Diana had gone to a movie with Gretchen to leave Warlock free for his evening’s work. She had rather cutely put a note in the refrigerator—“Finish your work before you snack. Eating makes you sleepy. I love you. Good luck.” Quite a girl. The new job would enable them to travel again. Perhaps Venice next spring. She had this nasty ambition to travel up the Amazon but big snakes were major on his fear list.

After the first draft of the memo he had called his dad to share the good news about his job. The call had gone well until he announced that he was going to be “sort of a detective.”

“Oh Jesus no. I order you to quit before you start.”

“I can’t do that. I need a job and anyhow, why?”

“Here I am watching a baseball game. Right? Then you say detective. Baseball bores the shit out of me. I can’t wait until September. This Garagiola guy is a real numb-nuts. You’re just not the right type for detective work. You’re too bighearted and you don’t notice anything. You’ll get your ass kicked. Get some office job. Christ, you got two degrees. Do you think I’d be knocking heads if I had two degrees?”

“I don’t know, Dad. I had hoped you’d be pleased for Diana and me.”

“Please don’t get me wrong, Johnny. Here the other night this boonie shoots a grocer in the fucking face with a twelve gauge. I’m there afterwards looking it over and I step on something. What is it?”

“I don’t know, Dad.”

“Of course you don’t. It was three teeth still hooked together by a piece of gum and jawbone. I almost lost my cookies. I had just eaten Myrna’s special old country goulash.”

“But Dad, this is just business crime. A lot of people are swindling this millionaire doctor.”

“I never knew a doctor that wasn’t a fucking swindler. A lot of them take dope.”

“Not this guy. He’s a brilliant inventor doctor.”

“Okay, okay. You’re forty-one. It’s your business.”

“Forty-two.”

“Okay. Just remember a few things. I’ve got some theories from four decades of police business. So listen. Number one, everyone is a criminal. That’s because the world is a crime. It might somehow be tied to religion. I haven’t figured it all out, like if it’s tied into our fall from grace and that shit.”

“Jesus, Dad. Diana and me aren’t criminals. Mom wasn’t. She had a heart of gold.”

“Look into your heart, son. Your mom was a spitfire when we were first married. And Diana is too beautiful to trust.”

“God, Dad, you’re really pissing in the whiskey. I just called with a little good news for a change.”