“Look, you’ve come in here lots of times with a bunch of great-looking women, and I’m not sure I could pick any of you out of a crowd. People buy people drinks all the time here. I’m just a messenger.”

“Could you tell me what the guy looks like?”

There was a pause. “Well, actually, I can. He’s old.”

“Old? Can you see him?”

“Not at the moment. It’s pretty busy right now. He said he’ll be sticking around for another fifteen minutes. Longer if you promise to show up. Okay? I got to go.”

“Okay,” Kim replied to a dead line. “I’ll be there.”

Not Double M, she thought.

No longer feeling exhausted, Kim called Darlene.

“Hey, there,” Darlene said, answering her phone on the first ring with an unusually somber voice.

Something was wrong.

“You okay?” Kim asked, already headed toward the Bar None.

“Actually, no, I’m not. Want to talk?”

“Actually, we’ve got to talk.”

She told Darlene about the bartender’s call.

“If it’s not Double M,” Darlene said, “it’s probably someone with a message from him. You’ve got to go there right now.”

“I’m already on my way. What about you?”

“I’ll call or else meet you there as soon as I can. And Kim,” she added, catching her chief of staff just before she ended the call.

“Yes?”

“You be careful.”

*   *   *

WHEN KIM arrived, Bar None was enjoying another packed night of deep-pocketed patrons. Spotting an opening at the bar near where Doug was serving at Mach 2 speed, she wormed her way onto the stool and waved for the bartender’s attention. When he finally came over, he seemed unaware that he had just minutes ago called her cell phone. He just stood there, waiting impatiently to take her order. The jukebox was blasting a song from the country trio Lady Antebellum, and a dozen young and beautifuls were vying for his attention.

“What can I get you?” he called out.

“I’m the woman you just phoned.”

Recognition dawned. “Oh yeah,” he said, nodding vigorously. “Here you go.” He handed Kim an open Amstel Light, along with a cardboard coaster.

She left the beer on the bar and flipped over the coaster. To her surprise, there was no writing on the bottom. Her heartbeat began to accelerate.

“Edwin told me you’d do that,” said a gravelly voice at her elbow.

Kim snapped her head right and saw a cadaverous-looking man in a nicely tailored suit and striped bow tie. Tall and stoop shouldered, the man, well into his seventies, she guessed, extended a bony hand. He had a road map of narrow veins covering his sunken cheeks, and bushy white eyebrows hovering above a set of intelligent chestnut eyes.

“Who are you?” Kim asked.

“My name is Shank, Norman Shank,” he said. “I am a friend of Mr. Edwin Chester, and also his attorney.”