook threatens to break the piece up and sell it and the company would have to pay off the full amount to the insured owner."

"But why not sell it for what it's worth?"

"Way too risky and you'd never get full value anyway. This is a safer and usually a successful route. The difference here is the payout is being kept secret from the owner by his own family and lawyer. Makes the game a lot more dangerous. Not only that, this mob of misfits don't have the necklace anymore."

Verna wiped all her fresh lipstick off as she finished the last of the turkey wrap.

"Yum, delish. So that's where you come in now? Getting it back?"

"Yup. If Cord can get the insurance and they get the necklace back themselves then I'll let them pretend it was misplaced and thank Bennett for the work. If they don't get the money then I'll have a chat with Luther and if that doesn't work I'll just make a full report to my client as I am obliged to do."

"That family will be ruined."

"Like I said if they can work it out I won't say boo . . . otherwise . . ."

"What about all the drugs?"

"Not my call."

Verna held up a finger and went into my office, returning with a slip of paper.

"There was a message for you when you went to the deli. I just remembered."

"What! I've seen you take dinner orders for a group without writing anything down! You forgot a phone message in ten minutes?"

"I'm not at work, Hart. I turn all that off."

"Jesus!" I read the note, it was from James Cord. "Huh, might be good news." I dialled his number and waited. The news not good, not good at all. I hung up, sat down and swore.

"Was it important? Did I spoil something for you, Hart?"

"Nope nothing to do with you, Verna. Rodney Semple was just arrested for shooting Luther Sloan."

********

"Yes, I heard the news, Mr. Smythe-Frye" . . . . . . . . . "I'll have my report to you by tomo-" . . . . . . . . . . "Your office. One hour. Yes, sir I can be ther-"

Bennett wasn't known to me for his patience or telephone manners. The hell with my report? I sat for a minute and went over everything I knew, trying to frame it in a professional yet compassionate way. I didn't want to blow up a family, although Rodney had set that ball rolling.

Smythe-Frye and Associates occupied an early nineteen hundreds bank building that while retaining the original facade, was completely gutted and renovated in what looked like Swedish modern. Teak was the material of the day.

Bennett's office was naturally the top floor corner and again, teak, teak, teak. Even his secretary matched the decor.

"Mr. Smythe-Frye," she pronounced it Smath-Frey, "will see you in a moment, if you would take a seat."

"Will he still see me if I don't?" I grinned. She didn't.

The teak office door opened and Bennett summoned me with a military snap of his wrist and went back inside without waiting. Not just the phone manners that need work.

"Just what did you say to my daughter's fiancé?"

Not just a boyfriend then. "Sir?"

"Never mind playing dumb, Mr. Hart. You said something that drove Rodney-"

"Hold it right there, Bennett." His eyes popped at the informality and I was able to continue before he recovered. I hadn't planned on all the truth but I wasn't taking any heat for Rodney's actions and the truth was the only option.

Bennett wore a thousand yard stare and his face had drained to extreme contrast with the decor. It took several moments before he focused on me.

"Why didn't my daughter just come to me?"

"Guilt. Shame . . . fear."

"But- fear? Why fear?"

"Look, Mr. Smythe-Frye, you came to me because you suspected something and didn't want any outside publicity. You were suspicious of your wife from the get go, maybe not the drugs but certainly infidelity. That wasn't the action of a compassionate, willing to help, husband. And turns out you were right but you still had the option of confronting it reasonably-"

"Reasonably!" Bennett seemed to have recovered fully. "My own attorney with my wife!"

"These things hap-"

"Not to me, Mr. Hart. Not to me!"

Driving back to my office I tried to replay the last few minutes before leaving Bennett. Instead of a handshake or the potential bonus I was promised, I was still on the case to get the necklace and corroborate with documents, film, recordings or any other means, the liaison between James and Deborah. An additional retainer prevented my brain from making any sensible decisions.

********

Miss Perky didn't remember me right away and had started the membership sales pitch before I asked about Luther. Night and day. Face closed, lips disappeared and eyes squinted.

"Everything we at FlexLife had to say was said to the police."

"Everything? What about Luther's source for the nutrition he was prescribing?"

"I don't know what you're-"

"Drugs, Miss Perky."

"Huh- who? My name is Jud- I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Please, not on my account. Maybe I could speak with Mr. FlexLife."

"Arth- he is unavailable, now will you please get out of our offices."

"Listen, Jud, tell Arth that unless I get a face to face in- let's see," I looked at my watch, "the next thirty seconds, FlexLife will be all over the news tonight."

It was a few seconds longer but what the hell. Arthur Wheedle, as it turned out, was not the poster boy for the business; short, paunchy and an envious amount of thick brown hair that matched the growth over his lip. He sat behind a cluttered desk, twisting a ballpoint in his fingers.

"Not a fan of threats, Mr. . . ." he looked at my card and snickered.

"Then save me the trouble and tell me about Luther's source."

"What source?" Belligerent.

"Fine, see you in the news." I turned to the door.

"Wait! Wait a minute- just hold on. What's it to you?"

"Bye, Arthur."

"Wait! God damnit!"

"I'm waiting."

"Luther ran his side business with certain well heeled clients."

"His side business."

********

Miss Jud's expression hadn't changed and I wondered if I had caused permanent damage. Arthur had admitted to letting Luther run his side business for a cut and a blind eye. All he knew was that on a couple of occasions Luther had taken a call from a Desmond, first or last name unknown.

I promised to keep him out of the news just now but until I was satisfied with his story he would be a good boy and not pick up where Luther left off.

Sweet Pappy Sabathia haunted a back booth in Racks, a notorious pool hall hangout. His price was high. And his information was solid. His business was information, different information than Sammy's. Getting to see him, however, was akin to a doctor's physical; more than a couple of times attempts had been made on Pappy's life and he had taken extreme precautions.

Tucking in my shirt and putting my jacket back on, I was ushered into Pappy's presence.

"Richard Hart." A deep soft voice."You've been here before."

"Couple of times actually."

He opened a little notebook and ran a thick finger down the page, stopping with grunt.

'You owe me money."

"I do and I am here to pay my debt. Uhm . . . what was it again, three?"

"With penalty, twelve hundred."

"Twel-" The shuffle of feet behind me cut off any protest for my three hundred dollar debt. "Right. Twelve hundred. I handed it over along with another three and asked about a dealer named Desmond who worked with Luther Sloan out of FlexLife."

Pappy just looked at the money. "Why you want to know?"

With as little detail as possible I told Pappy that Rodney's name came up in a case I was working and when he made the news I wanted to follow it up, be thorough. I explained that I found out Luther was dealing out of the fitness club and thought taking it further might explain Rodney's connection to my other case.

"What's the other case?"

I smiled. "Well, Pappy that'll cost you about three hundred." Feet shuffled again but stopped when pappy's hand came up and his face opened with a smile of his own.

"Touché, Hart." He gathered up the money and told me about a Carlos Desmond, small potato dealer/supplier with very tenuous connections to The Druids, a familiar name in the biker community. "Not the nicest people to mess with." He added.

I thanked Pappy, told him I wouldn't get messy, retrieved my watch, belt and shoes and left the ambience that was Racks.