“I’m tired enough of all the Bysens to be willing to run an ad in the Herald-Star promising never to talk to any of you again about each other or anything else.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke? I don’t think this is very funny. I just want you to tell my dad that I’m staying with friends, and if he sends anyone else looking for me I’m going to start calling shareholders.”

“Calling shareholders?” I repeated blankly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That’s my whole message.”

“Before you hang up, you ought to remember something about your cell phone: it puts out a GSM signal. A bigger, richer detective agency than mine would have equipment to track you. As would the FBI.”

He was silent for a moment. In the background, I could hear sirens, and a baby crying: the sounds of the South Side.

“Thank you for the tip, Ms. War-sha-sky,” he finally said in a careful voice. “Maybe I misjudged you.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Do you want—” but he hung up before I could finish asking him if he wanted to see me.

I pulled over to the curb to relay Billy’s message to his father. Naturally enough, Mr. William wasn’t pleased, but his response took the form of petulant bullying (“That’s all? You think I’m paying your fee for sending me a disrespectful message? I want my son now.”) But when I told him I was going to have to quit the assignment, he stopped complaining about the message and demanded that I get back to work.

“I can’t, Mr. William, not when I promised Billy to stop looking for him.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” He was astonished. “It was a good ploy—he won’t be suspecting you.”

“It’s my word, Mr. William—I don’t have three thousand stores to carry me through lean times. My good word is my only asset. If I lose that, well, it would be a bigger disaster for me than losing all those stores would be for you, because I wouldn’t have any capital to start over again.”

He still didn’t seem to understand: he was willing to overlook my insolence, but he wanted his son without delay.