He took a fresh grip on his commitment. The past was behind him and he should keep it there. He was not meant to be a Knight of the Word. He had never been more than adequate to the undertaking, never more than satisfactory. It required someone stronger and more fit, someone whose dedication and determination eclipsed his own. He had done the best he could, but he had done as much as he could, as well. It was finished after San Sobel. It was ended.

“Time to get back to work,” he said to no one in particular.

The talk still swirled about him as he rose. A couple of other staffers had wandered in, and everyone was trying to get a word in edgewise. With a nod to Ray, who glanced up as he moved toward the elevator, he crossed the room, pressed the button, stepped inside the empty cubicle when it arrived, and watched the break room and its occupants disappear as the doors closed.

He rode up to the main floor in silence, closing his eyes to the past and its memories, sealing himself in a momentary blackness.

When the elevator stopped and he stepped out, Stefanie Winslow was passing by carrying two latte containers, napkins, straws, and plastic spoons nestled in a small cardboard tray.

“Coffee, tea, or me?” she asked brightly, tossing back her curly black hair, looking curiously girlish with the gesture.

“Guess.” He pursed his lips to keep from smiling. “Whacha got there?”

“Two double-tall, low-fat, vanilla lattes, fella.”

“One of those for me?”

She smirked. “You wish. How’s the speech coming?”

“Done, except for a final polish. The Wiz will amaze this Halloween.” He gestured at the tray. “So who gets those?”

“Simon is in his office giving an interview to Andrew Wren of The New York Times. That’s Andrew Wren, the investigative reporter.”

“Oh? What’s he investigating?”

“Well, sweetie, that’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it?” She motioned with her head. “Out of my way, I have places to go.”

He stepped obediently aside, letting her pass. She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “I booked dinner at Umberto’s for six. Meet you in your office at five-thirty sharp.” She gave him a wink.

He watched her walk down the hall toward Simon’s office. He was no longer thinking about the homeless and abused, about Ray and Carole, about his past and its memories, about anything but her. It was like that with Stef. It had been like that from the moment they met. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He loved her so much it hurt. But the hurt was pleasurable. The hurt was sweet. The way she made him feel was a mystery he did not ever want to solve.

“I’ll be there,” he said softly.

He had to admit, his new life was pretty good. He went back to his office smiling.

Chapter 7

Andrew Wren stood looking out the window of the Wiz’s corner office at the derelicts occupying space in Occidental Park across the way. They slouched on benches, slept curled up in old blankets in tree wells, and huddled on the low steps and curbing that differentiated the various concrete and flagstone levels of the open space. They drank from bottles concealed in paper sacks, exchanged tokens and pennies, and stared into space. Tourists and shoppers gave them a wide berth. Almost no one looked at them. A pair of cops on bicycles surveyed the scene with wary eyes, then moved over to speak to a man staggering out of a doorway leading to a card shop. Pale afternoon sunlight peeked through masses of cumulous clouds on their way to distant places.