Title insurance investigators were busy on most of the computer terminals, checking lis pendens, mechanic’s liens, and any other evidence of potential problems that might affect a real estate closing. They generally worked freelance, and there was no dress code, though the guards at the door fitfully maintained an ever-changing set of arbitrary rules regarding flip-flops, short-shorts, tank tops, and headwear. Most of the workers were younger than Ted by a decade or more; it was piecework and the burnout rate was high.

He was looking for someone a little older, maybe down on his luck, but also someone with a functioning brain. Twenty years of staring at screens and checking real estate records might take the shine off the brightest apple.

And then Ted saw the recruit. The man was hanging back, not engaged with the screens, though from his interactions with the others, it was obvious he was a regular. Unlike the younger investigators, he wore a jacket, tie, and dress shirt that might once have been white. He was dressed for a job interview, Ted decided. A slope-shouldered black man in his late forties. Greying. His pants pressed but shiny. Comfortable shoes. Slip-ons. Scuffed up. Ted edged up to him.

“You’ve got the air of someone who knows his way around here.”

The man looked Ted in the eyes when he answered. “I’ve worked title if that’s what you’re asking.” The man had more self-confidence than Ted had expected. There was a touch of attitude in his reply. Ted liked that.

“I’m looking to hire somebody, and I don’t have the time or inclination to train him from the ground up.”

“I know you,” the man said. “You’re the money guy who was teamed up with Richie Rubiano. I knew Richie. Everybody’s been talking about what happened.”

Ted processed this. He had no problem hiring a crook, as long as the man got the job done. But he wanted all the bad news up front. He started slowly. “You were friends?”

“Nah. He wasn’t a bad guy, but he kept to himself. A scammer is always waiting to be scammed.”

Good answers. Ted relaxed. A little. “He served time.”

“Never been there myself, but I don’t hold it against a man. Is it a job requirement? Because I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you.”

Ted liked him. “What’s your name?”

“Lester. Lester Young McKinley. My father knew him.”

Ted was confused. “Your father knew Richie?”

The man looked insulted. “No. He knew Lester Young. That’s who I’m named for. He knew all those guys. I have a letter he got from Nat King Cole congratulating him when I was born.”