Cline’s eyes bugged. “Funny funny funny. I can’t believe she sent you here. I already gave you guys my version and they believed me that her story was total bullshit. Now you’re back? Why, because she’s got beaucoup bucks, that’s the way you guys do it, like that Eddie Murphy movie? What, I’m living a fucking Beverly Hills comedy?”

Herky-jerk movements, rat-a-tat speech, constricted pupils.

“She,” said Milo.

“Her, she, whatever,” said Rory Cline. “Let me cue you in: The only reason she’s pursuing this is she probably heard I’m due to move up and she wants to get in on the gravy train.”

Milo said, “Congrats on the promotion.”

“Yeah, it’s happening. Or was going to until you guys showed up and maybe fucked everything up. I’m being considered for an assistantship to Ed LaMoca. Get it?”

“Big-time guy.”

“As in,” said Cline, rattling off a list of movie stars. “Everyone wants to work for him, it’s taken me shit-all years to get in position, and now you show up and they’re going to think — how could you do this just because those assholes tell you to? They’re fucking lying, the whole thing is a fucking put-up.”

The pace of his speech had ratcheted from frantic to nearly unintelligible. I wondered if the building was vast enough to conceal a meth lab.

Milo said, “Who do you think called us, Mr. Cline?”

“Who do I think? Them. Persian bitch and her fucking Persian husband. No matter how they’re spinning it, she hit me, fucked up my bumper, fucked up my trunk, fucked up a taillight. I was in front, she was behind me, and there’s no fucking way I rolled backward, it wasn’t even uphill. I didn’t call you guys because there were no injuries and she admitted it was her fault, promised to pay A-sap. Then she goes home, tells her rich fucking asshole rug merchant husband, he starts spinning. Fine, they wanna fight, I’ll fight. What I don’t get is you wasting your time when I already gave a statement to her insurance and they said they believed me, it’s obvious I didn’t roll back into her. The only reason I didn’t have my own insurance was it lapsed after I moved here from ICM and if you read the insurance reports you’d know that.”

He embarked on a ten-step march, came back. “May I go back to work and try not to get fucked up?”

Milo said, “This isn’t about your fender-bender.”

“Then what? I’m busy!”

“Calm down, sir.”

“Don’t tell me that. You probably just ruined my life, so don’t—”

“Stop—”

“You stop—”

“Be quiet. Now.”

Something in Milo’s voice killed the tirade. Cline wrung his hands.

“Let’s start over—”

“What now? Oh, man,” said Cline, “I haven’t slept in I don’t know—”