“You’re not curious, Ms. Warshawski?” he finally asked.

“Not especially.” I turned to a discussion of the Mets’ prospects going into training camp. “I mean, there’re so many creepy things you might do it’d be a waste of energy wondering which particular one you’ve lighted on this time.”

He put his whiskey glass down with a snap and leaned forward. Peppy growled a little in the back of her throat. I put what looked like a restraining hand on her—it’s hard to imagine a golden retriever attacking someone, but if you don’t like dogs, you might not know that.

He kept an eye on Peppy. “So you are prepared to sacrifice your home and Dr. Herschel’s career to your stubborn pride?”

“What do you want me to do?” I said irritably. “Lie on the floor and kick and scream? I’m prepared to believe you have much more in the way of power, money, whatever, than I do. You want to rub my nose in it, be my guest. Just don’t expect me to act real excited about it.”

“Don’t jump so quickly to conclusions, Ms. Warshawski,” he said plaintively. “You’re not without options. You just don’t want to hear what they are.”

“Okay.” I smiled brightly. “Tell me.”

“Get your dog to lie down first.”

I gave Peppy a hand signal and she obediently dropped to the floor, but she kept her back haunches tensed, ready to jump.

“I’m only offering possibilities. You mustn’t be so quick to react to the first one. It’s just one scenario, you see, your mortgage, Dr. Herschel’s license. There are others. You might be able to pay off that debt with enough money left to get yourself a car more suited to your personality than that old Chevy—you see, I have been doing my research. What would you drive if you had the opportunity?”

“Gosh, I don’t know, Mr. Humboldt. I haven’t thought a lot about it. Maybe I’d move up to a Buick.”

He sighed like a disappointed father. “You should listen to me seriously, young lady, or you will soon find yourself out of options.”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “I’d like to drive a Ferrari, but Magnum’s already doing that. Maybe an Alfa … So you’ll give me my co-op and a sports car and Dr. Herschel’s license. What would you like from me as a show of gratitude for such generosity?”

He smiled: everyone can be pressured or bought. “Dr. Chigwell. A willing, hardworking man, but not, alas, of great ability. Unfortunately, to have a doctor at an industrial location does not give one access to physicians of Dr. Herschel’s caliber.”

I put the paper down and stopped petting the dog to prove I was all attention.

“He kept some notes over the years on our employees at Xerxes. Without my knowledge, of course—I can’t keep on top of all the details of an operation the size of Humboldt.”

“You and Ronald Reagan,” I murmured sympathetically.

He looked at me suspiciously, but I kept an expression of intent interest on my face.