“We are always eighteen, waiting for our lives to begin,” Myron said.

“That’s corny.”

“You’re a sucker for corny.”

“True enough. So Lex Ryder said we should be open. Aren’t we?”

“I don’t know. He had this theory on flaws. That we should reveal them to each other—the worst things about us—because somehow that makes us more human and thus closer.”

Myron gave her a few more details from the conversation. When he was done, Terese said, “Makes sense.”

“Do I know yours?” he asked.

“Myron, remember when we first got to that hotel room in Paris?”

Silence. He remembered.

“So yeah,” she said softly, “you know my flaws.”

“I guess I do.” He shifted in his seat, trying to meet her eyes by gazing straight into the camera. “I’m not sure you know all mine.”

“Flaws?” she said, feigning shock. “What flaws?”

“I’m pee shy, for one.”

“And you think I don’t know that?”

He laughed a little too hard.

“Myron?”

“Yes.”

“I love you. I can’t wait to be your wife. You’re a good man, maybe the best man I’ve ever known. The truth won’t change that. Whatever you’re not telling me? It may fester or whatever Lex said. Or it may not. Honesty can be overrated too. So don’t torment yourself. I will love you either way.”

Myron sat back. “Do you know how great you are?”

“I don’t care. Tell me how beautiful I am again. I’m a sucker for that.”

7

Three Downing was closing up for the night. Win watched the patrons stumble outside, blinking in the unnatural light of Manhattan at four A.M. He waited. After a few minutes he spotted the large man who had used the stun gun on Myron. The large man—Kyle—was tossing someone out as though he were a bag of laundry. Win stayed calm. He thought back to a time not that long ago when Myron had vanished for weeks, was tortured probably, a time when he, Win, couldn’t help his best friend or even avenge him after the fact. Win remembered the horrible feeling of powerlessness. He hadn’t felt that way since his youth in the wealthy suburbs on Philadelphia’s Main Line, since those who hated him on sight tormented and beat him. Win had sworn back then that he would never feel that way again. Then he did something about it. Now, as an adult, the same rule held.

If you are hurt, you strike back. Massive retaliation. But with a purpose. Myron didn’t always agree with this doctrine. That was okay. They were friends, best friends. They would kill for each other. But they weren’t the same person.

“Hello, Kyle,” Win called out.

Kyle looked up and scowled.

“Do you have a moment for a private conversation?” Win asked.

“You kidding me?”

“Normally, I’m a great kidder, a regular Dom DeLuise, but no, Kyle, tonight I kid you not. I want us to chat in private.”

Kyle actually licked his lips. “No cell phones this time?”