“He was better dressed than your lot, and certainly better dressed than you, you old sod. He was fair, and had smooth skin, not so much like an Englishman as a Scandanavian, or even a German. The Hitler Youth Bureau of Investigation. He wasn’t much good at follerin’, either. At first I thought he was a sex criminal, he was so obvious. I wanted to go up and tell him to lay off, but then I thought maybe he was being obvious to scare me, and that scared me. Sorry. Tell me about yourself.”

“I’ve been busy. I won’t be able to talk for long. In addition to all that, you’ve been threatened. By the other side. Until those people are taken off the board, you should take every conceivable precaution. I just told John. He knows what to do.”

“Whatever you say. I saw the news about Major on the television. John and I were just talking about it. Oh, I really am so worried about you, all my foolish jokes aside.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll call you again when I have the chance.”

“Do you want to talk to John again?”

“Yes.” A gloomy, balding young guy sat at the bar, a beer, a pack of cigarettes, and a pile of bills in front of him. He thought he had problems? His problem was that he was sitting in a bar, drinking, smoking, and wasting his life. There’s nothing worse than a reformed drunk, Devlin.

John said hello. “Call Levine,” Devlin said. “He’s in the Queens directory. Give him another ten minutes to get home. Tell him what I told you about the threat. He’ll tell you what to do next.”

“You really are full of surprises, old man. The whole department’s looking for you, and you’re with the chief of detectives, exactly where nobody thought to look. Willie Nelson says something about choosing old age and treachery, every time. I thought Levine had taken himself out of it.”

“Stick with old age and treachery, kid. I’ve never seen anyone work a case harder. Given what Hamilton and Torres are trying to pull, Levine is right where he can do the most good. I’ll call you later.”