Cynthia stood in front of the tall window, staring into the street below. Her eyes narrowed as she thought about the number of people scheming for her grandfather's trust and the tangle created by all their manoeuvres. She wasn't getting a lot of mileage out of Christopher Wallace... perhaps she should have done it herself.

If she hadn't deliberately antagonized Ellington, his self-righteous, indignant attitude, adding another year to the waiting, wouldn't have materialized. It was that action that set her off. Handling one year in a bad relationship, showed she could play his game and take his money. Her concern now, was keeping her grandfather from finding out about her stupid husband's flagrant behaviour.

Cynthia paraded casually in front of the mirror, taking inventory. She was very pleased. Pleased with what she saw, pleased so far with her overall handling of the situation and pleased that, while she was open to the same dangers, the loyalties of all the players involved had a price.

The image of her father crossed her mind and Cynthia paused, wondering about that coincidence. Was it possible her father had orchestrated the relationship between Karen and her husband to sabotage the trust rules? Jarmon and a committed career woman just didn't ring true. But then again she had enough information to know that there was an affair.

The more she thought about it the more she felt in her heart it had been set up by her father. All she had to do was stall for another week. She patted her tummy with satisfaction, and strode into the shower room.

●○●○●○●○●

Wishing now that I'd brought my car, since after checking, my mechanic gave me another verbal guarantee of performance. I hailed a passing cab and directed it to the Devers' residence. It was a good bet old Reg knew where his pal hung out. I passed the ride entertaining visions of Cynthia Wyatt in various poses and had to quit because of the comfort level and guilt. Her advice about the hat might have won out, but didn't, since I kept touching my hair, missing the comfort and the confidence it provided.

I should have just looked up Karen, given her the message and called it a day, but I was so frustrated at not even meeting Jarmon Wyatt, I couldn't quit. The cab turned into the drive and the driver punched in his charge, grimacing when I lied about no change. The garden had been landscaped anew since my last visit and looked very nice indeed.

Confidently, I rang the bell and reset my stance. Julie Devers answered the door wearing a loose cardigan over a pair of unattractive shorts. Her face was puffy and red, her hair looked dull, her feet were bare and her arm was in a sling.

"What do you want?" Was the welcoming greeting.

"Well, first of all," I said in my most charming manner, removing my hat, "may I offer my sympathy for your unfortunate situation." She stared at me suspiciously. I wondered if the damage had continued the other day after I left. "I was hoping to be able to speak to your husband."

"He's at work." She softened slightly, touching her hair with an instinctive gesture.

"Uhmm, actually, he's not. I called his office. Look, Mrs. Devers, may I come in and speak to you?"

She pursed her lips and thought a minute. "Just who are you anyway, I'm not feeling all that well?"

"My name is Christopher Wallace. I'm trying to do a favour for a friend that frankly is becoming a bit of a pain. It's taking more of my time than I had planned. I promise I won't take up much of yours."

"What kind of favour? What's it got to do with my husband?" She moved a bit behind the door, ready to slam it shut.

I showed her a calming gesture and stepped back a pace. "I'm still trying to find Jarmon Wyatt and I happen to know that your husband knows him. I just thought he might be able to help... or maybe you could." I played the shrug of innocence card, pairing it with what I hoped was a helpless expression. Marlowe probably would have slapped the broad around, but since she was already in some distress, I opted for the Wallace approach.

She did a long, resigned blink and waved me in with a tilt of her head. Yes!

"Why does your friend want to find Jarmon?" She asked, after we had settled on the longest sofa I had ever seen. It would take at least three downs just to get next to her.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Devers, that's not something I can--"

"Fine, fine." She waved a dismissive hand and reached for a package of cigarettes. "Damn! Can you help me with this." I stood and began the trek to her end of the sofa, extracting a cigarette and lighting it for her. "Thanks."

The stream of smoke clouded my vision and down I sat with a bang. "That looks pretty sore." I ventured.

She adjusted the sling and nodded. "It is." No hope of small talk there. "Jarmon keeps an apartment at the Dunbar for his... assignations." The statement was so matter of fact I almost missed her reference.

"I know about the suite, but I can never seem to get him there or at work. I thought maybe your husband might know of another spot."

"There's only the Dunbar, Mr. Wallace. Jarmon apparently is there almost all the time."

Was she shining me on? The Dunbar, where she and Smithee carried out their own... assignations? "Do you happen to know if he's there at any special time?"

"I'm not his landlord." Her demeanour was cooling.

"No, of course not. I ah- I suppose then you wouldn't know if he's there today...?"

The look said capital no. "So, that's what you needed? Was there something else?" She prodded.

"Ahh, well... your husband..." I should just stick to my new job. "He uhmm, has some uhh..." Her eyes are narrowing Christopher, quit while you're ahead. "There's a rumour about gambling debts?" You idiot!

Julie Devers rose from the couch, stubbed her cigarette out in an ashtray the size of a garbage pail lid, and pointed silently toward the front door. I smiled weakly and did as directed.

"Listen, it's- I'm sorry if..."

"You just tell your gangster boss that we tried to negotiate a settlement and that his goon threatened the both of us. I already told him about Jarmon. Now get out before I call the police. And this time I mean it!" This last, spat through clenched teeth.

I stood at the end of the drive, aware that Julie was watching from behind the curtains, and tried processing the odd piece of information she'd imparted—Gangster boss? We tried to negotiate? I already told him about Jarmon. A swirl of strange thoughts nagged at me, I needed a quiet place to sort things out. How about my own home? I also needed a cab. Maybe Julie would let me back in to use her phone, since I hadn't recharged mine.

The rest of the day had disintegrated into a series of small disasters beginning with the long walk to a main street, where I managed to hail another taxi. Employment of my own car, after reaching the garage, resulted in the immediate expiration of the exhaust system. I should have stuck to public transit. The repair shop quoted me a gut-wrenching price, promised fast, fast, fast service and left me sitting for two hours while they phoned all over town for a part.

The movies dicks never have sidekicks that let them down like this. By the time I was back on the road it was very late afternoon and the intermittent clunk coming from beneath the car told me it would be late at night before I was finished, back at the mechanic's shop.

I called and left a message for Nora; we had to meet soon or we might forget whom the other was. Six hundred bucks later - the bulk of my original down payment from Cynthia - I dragged into my apartment, listened to Nora's apology on the phone, heated a randomly chosen frozen dinner in the microwave, cracked a beer and crashed for the night. No dinners out for me, my advance fee was pretty well-used up.