“Where’s Esperanza?” Myron asked.

“Doing a VIP meet-n-greet,” Big Cyndi said. “She’s very popular, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Most of the VIPs are men, Mr. Bolitar.”

“Right.”

“They pay five hundred dollars per ticket. The perk is they get a photograph with Little Pocahontas. Not that I don’t have my own fan base, you know.”

“Oh, I know.”

“I charge a thousand, Mr. Bolitar. I’m more discriminating.”

“Good to know.”

“Care for a green smoothie? You don’t look good, Mr. Bolitar.”

“No, thanks.”

“Mr. Mickey?”

Mickey held up a hand. “I’m good.”

Two minutes later, Esperanza entered the room wrapping a bathrobe around the suede bikini costume. Mickey quickly stood when she entered. There were no two ways about it. Esperanza had the kind of looks that made all men and boys react. She had the kind of beauty that reminded you of sunsets on the Caribbean or moonlit strolls on the beach.

“Oh, that’s sweet of you to stand, Mickey.”

Esperanza frowned at Myron, who remained seated just to prove his point. She gave Mickey a quick kiss on the cheek. Mickey congratulated her on a great show. Myron sat and waited. He and Esperanza had been close friends for a long time. She’d worked with him at the sports agency, going to law school at night, and ended up being his partner. He knew her. She knew him.

So he waited.

After a few minutes of chatter, Esperanza took Mickey’s hand. “Do you mind if I talk to your uncle alone for a few minutes?”

“Oh, sure thing.”

“Come on, Mr. Mickey,” Big Cyndi said, beckoning him to follow her. “Commie Connie spotted you in the first row and said she wanted to meet you.”

“Uh, okay.”

“She said that you looked—and I quote her directly—‘delicious.’”

Mickey blanched, but he followed her out of the room.

“He’s a good kid,” Esperanza said.

“He is.”

“He stop hating you yet?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“And how are his parents?”

Myron lifted his hand, tipped it left, then right. “We’ll see.”

Esperanza closed the door. “So you were in London.”

“Yep.”

“You didn’t tell me you were going.”

“It was last-minute.”

“And I saw on the news that a missing boy was found in London.”

“Yep.”

“But not Win’s cousin.”

“No,” Myron said. “It was the other kid. Patrick Moore.”

“I also read about some big explosion where the kid was found. It took out an entire wall.”

“You know Win,” Myron said. “He isn’t much for subtlety.”

Esperanza met his eye. “So it’s true? You really saw Win?”

“Yes. He called me for help.”

“Is he okay?”

“Was he ever?”

“You know what I mean.”

“He seems fine.”

“So all those rumors about Win losing his mind and being a recluse . . . ?”

“He started them.”

Myron filled her in on everything that had happened. Esperanza sat across from him and listened. It brought him back to better days, when they were younger and starting out and they would discuss contracts and endorsement deals for hours on end. For so many years, Esperanza had been a part of Myron’s everyday life. He missed that.