The pox have faded almost completely from Julia’s and Robbie’s legs and Saul finds himself uncharacteristically restless on the fifth day of their seclusion in Antonia and Paolo’s apartment, so in the afternoon he takes a walk. Paolo has gone to his office and Antonia and Sofia are curled together on the couch like tightly furled leaves and Julia and Robbie are wreaking quiet havoc in Robbie’s room.

Saul turns left as he exits Paolo and Antonia’s apartment and walks toward the water. It is one of his privileges: to walk where he wants without fear. Most everyone knows who he works for.

Saul feels the car before he sees it, coasting behind him as he walks. The hairs on the back of his neck and his forearms quiver. He does not turn around: the subtle dance of power in this neighborhood forbids him from acknowledging the car. He dares the driver to interrupt him; to ask for his time; to figure out whether to start with excuse me or Mr. Colicchio or please pardon the intrusion, but—but just then, someone from the car says, “Saul, right?” which is not what Saul was expecting, but which he can use to his advantage, assuming, as always, that there is an advantage to be had and lost in every conversation.

“That depends on who’s asking,” says Saul. He does not turn around; will not bend himself to look through the sliver of car window that has been rolled open.

“My name is Eli Leibovich. I think it’s time you and I had a little chat.”

Saul stops. He is surprised. He has lost any advantage he may ever have had in this interaction. He looks at the car, which rolls to a stop next to him. The door opens. Eli Leibovich is a little younger than Joey, with a dark strong brow and a mouth that turns slightly downward as he looks up at Saul. There are deep lines carved into his cheeks, from frowning and from laughing. He looks as though he has a lot to say.

“Get in,” says Eli Leibovich. “My wife is making lunch.”

Saul has learned about Eli Leibovich the same way he learned every other piece of relevant information for his job: by keeping his mouth shut and listening; by spending his sleepless hours connecting one small scrap of information to another; by replaying conversations.