I pulled on clean jeans and a scarlet top and took the Smith & Wesson out of the fanny pack. I balanced it on my palm, trying to decide whether to take it or not. In my present mood I might use it on Murray, but that was a risk he’d have to take: I felt more secure with the weapon. I put it in a leg holster, where I could get to it if I acted like a contortionist. The straps dug into my calf.

No one stopped me on my way to the Rustmobile. I kept checking my mirror on the way to Lake Shore Drive, but if I was being tailed it was expertly done. I detoured downtown to my bank and left a copy of the report on Frenada in my safe deposit box. Heading back north, I swung by Tessa’s mother’s palace on the Gold Coast long enough to leave spare padlock keys with the doorman so that Tessa could get into our building.

I didn’t bother to look for parking on the streets near Murray, since there never is any. I left the Skylark in the alley behind his building, underneath a sign that said: warning, WE CALL THE POLICE TO TOW UNAUTHORIZED VEHICLES. Let them.

Murray lives in one of those six–flats with wood–burning fireplaces, tessellated marble floors in the entryways, and all the other stuff you get if you can afford a Mercedes convertible. The bells were brightly polished brass set into cherry paneling.

When Murray’s voice came through the intercom, I pinched my nose and said, “Florist. Delivery for Ryerson.”

We all imagine we’re so special that an unexpected gift of flowers doesn’t seem surprising. Murray released the lock and waited for me in his doorway. Sinéad O’Connor was wafting out from the living room behind him when I got to the second floor. The surprise in his face when he saw me did not seem to include delight.

“What the hell are you—”

“Hi, Murray. We need to talk. Is Alex–Sandy here?”

He didn’t move from the doorway. “What do you think this is? A public library with regular visiting hours?”

“That’s very good. I’ll have to use that. Like the next time you come around unannounced with Alex Fisher–Fishbein to con me into framing someone for you. What did you say to her: “Let’s sprinkle some crumbs from the Global table in front of Warshawski, she’s so perennially hard up she’ll jump on them like a carp on live bait?’“

His face darkened. “I tried to do you a favor. Just because you’re in some twenty–year–old catfight with Alex—”

“Darling Murray, when I’m in a catfight you see the gashes a jaguar leaves. But it’s hard for even a jungle cat to do much against a shark. Are you her partner or her patsy?”