Ted ran through a mental checklist. Cheryl wouldn’t talk to the cops unless he could prove without a doubt that she was complicit and facing hard time—and maybe not even then. Jackie was protected by client confidentiality. Then he hit on it. There was one possible witness—she was also a victim.

“I’ve got someone,” Ted said. “The old lady. Barbara Miller. She’ll talk to you.”

“That’s a hard sell. Didn’t you tell me she’s got Alzheimer’s?”

“Dementia, at any rate,” Ted admitted. “But you catch her at the right moment, and she’s as sharp as either of us.”

“If she isn’t crystal clear on the main points, I won’t talk to her. I can’t afford to make a mistake.”

Ted didn’t like it, but he understood. “I’ll see her tomorrow and let you know.”

“Heeeere’s Johnny!” Paulie McGirk was back, swaying to a slow rhythm distinctly out of pace with the Allman Brother’s “Whipping Post,” which was blaring from the jukebox. He stood at the end of the table, his face scrunched in concentration. “Did I forget to tell you something?”

“I’m in a meeting, Paulie,” Ted said. “Let’s chat some other time.”

“Did those two guys find you, then?” Paulie asked.

“What two guys?” Ted asked, though he had a strong feeling he already knew.

“I don’t know,” Paulie said, unhappy to disappoint, so unable to maintain eye contact. “They didn’t leave a card. They came in today, asked if you’d been in, then they left.”

Duran was following this conversation intently. “Describe them,” he said.

“Who’s this?” Paulie asked in an exaggerated stage whisper.

Ted thought that identifying Duran as an NYPD detective would make Paulie clam up and disappear. As much as Ted wanted to get rid of the brain-addled bar sponge, he wanted to hear about these two guys. “He’s a new friend, Paulie. Very interested in keeping me safe.”

“Then he should keep you away from those two guys,” Paulie said.

“What did they look like?” Ted asked.

Paulie stood, mouth agape, for long seconds. Direct questions on matters of fact often sent him into this kind of trance.

Ted tried another approach. “They were tough guys? Scary?”

“I wasn’t scared.”

Whether this was drunkard’s bravado or alcoholic depression, it was probably true.

Ted tried softening his approach. “I meant they were scary dudes. Most people would be scared of them.”

“Without a doubt,” Paulie agreed. “They had shark eyes. Know what I mean? Like they would have been happy to kill you, but maybe later when they weren’t so busy.”

Ted knew exactly what he meant.

Duran tried again to get a less subjective description. “Was one of them taller than the other? Fatter? Thinner? Both the same?”