Shannon looked something like the old movie actor Pat O’Brien at a similar age, but less hair, wisps of white only. Like that old-time actor, he had a hint of Ireland in his voice—not from once having lived there, but growing up in a home where the parents had, and the brogue had been catching.

That other Pat said, “Don’t let Pete hear you calling his white-tablecloth joint a joint, pal.”

Shannon raised a single hand of surrender. “No, it’s not that. It’s just…that Colby kid is more a Four Seasons type. Or the Union Square Café, when he feels like dressing down.”

I looked sideways at the newcomers, who Pete was handing off to Sheila for seating. “That’s Vincent Colby, huh?”

“In the flesh. And that’s probably a good two-grand worth of fabric and cut.”

Colby was not in mere Brooks Brothers. I made that beautifully assembled charcoal pin-striped affair as Armani, similar to one Velda had tried, unsuccessfully, to get me into.

I’d heard of this handsome young guy. Read about him (profiles in the Sunday Times and New York Magazine). Ivy League school (Harvard Business, wasn’t it?). Prominent in the family brokerage firm (Colby, Daltree & Levine). Eminently eligible bachelor (dating society girls).

I asked Shannon, “Is that kid as upstanding as his rep?”

Shannon was watching as Sheila led Colby across the room, the two Wall Street big shots trailing along like litter bearers.

“Far as I know,” Shannon said. “Like his old man, that ‘kid’ served in the Navy, made Lieutenant.”

“Straight shooter all the way?”

His mouth twitched. “Some youthful indiscretions, I understand. No police record, but under-age records get expunged, particularly if you have connections.” He sipped his highball. “Colby’s guilty, all right—of being a rich Golden Boy, but that’s about it.”

“Far as you know.”

“Far as I know, Mike.”

Sheila was getting them seated in a booth at the bar area, across the dining room. Only Colby didn’t sit down right away. He was standing there chatting with the redhead. She was smiling and trading talk in a friendly way. More of that going-nowhere flirtation? Or something else?

I said, “He sounds too good to be true.”

“That’s been my feeling,” Shannon admitted. “I always felt like he was playing me.”

“Playing you how, Casey?”

He twitched another sneer. “Too friendly. Too cooperative. Patronizing, like he was putting one over.”

“How did you rub shoulders with the lad?”

“I had a couple of investigations that took me to the Colby firm.”

“What kind of investigations?”

He didn’t look at me while we talked. Suddenly it was like pulling teeth. He said, “A secretary there died of an overdose. A low-level employee was the victim of a hit-and-run.”

“Fatal?”

Shannon nodded. “Vaguely suspicious but nothing came of either. Colby was in the lives of both parties. Was helpful to a fault.”

Sheila was lingering, and Colby took her two hands in his and smiled and she smiled back, then peeled away. Could this privileged punk be the guy roughing her up? Maybe somebody needed to put the break in brokerage.