"I just don't think I can do what she hired me to," I said.

"Then why take the case?"

"Because it's better for her to feel hopeful."

"Is she in trouble?"

"No. But she is troubled."

"Poor girl," Greta said.

"At least she has a photograph," I answered.

Back at my table, I discovered I was wrong. On the tabletop lay Henrietta's picture. I picked it up, rushed outside into the heat of Allenby Street, and looked in all directions. Henrietta was nowhere to be seen. Back inside, I sat at my table and examined the picture once again. It told me nothing I didn't already know. Why would it?

I carefully placed the picture between the pages of my notebook and slipped it into my pocket. Then I surveyed the chessboard I'd been playing with when Henrietta arrived.

I played chess almost every day. Greta kept the board and pieces behind the bar for me. I always played both sides and always a lightning game, with no time to think over moves. A lightning game is the only way to keep things interesting when you play with yourself as an opponent. I found that it also took my mind off things, which was usually a blessing.

This particular game, white was in a hopeless position, behind by one rook and a bishop. But in a lightning game anything can happen. I kept on playing, making rapid moves, hoping that white would somehow rally to a victory. Maybe I was looking for a sign that a hopeless situation, like the new case I had taken on, could still end well.

White lost in four moves.

3

A little after seven I folded the chessboard and went over to the bar so Greta could stow it away for me.

"When are you seeing Rachel Weiss?" she asked me as she took the board from my hand.

"Seeing her? That's not exactly how I would put it. You trying to avoid thinking unpleasant thoughts?"

"Wipe that smirk off your face and answer my question."

"Tonight," I said. "I'm going over to her place tonight."

Greta gave a thoughtful nod and eyed me long and hard, as if trying to memorize every inch of my face, or perhaps say a prayer over me.

"You watch yourself, you hear?"

"It'll be all right," I said, discomforted by her concern. "Don't worry."

"I'll worry all I want. And you should worry, too. If you're not worried, you're being arrogant, and arrogance can get you in trouble."

"I have done this sort of thing before, you recall."

"I know, but tonight may be different. So watch yourself. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," I said in a somber voice, as if making her a promise. But in truth, I was not worried and couldn't see why she should be.