“I know. I’m leaving things out. I guess I’m trying not to upset you. But, yes, you’re right. You’re tough. Tougher than me. So, yeah, you heard right. Two murders. Young Reisner and a little old lady. She was heading home from the laundry and got hit by a stray shot.”

He paused for a moment, preparing for the hard part. Saying the old woman’s name out loud cost him something each time. “Her name was Woo. Mrs. Woo.” A sudden twinge in his shoulder made him wince, and he took a few more deep breaths.

“No. I don’t know if she had any family.” He found he needed to clear his throat. “And Jacqueline Clavette is alive. She took one bullet to the head. They rushed her to NewYork-Presbyterian for surgery. I don’t know any more than that, but I doubt Jill will welcome a condolence call from me. I was supposed to keep Jackie safe.” He paused again. This was the hardest part of all. “I don’t feel good about it, but maybe I make promises to Jill too easily. I’m going to have to think on that.”

He stared at the far wall for a long time. Minutes. Long minutes.

“Right. Is it time for that surprise? No? Ah. You want to know about how I’m doing. Well, I’m going to have to learn how to sign my name left-handed for the next few weeks, but otherwise I’m cleared for all normal activity. No skydiving, bungee jumping, or competition ballroom dancing, but all else is a go. Now is it time?”

Again, he took her silence for assent. He opened a file on the iPad.

“I thought a diversion might be just the thing for a long night. I will now introduce you to some of my favorite old movies. That way we can talk about them when you’re feeling up to talking. Shall we begin?”

Her face moved. Was it a smile or a twitch? A smile. Definitely a smile. He took her hand.

“So? Thin Man or Maltese Falcon? Considering the fact that we’re both feeling a bit bedraggled, I’m going to suggest the first. It’s not as dark. And the love story is a lot less complicated. Ready?”

-79-

-79-

Paulie McGirk was singing softly, something by Jackson Browne, Ted thought, though he wasn’t a fan and so couldn’t be sure. Meanwhile, Lili was listening to satellite radio, the afternoon DJ playing a series of Stax and Atlantic hits from the sixties and seventies. She had recently discovered Otis Redding and cranked up the volume whenever “Shake” came on. The television was muted. There was no one paying attention to the talking heads on a sleepy Friday afternoon.

“Andy Love,” Lester said as he handed Ted another file folder. Lester had spent some money on his teeth and his wardrobe. He looked good—prosperous and proud of it.