Somewhere deep in his psyche there were still remains of the cocky attaché-case-bearing gunslinger fighting for the little guy, the lawyer he had once dreamed of becoming. His own opportunism had had more to do with destroying that youth than the actions of a vengeful family law firm had. Though he still resented the firm’s treatment of him, his regrets were all his own. But he now existed in the liberated state of one with nothing left to lose.

“Thanks for the warning, Jackie. I’ll give it all the attention it deserves.”

-15-

-15-

The phone rang again an instant later.

“You okay?” Lester asked.

“I’m still getting over my last two calls. It seems I have a knack for pissing off strong-willed women.”

“Don’t we all. Can you get a car to take us to Seaside?”

Seaside was most likely an hour from Corona no matter how you cut it. Traffic on Woodhaven made all the difference. “You’ve got something good?”

“Barbara Miller.”

Ted found a gypsy cab depositing a fare at the hotel down the street and persuaded the Yemeni behind the wheel to expand his universe by driving all the way to the beach. The man—who introduced himself by first citing his birth country, then announcing that he had only recently arrived in the States but loved America already, and finally giving all four of his names, the one he used most often being Mohammed—indicated with shakes of the head and double shrugs that he had never been to the South Shore before and today was not a good day for a first attempt. A fifty up front closed the deal.

Ted sat back and tried not to anticipate. Lester might have hit the jackpot, or they might arrive in Seaside only to find a blank-faced woman in the grips of dementia. Ted was taking no bets.

The car lurched and scooted around a Snapple delivery truck. Ted realized that his recently reluctant driver was flying down Woodhaven, weaving like a kid on a skateboard.

“Stop when you get to Atlantic,” he said, gripping the door handle white-knuckled. “We need to pick up my partner.”

The driver waved a hand that should have been holding the steering wheel. “Okay. Okay. No problem.”

No problem. The single most-used phrase by immigrants, cashiers, reservation clerks, baristas, and almost everyone else in the service industry. No problems anywhere.

“And don’t get me killed getting there,” Ted added.

“Inshallah.” Mohammed looked over his shoulder without any alteration in speed.

“Amen,” Ted said, wishing that he had the same faith in divine guidance.

He heard the word “partner” echoing inside his head. Without planning or forethought, he had described Lester as a partner. Not an employee. He barely knew the man. Who knew where this business of trusting people might lead?

Trust. A quaint concept Ted remembered from an idealistic youth, a concept that engendered in his adult self a sneering cynicism.