He didn’t, though. He simply fanned the packets, making sure that every bill was a twenty. Halfway through, he broke open another packet and counted it, too. Satisfied, he merely fanned the rest of them. Then he placed them all back in the bag.

“Thirty thousand, as agreed,” Coleman said. “I think we’re ready to sign those papers now, Bates.”

Gideon took out the papers and Waterson brought over a pen and ink from the desk. Waterson made a little show of moving the bag to make room for the signing ceremony, setting it on the floor in front of the door, where it would be out of the way. The two men signed, and Jake witnessed the signatures.

“This calls for a celebration,” Waterson said.

“I don’t really feel much like celebrating,” Coleman said.

“Why not?” Waterson argued. “You just got paid thirty thousand for doing almost nothing.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Coleman said.

“No, you were too busy mourning the money you might’ve made, but I’ve learned that a man is better off with cash in hand than with pie in the sky. I think we’re ready for that drink now.”

“And while he’s getting it, I’ll give you your commission, Miller,” Coleman said, snatching up the bag and setting it back on the table again. He reached in and pulled out one packet of bills and then counted out another thousand from the loose bills.

Jake gave a wolf whistle when Coleman handed it to him. “This is the best week I’ve ever had, Mr. Coleman.” He tucked the bills into his coat pocket and patted the bulge lovingly.

Waterson had stopped on his way to the sideboard, where the liquor bottles sat, to frown at the exchange, but before Gideon could figure out why he was so displeased, someone started pounding on the door.

“What on earth?” Coleman muttered, and Waterson turned to answer it, frowning thunderously. He threw open the door, obviously ready to berate the intruder, but she pushed past him before he could even draw a breath.

“Where is she?” Freddie demanded.

Gideon blinked in surprise. She looked absolutely wild. She wore no hat and her hair was mussed, as if she’d pinned it up in a hurry. She was dressed for the street, but her suit jacket was buttoned crookedly. Everything else paled in comparison to the fire in her eyes, however. She seemed actually deranged.

“Freddie, what—” Jake tried, but she was having none of it.

“Where is she?” she nearly screamed.

Waterson had quickly shut the door, probably not wanting to attract the attention of anyone who might call the house detective or even worse, the law. “Young lady—” he tried, but no one paid him any mind.

“Where is who?” Jake asked stupidly.