He didn’t have a photograph of Kitty to show around, and even if he did, that would just be too suspicious. He couldn’t stop and knock on trailer doors either. In the end, Myron opted for a good old-fashioned stakeout. He got back in his car and parked near the manager’s office, giving him a pretty good view of most of the trailers. So how long could he park here and wait? An hour, maybe two. He called his old friend Zorra, a former Mossad agent who was always game for a stakeout. Zorra would head down and take over in two hours.

Myron settled in, used the time to make calls to his clients. Chaz Landreaux, his oldest NBA player and a former All-Star, was hoping to scratch out another year in the pros. Myron kept calling general managers, trying to get the popular veteran a tryout, but there was no interest. Chaz was heartbroken. “I just can’t let go yet,” he told Myron. “You know what I mean?”

Myron did. “Keep working out,” Myron said. “Someone will give you a chance.”

“Thanks, man. I know I can help a young team.”

“I know it too. Let me ask you something else. Worst-case scenario. If the NBA isn’t in the cards, how would you feel about playing a year in China or Europe?”

“I don’t think so.”

Looking out his front windshield, Myron spotted a trailer door open. This time, however, his nephew, Mickey, came out. Myron sat up. “Chaz, I’ll keep working on it. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

He hung up. Mickey still held the door open. He looked back inside the trailer for a moment before letting the door shut. He was, as Myron had noted last night, a big kid, six-four, and weighing around two-ten. Mickey walked with his shoulders back, his head high. It was, Myron realized, the Bolitar walk. Myron’s father walked like that. Brad walked like that. And Myron too.

You can’t escape your genes, kid.

Now what?

There was, he guessed, a slight chance that Suzze had spoken or met with Mickey. But really that seemed unlikely. Better to stay here. Better to wait until Mickey was gone and then approach the trailer, hoping Kitty was still inside. If not, if Kitty wasn’t there and he needed to track down Mickey, that wouldn’t be difficult. Mickey wore a red Staples employee polo. It was safe to assume that Mickey was heading to work.

Did Staples hire employees that young?

Myron wasn’t sure. He pulled down the visor. He knew that the sun’s reflection would make it impossible for Mickey to spot him. As his nephew came closer, Myron could make out the name tag on his shirt. It read: BOB.

Stranger and stranger.