He answered the phone, heard my voice, and put me on hold. Some pal, I swear.

Six stories below, Angie stood by her chaise lounge and stripped off her gray shorts and white T-shirt to reveal the black bikini underneath.

I tried not to watch. I really did. But I’m weak. And a guy.

“What’re you doing?” Richie said.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Watching my partner squirt sunblock on her legs.”

“Bullshit.”

“I wish,” I said.

“She know you’re watching?”

“You kidding?”

At that moment, Angie turned her head and looked up at the balcony.

“I’ve just been busted,” I said.

“You’re dead.”

Even from this distance, though, I could see her smile. Her face stayed tilted toward mine for a moment, then she shook her head gently and turned back to the business at hand and rubbed the oil into her calves.

“Christ,” I said, “it is way too hot in this state.”

“Where are you?”

I told him.

“Well, I got some news,” he said.

“Pray tell.”

“Grief Release, Incorporated, filed suit against the Trib.”

I leaned back in my chair. “You published a story already?”

“No,” he said. “That’s the point. My inquiries, such as they’ve been, have been extremely discreet. There’s no way they could’ve known I was onto them.”

“But they do.”

“Yeah. And they aren’t fucking around, either. They’re taking us into federal court for invasion of privacy, interstate theft—”

“Interstate?” I said.

“Sure. A lot of their clients don’t necessarily live in the Bay State. They got files on those discs for clients from across the Northeast and Midwest. Technically, Angie stole information that crossed state lines.”

“That’s a fine line,” I said.

“Of course it is. And they still have to prove I have the discs and a whole lot of other shit, but they must have a judge in their pocket because at ten this morning my publisher got an injunction slapped on him prohibiting the publication of any article on Grief Release which can be directly linked to information found only on those discs.”

“Well, then you got them,” I said.

“How so?”

“They can’t prove what’s on those discs if they don’t have them. And even if they have everything backed up on a hard drive, they can’t prove that what’s on the hard drive is necessarily what’s on those discs. Right?”

“Exactly. But that’s the beauty of the injunction. We can’t prove that what we intend to publish doesn’t come from those discs. Unless we’re stupid enough to produce them, of course, in which case they’re useless anyway.”

“Catch-twenty-two.”

“Bingo.”