"Martin! How's my favorite fucking writer today?"

"Not good, Qurban." His hand throbbed dully. He wiped away a spot of blood from the transmission with his thumb. "Hey, uh... do you remember that thing you told me about last year? Do you still have it?"

"Last year? Martin, you don't mean...?"

The pause came just as Martin hit gridlock. He glanced in his rearview. Tanaka's cruiser was four cars back. Could he lose him if he needed to? It might be difficult, unless he could somehow get ahead of this truck.

"I think we're on the same page, Qurban."

"Hey, if you get into trouble, you know that shit is going to trickle down on Qurban."

Martin swung into a sudden gap in the right lane. "You said you'd take a bullet for me." He tried to sound hurt. His agent took the bait, seemingly offended by the accusation.

"Martin... that was a metaphor! I'm no Kevin Costner, much as he might wish he was me. Hey, if you think you need it, I can get it for you. But we have to be discreet. I'm your agent, not a small arms dealer."

He swerved in front of the truck. The driver laid on the horn. Martin threw up a middle finger and glanced in his mirrors.

Tananka's cruiser was out of sight, hidden behind the truck. All he needed to do now was swing left at the next opportunity and he'd lose the guy.

"Just tell me when and where, Qurban. I'm gonna get you that sequel, I promise."

"Hey, hey!" the literary agent cried, throwing out his arms as Martin stepped out of the car. Qurban was a big hugger. Martin wasn't much of one himself but it kept his agent happy. If Qurban was a happy man he'd make sure his favorite fucking client was even happier.

Qurban squeezed him, enveloping him in thick arms and fresh-scented cologne, clapping his back vigorously. Martin patted him back halfheartedly until Qurban let go.

The agent regarded him with narrowed eyes. His wavy black hair with silver wings glistened under the streetlamp between the backs of a sushi restaurant and a repair shop. The alley stank of the Hudson and axel grease and the nearby NYPD horse stables, making Qurban's cologne a godsend.

"You look terrible, Martin. Have you been sleeping?"

"Some."

"Are you getting laid?"

Martin laughed. "I'll tell you all about it at our next meeting."

The agent smiled. "Hey, I'm a happily married man, Martin. You know I live for these stories."

Martin glanced toward the mouth of the alley, expecting to see Tanaka's cruiser pull up on the street. A few pedestrians walked by but it remained eerily quiet.

"Can we get down to brass tacks? I'm in a bit of a rush."

Qurban frowned. "'Brass tacks.' I don't like that expression. Let's get down to business. That's a phrase I can appreciate." He led Martin to his silver Porsche 911 and popped the trunk.