“Exactly,” she said. “I saved up for a rainy day. What I need to make sure is that after I bite it no one comes after Chad’s trust fund. What my advisors-to-remain-anonymous are telling me is that by itself the IRS won’t do diddly ’cause they’re stupid, couldn’t find a fart after a bean dinner. But if the damn LAPD gets on my case again and sics the Feds on me, everything could get royally fucked up. This is my kid, I can’t let that happen.”

“Why would the cops go after you?”

“Why, indeed.”

“You’re back in business?”

“Well,” she said, “let’s just say I do a bit of consulting. Have been for a while. Which is how I came across your little informational treat—correction, the fat fag’s little treat. Reason I’m bringing this up now is because you’ve got connections to the cops.”

“My only connection is—”

“Fatso, yeah, yeah, yeah, but he’s got a direct line to the top. As in the Top.”

“Not really, Gretchen.”

“No? How many lieutenants get called into the chief’s office like he does?” She giggled. “Makes you wonder if the chief’s got a secret life, maybe likes to suck the big one. You ever pick up on anything like that?”

“What do you think I can do for you, Gretchen?”

“It’s not what I think, it’s what I need. You have to grease me with Sturgis so when I’m gone the department doesn’t molest my kid’s future.”

“Is that the reason you called me in the first place?”

“What? I hurt your feelings? No, I called you because someone I trusted said you were righteous and knew your business. Then I thought of you and Sturgis and hit on a new idea. Which, now that I think about it, you’re obligated to go along with. ’Cause Chad’s your patient and this is about Chad and if you fail to protect him, what does that say about your ethics?”

I thought about how to answer that.

She said, “It’s not that complicated. Your job is to help my kid, so do it.”

“I don’t see Sturgis having that kind of influence but if it comes to that, I’ll do my best.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“On the grave of Freud?”

“Adler, Jung, and B. F. Skinner, too.”

“If it comes to that, tell Sturgis I was a good mother. Otherwise he finds out I’m gone, he’ll go have a six-course meal.”

“I doubt that, Gretchen.”

“What, he’s a sensitive, mushy-hearted marshmallow, not a big fat bully who ruined my lunch and all I was trying to do was recuperate from prison?”

“I’ll do everything I can for you, Gretchen. Promise.”

“Fine. Now go tell him SukRose was a baby step, it’s time to look for a scumbag named Stefan.”

Pronouncing it Ste-fahn.