Rory listened patiently, fingers laced together, shading his eyes. I told him about Karen and the deal with Jarmon's father-in-law, what happened and how she'd been fired. About How Jorge had punched out Jarmon and why. Not once did he lapse into one of his many characters all through my recital, instead, when I paused to enjoy part of my drink, he peered up from under his fingers and, shaking his head sadly, allowed as how it had been fun knowing me.

"What?"

"What ya been talking about." Sad eyes. Jowls jiggling, and a slightly thuggish Italian accent, "Christopher, what you done...you're a dead man."

I thought a second. "Luther Adler! Not bad Rory, not bad at all."

"I'm not joking, pal. You have stepped in what might be described as the deepest of do-do."

"Whatta you sayin'," I aped his Italian thug theme, "someone's gonna put a contract out on me?" I finished my drink and gave him a sorry look.

He wagged his head and dragged his hand slowly over his face, speaking with a sighing hiss, "The horror-r-r-r!"

"Piss off! I came in here for some positive suggestions and advice, and I get Luther Adler and a mediocre Marlon Brando." I slipped off the stool, dropped some coin on the bar and strode out. Rory might be my best friend but he made me pay for the privilege.

Consulting him had been a monumental waste of time, but his warning could not be ignored. Whatever this crazy crowd was up to, my stepping into the middle and causing some serious havoc would certainly not go unnoticed. My problem was still not understanding the whole story; it bugged the hell out of me.

Day 8 of 9 days

My whole day seemed wasted. From getting up with no fresh milk in the fridge and having to traipse down to the local convenience store, to missing another breakfast with my wife - now she was my wife - not even Nora any more since it had been so long. At Karen's, all I got was her answering machine, and I left her a brief message.

The one bright spot had been the arrival of my cheque by registered mail from Cynthia, three grand, as promised and an invitation to drop by for a thank-you drink. There was no mention of time, place or even date, so I just filed it away for the time being. My little file folder fattened slightly; most was designated for my mechanic.

Something about the entire matter continued to eat at me; I felt the spectre of bad things looming overhead. The phone rang and I grabbed it up. It was Karen.

"Hi, I was trying to get hold of you."

"What is it now?"

"I want to sit down with you and get an explanation of this whole trust business. I'm off the case but it's just something I need to know." I begged and pleaded, promising that I wouldn't pester her again.

There was a long silence and then she said, what the hell, and agreed to meet me for a drink. I suggested the only place I'd been to lately and gave her directions. As advised by Joe Cocker, I left my hat on and, giving Sigourney a toothy smile, I steered Karen into a booth away from the speakers.

Joe's grating voice wasn't conducive to intimate conversation. As far as that went, the whole atmosphere of the Avocado Grotto was wrong, but here we were. Better the devil you know. I beckoned my old friend over and ordered a couple of Vodkas with 7-up and a twist. She gave me her familiar flat stare and sauntered back to the bar. Jealous I bet.

"So, how are you making out jobwise?" I asked, after she settled herself in the booth.

Karen was torn between hating me for pestering her and hating me for pestering her. "Are you an employment counsellor now?"

"Sorry, just making conversation." After the drinks arrived, she thawed a little and laid out the entire story once again, slowing several times while I consulted my clutter of notes and charts. Aside from the maze this case had taken, I was being sidetracked by the absolute whipped cream colour of her skin.

I wiped a fist over my mouth and went to tip my hat back, remembering with disappointment that she had insulted it before and didn't need another opportunity. "My god, what a convoluted mess! And you're out of it now, for sure?"

She nodded, averting my eyes and blowing a stream of air through her teeth. "And good riddance."

I lit a cigarette and pushed the pack across the table. No Charles Boyer, I. "What I don't get, is how Devers got into the middle of this?"

She dragged a cigarette out of the pack and rolled it between her fingers. "I thought we covered that at my place." That hurt. There was some mention of Reg trying to blackmail Jarmon. I felt my collar tighten.

"What about Carleton Smithee and Dever's wife?" I asked.

She shot me a quick glance. "Now you write a gossip column?"

I nodded and sipped from my own glass. "I could with this group. He seems to pop up in this from time to time so I just wondered."

Her neck coloured at my remark and she kept her eyes on her drink, finishing it and then clunking her empty glass on the table. I raised a hand to Sigourney, signalling two more. The drinks arrived and I handed her a fifty, waving off the change. She leaned down with her lips close to my ear and whispered that her name was Shelia... if I was interested.

The only thing that interested me was how a simple tip could accomplish such an attitude makeover; it was jealousy. Damn right I'm a good detective.

"What else do you want?"

"Huh? What?" Karen had spoken while I was attending my new friend, Shelia. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"I said, what else do you want?"

"Excellent question." I nudged my brain. Empty.

"So that's it then?"

I shrugged helplessly. "I guess, I still don't understand it all but then I probably never will."

"I don't know." She said with a tease. "You're the big detective."

I laughed. "It's the bit about Bernie Bonducci that makes me uncomfortable."

"Is that Reg's bookie friend?"

"He's no friend, trust me."

I told her the long story of my run in with Bernie and how I met Nora and several drinks later we were almost bosom pals. Karen listened with awe, her opinion of me modifying slightly.

"That's quite a tale. I imagine that if you're right this Bonducci character could still be in the picture."

"I would lay money on it." Her look said it all. She swallowed her drink in one gulp and made as if to get up.

"You leaving?"

"No, I love it here so much, I'm going to ask the owner for an application. Yes I'm leaving. Why?"

"Well after our time together, I thought you might be at least a little friendlier. I mean in a platonic way."

Her eyes shifted and she relaxed a little in the booth. "You think?"

Taken by surprise, I tried to keep my thoughts focused, but my eyes kept panning over Karen's alabaster skin and finally settling on the twin, emerald coloured eyes.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course. No."

"I asked what you had in mind but it seems you don't have one." I began a protest but she silenced it with a look. "Let's get something straight here, Mr. Wallace—"

"Christopher, or Chris, or just Wallace." I smiled affably.

"—there is no platonic we. We are not a relationship. We are not even that friendly."

She blinked those emerald pools and I swear I was splashed. "Hey, whoa there! I just meant to be considerate after your job problem, and I bought you a couple of drinks. How about a little tit-for-tat?" The emeralds disappeared into two tiny slits as she told me what she thought of my metaphor and abruptly slid out of the booth.

"It was a figure of speech for cripe's sake!" I said to her retreating back, her long-legged stride and the eye-popping undulation of a really great figure. She hesitated only slightly, then went up the stairs and out the door. I felt mad and adrift. None of what I'd said was intended the way she took it. You need more of a social life Wallace.

"Sounds like you could use a new friend." Shelia sauntered over with a pair of fresh drinks and slid into the booth next to me.

"You shouldn't put such a low value on yourself, sweetheart." I said.

"You really do need a friend with that attitude." She sipped her drink and pushed my glass toward me.

I took a swallow. "Tell me something truthfully. Is this sudden interest because of the tip or are you honestly concerned?"

She finished her drink and slid back out of the booth, leaning on the table next to me. "Honestly and truthfully it was the tip... but who knows, a little more time together and we might be able to dispense with truth and honesty." She held my eyes with hers and I felt quite intimidated.

"Shelia, if I wasn't a happily married man I would be very tempted to take you up on that... honestly."

She straightened up and gave me a throaty laugh. "Happily married, eh? Well, if ever, Wallace." She patted my shoulder and sauntered back to the bar.