“Forgive a confirmed cynic, Mr. Molloy, but you failed to mention that this person was known to you or that he might have reason to toss your home and destroy your possessions.”

“I don’t even know his name.”

Duran flashed a sad smile at him. “I wish I could believe that. Really, I do.” He even sounded sincere.

Ted took the moment to retreat to the relatively open space of the main room. It was a mistake; he could see much more of the damage from there. “He threatened me. He wanted me to get Cheryl Rubiano that surplus money. Somehow, he followed me to a ball game. He’s a nutjob.”

“Your landlord gave us a very good description,” Duran said. “Including the visible tats. The man is well known in legal circles. He’s been arrested fourteen times. He has never been to jail. He’s never been tried. Witnesses recant or disappear. He’s that kind of a guy.”

“Who is he?” Ted asked.

“You make it sound like you don’t know.”

“I thought he was weird. A little scary.”

“Stavros Nikitopoulos—also known as Nicky Greco, Nick Stavros, or just ‘the big Greek guy.’ He makes his living intimidating people as protection for con men. If the mark wises up and comes after the grifters, he finds he’s facing our boy Nick. That tends to dissuade said mark from taking any direct action.”

“And there’s the connection,” Ted said. “She and Richie might have been out of that business, but they’d all know each other. Ask her. She told me they’re friends, but there are a toothbrush and razor in her bathroom in his size.”

“Thank you,” Duran said. “That’s something I didn’t know. See how easy it was?” He and his partner shared a look. A question was asked and answered without a word being spoken.

Kasabian took over. “Look at you. Telling the truth. Let’s see you do it again. Ready? Who’s the lady lawyer?”

Ted shook his head. “Say a name and maybe I’ll tell you whether you’re right or not.”

“Look around, Molloy.” Kasabian gestured at the destruction surrounding them. “This is no time for playing games.”

The apartment was totaled. Ted’s tiny closet had been emptied, and every article of clothing he owned was in the tub and liberally sprayed with bleach. His Mimi Fong tie, nearly unrecognizable, lay on the top of the pile. The empty bottle peeked guiltily around the shower curtain.

“I’ve said all I’m going to say. And now I have to be somewhere. Call me when you’ve got the case number.” He walked out and allowed himself to stomp down the stairs. Anger felt good. It reinforced his determination. Leaving everything behind was easier than he would have imagined.

The advantage of having a minimalist life was that starting over would be a lot less painful this time.

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