“Ah, agents. That most mercenary of occupations.”

Lex wore black pants and a black leather vest, and it looked like he’d just gone clothes shopping at Rockers R Us. His hair was gray now, cut very short. Collapsing back on the couch, he said, “Sit, Myron.”

“Why don’t we take a walk, Lex?”

“You’re my errand boy too, right? I said, sit.”

He had a point. Myron found a spot and sank deep and slow into the cushions. Lex turned a knob to his right and the music lowered. Someone handed Myron a glass of champagne, spilling a bit as they did. Most of the tight-corset ladies—and let’s face it, in any era, that’s a look that works—were gone now, without much notice, as though they’d faded into the walls. Esperanza was chatting up the one she’d been checking out when they entered the room. The other men in the room watched the two women flirt with the fascination of cavemen first seeing fire.

Buzz was smoking a cigarette that smelled, uh, funny. He looked to pass it off to Myron. Myron shook his head and turned toward Lex. Lex lounged back as though someone had given him a muscle relaxant.

“Suzze showed you the post?” Lex asked.

“Yes.”

“So what’s your take, Myron?”

“A random lunatic playing head games.”

Lex took a deep sip of champagne. “You really think so?”

“I do,” Myron said, “but either way it’s the twenty-first century.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning it’s not that big a deal. You can get a DNA test, if you’re so concerned about it—establish paternity for certain.”

Lex nodded slowly, took another deep sip. Myron tried to stay out of agent mode, but the bottle held 750 ml, which is approximately 25 ounces, divided by $8,000 dollars, equaled $320 per ounce.

“I hear you’re engaged,” Lex said.

“Yup.”

“Let’s drink to that.”

“Or sip. Sipping is cheaper.”

“Relax, Myron. I’m filthy rich.”

True enough. They drank.

“So what’s bothering you, Lex?”

Lex ignored the question. “So how come I haven’t met your new bride-to-be?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Where is she now?”

Myron kept it vague. “Overseas.”

“May I give you some advice on marriage?”

“How about, ‘Don’t believe stupid Internet rumors about paternity’?”

Lex grinned. “Good one.”

Myron said, “Meh.”

“But here’s the advice: Be open with each other. Totally open.”

Myron waited. When Lex didn’t follow up, Myron said, “That’s it?”

“You expected something deeper?”

Myron shrugged. “Kinda.”

“There’s this song I love,” Lex said. “The lyric says, ‘Your heart is like a parachute.’ Do you know why?”

“I think the line is about a mind being like a parachute—it only functions when it’s open.”

“No, I know that line. This one is a better, ‘Your heart is like a parachute—it only opens when you fall.’ ” He smiled. “Good, right?”

“I guess.”

“We all have friends in our lives, like, well, take my mates in here. I love them, I party with them, we talk about weather and sports and hot pieces of ass, but if I didn’t see them for a year—or really, ever again—it wouldn’t make much difference in my life. That’s how it is with most people we know.”