Owens bellowed again, and within seconds a young woman carried in the coffee on a silver tray. Guests always got a silver tray, another one of Homer Winters's cockamamie rules.

Owens decided to take the initiative. "What do you want from me, Cricket? The cameras were down. It happens, we both know that. You parked the damn car yourself, we have you on video. You buy a car like that, you buy enough insurance to cover it. And you took up two fucking spaces! Jealous crackpots abound. We both know that, too. I just don't see where our liability is. Lansing said you need to fight it out with your insurance company." It all sounded real good to Owens's ears, but he knew that in the end the Babylon was going to pay something to the man sitting across from him. That was another one of Winters's cockamamie rules—step up to the plate and take responsibility. "That's Lansing's opinion and mine as well." The lie didn't bother him one little bit.

Cricket leaned back and crossed his legs. "You see, Hank, that's a problem. Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one. Pony up, or I'm going to have a chat with Homer. I bet you thought I didn't know he was in town. Well, I do know. So, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Just send the check to my office. Thanks for the coffee." At the door, he turned, an amused expression on his face. "Have you met Elizabeth Fox yet? No? You're in for a treat, then."

Hank Owens's eyes narrowed to slits as he listened to the big man's laughter wafting back into his office. His gut instinct kicked into high gear as he heaved himself out of his chair. He marched down to Alvin Lansing's office, which was screamingly neat, just like the wimpy man sitting behind the polished desk. Lansing was a Homer Winters's appointee; otherwise, Hank would have gotten rid of him a long time ago, Harvard Law School or not.

"I want everything you have on Elizabeth Fox, Alvin, and I want it right now." Even though he was speaking to Lansing, his gaze swept to the left, to a marble table where two leather check registers rested. His gut churned at the control the man sitting behind the desk had.

Alvin Lansing leaned over and plucked a folder that was at least an inch thick from a pile of color-coded documents on the corner of his overly neat desk. He handed it over.