“Look, I, I’m pretty sure Ms. Snelling—where the hell is she, anyway?—is not a prostitute. She does not have sexual relations with her customers.”

“Where have I heard that phrase before?” Benson asked. “When I asked whether you were a relative or a friend or a client, I forgot one. Are you her pimp?”

I guess my jaw dropped, and I stared at him in openmouthed astonishment for a moment, before I had the sense to close it. Twice I started to say something, and each time, a chuckle got in the way. “You have no idea,” I said, “how totally ridiculous that comment is.”

“Is it? Then you tell me, why are you here?”

“First of all, let’s go back to this hooker thing. Far as I know, Trixie—Ms. Snelling—does not offer sexual services. But you know what, you’d be better asking her about that yourself once she gets here.”

The waitress had reappeared, notepad at the ready. “You gentlemen ready to order?” she asked.

“We’re still waiting for someone,” I said. She nodded and withdrew.

Now Benson was looking at his own watch. “Pretty late.”

“I’m sure she’ll be along any—” The cell phone in my jacket pocket rang and vibrated. “Hang on,” I said, taking out the phone and flipping it open. “Hello?”

“How’s it going?” Trixie asked.

“Where the hell are you?” I said. Benson’s eyebrows went up. “We’re here, in Pluto’s, waiting.”

“Yeah, I know. I watched you go in. I’m parked up the street, reading your newspaper.”

I couldn’t stop myself from looking out the window, which, of course, tipped Benson off to do the same.

“How long have you been there?” I asked.

“I don’t know, half hour maybe. Have you steered him off this thing yet?”

“Trixie, we were sort of waiting for you.”

“I won’t be able to make it,” she said. “You know what that fat fucker will do, soon as I walk in or sit down, he’s going to take my picture. Why do you think he showed up? He wants a nice shot to run with his story.”

I slid out of the booth, held up an index finger to Benson to indicate I’d be back in one minute, and moved a few booths away before I continued my conversation.

“He thinks I’m your fucking pimp,” I said.

Trixie laughed. “Now that’s rich.”

“Look, I came out here for a meeting, a meeting that I thought you were going to attend. You don’t show. Trixie, you’re my friend, but you’re fucking me around.”

“Okay, go back and tell him I’ll come in if he gives you his camera phone.”

“Jesus, what if he says he hasn’t got it on him? Do you want me to frisk him?” Trixie was quiet. Finally, I said, “I’ll see what I can do. Call me back in five.”

I slid back into the booth. “That was Ms. Snelling,” I said. “She’s, she’s afraid that if she comes in here, you’re going to take her picture.”