Donnie Brewster turned and walked out without looking at me or at Pat Kyle or at Nick or T.J. or Dani. Peter poured the rest of the M&Ms into his mouth, crumpled the wrapper, then laid a hook shot toward a square wastebasket and missed. Dani picked it up.

The Nickster made a whiny voice. “Sure, Pete-man, whatever you say.”

Peter and T.J. and the Nickster laughed. Dani didn’t.

I looked at Pat Kyle. Her eyes were hard and her jaw was tight and she was staring at the floor. What, and give up show business? I looked back at Peter Alan Nelsen. Nick and T.J. were rolling around on the zebra couch, laughing and goosing each other and slapping hands. I said, “Peter. I didn’t come here for Pee-Wee’s playhouse.”

The laughter stopped.

“I have come because my friend Pat Kyle asked me to come, and I have answered questions about myself because that’s the way most people beat around the bush before they get down to business, but now we are at the end of the road. Unless you knock off the bullshit and get to the point, I will walk out of here and you can get someone else to do the job.”

Peter Alan Nelsen blinked at me through surprised, little-boy eyes. T.J. got up from the couch and put his hands on his hips and grinned at me. The Nickster said, “Oh, man, Peter, this guy wants a piece.”

Dani uncrossed the big arms and came forward until her right hip was pressed against the desk, very close to Peter. Her left quadricep flexed like a beating heart. Peter stared at me for a long time, sort of smiling, but mostly looking like a little boy who’d been caught eating worms and knew it was wrong. He looked ashamed. Peter said, “Nick, T.J., you guys go grab a beer or something, okay?”