Archie had been in this room before. It was a masculine lair, the stucco walls hung with photographs of Jack’s sailboats. A built-in bar sparkled with crystal glassware and expensive liquor bottles. Leather chairs and a leather sofa created a sitting area in the middle of the room under a massive wrought-iron light fixture. Behind Jack’s desk, the room’s leaded glass windows looked out into darkness.

Jack grinned and rolled the cigar between his fingers. “Do you know who this guy is, Karim?” he asked. He wasn’t talking to Archie. He was talking to the caramel-skinned man sitting next to Archie.

“No, sir, I do not,” Karim said in a British boarding school accent.

Archie eyed Karim. He had a knife-cut part in his dark hair and perfectly erect posture. His tuxedo fit him well. He didn’t look like Jack’s usual muscle. Archie had a feeling that he did something more important.

Jack stood up and walked over to them. “This is Archie-fucking-Sheridan,” he said. “He ran the Beauty Killer Task Force. That bitch took him hostage and tortured him for ten days. Took his fucking spleen out and sent it to his partner. So Archie here is strapped to a gurney in a basement in Gresham and he convinces Gretchen Lowell to let him go. She calls 911 and turns herself in. Saves his life.”

Archie wished it had been that simple. “That’s not exactly how it happened,” he said.

Jack put his arm around Archie’s shoulders, like a proud father showing off his son. “A few years later the bitch escapes from prison, and you know what this motherfucker does?” Jack asked Karim. “He catches her again!” Jack clapped Archie so hard on the back that he lurched forward. Archie coughed and straightened up. “So they send her to the nuthouse the next time,” Jack continued. “And a year later, damned if she doesn’t slaughter a nurse and saunter the fuck out of there.”

Karim caught Archie’s eye. “Next time you catch her, you should consider shooting her,” he said.

“Thanks for the tip,” Archie said.

Jack took a puff off his cigar and grinned.

Archie wondered if it would be impolite to ask for a drink.

The music seemed to be getting louder.

“So why are you here?” Jack asked, settling back on the edge of his desk.

Archie didn’t miss a beat. “Leo invited me,” he said. Archie fished the invitation from Sanchez out of his tuxedo pocket and handed it to Jack.

Jack smiled and tossed the invitation aside. A circle of his cigar smoke floated past Archie’s face and then dissipated. “You working Vice now, Archie?” Jack asked.