Luis, shiner of shoes, swiveled his head from the phone to Keegan and back again. He shrugged and grinned, and showed no inclination to get up off his stool and answer it.

Keegan went over and picked up the receiver halfway through the fourth ring.

“Mr. Keegan?” a man’s voice asked before Keegan could say a word.

“Who’s this?” Keegan said. He turned his back to the wall, so he could see the rest of the arcade. None of the dozens of people he could see took any notice of him there in the corner.

“Be out on Broadway in two minutes,” the voice told him. “Be discreet.” The line clicked. The phone went dead. Keegan hung it back in its cradle. When he turned around, Luis was watching him, as if something in the situation had piqued his curiosity.

Keegan nodded at the kid. “Curiouser and curiouser,” he told him.

KEEGAN BARELY MADE it to the sidewalk before a gleaming Fleetwood limo pulled up on the far side of the cars parked along the curb. Keegan shaded his eyes in the blinding daylight. The big car was glossy black with whitewall tires and shark-like fins on either side of the trunk. The windows were tinted so dark, Keegan might as well have been looking into the mirror above his bathroom sink. A couple of young guys came out to the market’s entryway to get a better look at the car. If this was Simon Catling’s version of being discreet, Keegan could have worn a bridesmaid’s dress.

A driver in a black suit came around the back of the idling car to open the curbside door, unfazed by the blocked cars that had started up honking all the way back to the corner. From inside the open door, a manicured hand waved lazily for Keegan to climb inside. Keegan did, and the driver shut the door behind him. The car’s air-conditioned interior felt like a plunge into a swimming pool; it had to be thirty degrees colder than the heat on the sidewalk, and the effect was jarring. Keegan’s scalp tightened, which did nothing to help his aching head.

Keegan hadn’t quite taken a seat before the limo lurched ahead. Not wanting to tumble forward onto a stranger, he sat down hard on the black leather seat, feeling the impact in his lower back and his knees. It took him a stunned second to catch his breath and gather himself.

The man who now sat facing Keegan was small, clean-shaven and well kept. He wore a pressed seersucker suit, with a blue bow tie and a red carnation on the lapel. His attire seemed designed to create an effect—more costume than mere clothing—though what effect was intended, Keegan couldn’t guess. The man looked at Keegan wryly but didn’t speak.