“I bet that looks good on a résumé,” Myron said.

“Let me put this in very simple terms for you, Myron: You fuck with us, I’ll kill you.”

“Shiver. Tremble.” Myron was not quite as confident as his sarcasm, but he knew better than to show fear. Guys like Aaron are like dogs. They smell fear, they pounce.

Aaron laughed again. He was laughing a lot today. He was either very amused or had been sniffing gas. He turned his back and walked to the door. “This is your final warning,” he said. “Landreaux honors his contract with Mr. O’Connor, or both of you end up worm food.”

Worm food. First oatmeal. Now worm food.

“I like you, Myron. I’d really hate to see something bad happen. But you understand.”

“Business is business.”

“Exactly.”

Esperanza appeared at the door.

Aaron gave her a sharklike smile. “Well, well,” he said. Then he followed up with his best big-guy wink. Esperanza managed to keep her clothes on. Amazing restraint.

“Pick up line two,” she said.

“Listen to this call closely, Myron,” Aaron added with a final grin. “Appreciate the gravity of the situation. And remember. Worm food.”

“Worm food. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Aaron winked at Esperanza again, blew her a kiss, and left.

“Charming,” she said.

“Who’s on the phone?”

“Chaz Landreaux.”

Myron picked up the headset. “Hello.”

“Motherfuckers were at my mom’s!” Chaz shouted. “They told her they were going to cut off my nuts and send them to her in a box! My mother, man! They said this to my mother!”

Myron felt his fingers tighten into fists. “I’ll take care of it,” he said slowly. “They won’t bother her again.”

Enough game playing. It was time to act.

It was time to tell Win about Roy O’Connor.

Win smiled like a kid on a snow day listening to the radio for a school closing. “Roy O’Connor,” he said.

“I don’t want him hurt. Promise me.”

Win’s eyes drifted dreamily. He might have nodded a yes, but Myron couldn’t say for sure.

Chapter 13

Baumgart’s on Palisades Avenue. Their old stomping grounds.

Peter Chin greeted them at the door, his eyes widening in delight and surprise when he spotted Jessica. “Miss Culver! How wonderful to see you again.”

“Nice to see you, Peter.”

“You look as lovely as ever. You beautify my restaurant.”

Myron said, “Hi, Peter.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He dismissed Myron with a hand wave. His full attention was on Jessica; a crocodile gnawing on his foot wouldn’t have changed that. “You look a little too thin, Miss Culver.”

“The food’s not as good in Washington.”

“Funny,” Myron said. “I was thinking she looked a little chunky.”

Jessica eyed him. “Dead man.”

Baumgart’s was an institution in Englewood, New Jersey. For fifty years it was an old Jewish deli and soda fountain, noted for its superb ice cream and desserts. When Peter Chin bought it eight years ago, he kept all of the tradition but added the best nouvelle Chinese cuisine in the state. The combination was a smash. The normal order might consist of Peking duck, sesame noodles, chocolate milk shake, french fries and a death-by-chocolate sundae for dessert. When Myron and Jessica had lived together, they ate at Baumgart’s at least once a week.

Myron still came once a week. Usually with Win or Esperanza. Sometimes alone. He never brought a date here.

Peter walked them past the soda fountain and put them in a booth under a huge painting. Modern art. It was a portrait of either Cher or Barbara Bush. Maybe both. Very esoteric.

Myron and Jessica sat across the table from each other, silently. The moment seemed weighed down, overwhelming. Being here together again—they had expected it to generate some light nostalgia. But the effect was more like a body blow.

“I’ve missed this place,” she said.

“Yes.”

She reached her hand across the table and took his. “I’ve missed you.”

Her face was aglow, the way it used to be when she looked at him as though he were the only person in the entire world. Myron felt something squeeze his heart, making it nearly impossible to breathe. The rest of the world broke apart, diffused. There were only the two of them.

“I’m not sure what to say.”

She smiled. “What? Myron Bolitar at a loss for words?”

“Ripley’s, huh?”

Peter came by. Without preamble, he said, “You’ll start with the crispy duck appetizer and squab package with pine nuts. For your main course you’ll have soft-shell crab in special sauce and the Baumgart lobster and shrimp.”

“Can we choose dessert?” Myron asked.

“No. Myron, you’ll have the pecan pie à la mode. And for Miss Culver.” He stopped, building suspense like a game-show host.

She smiled expectantly. “You don’t mean …”

Peter nodded. “Banana pudding cake with vanilla wafers. There’s only one piece left, but I put it away for you.”

“Bless you, Peter.”

“Each man does what he can. You didn’t bring wine?” Baumgart’s was BYO.

“We forgot,” Jessica said. She was dazzling Peter with her smile. Not fair. Jessica’s looks were like a Star Trek laser set on stun. Her smile, kill.

“I’ll send someone across the street to get a bottle. Kendall-Jackson Chardonnay?”

“You have a good memory,” she said.

“No. I just remember what is important.” Myron rolled his eyes. Peter bowed slightly and left.

She turned the smile back to Myron. He felt frightened and helpless and deliriously happy.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He shook his head. He was afraid to open his mouth.

“I never meant—” She was unsure how to continue. “I made a lot of mistakes in my life,” she said. “I am dumb. I am self-destructive.”

“No,” Myron said. “You’re perfect.”

Her voice grew dramatic, her hand against her chest. “ ‘Take the blinders from your eyes and see me as I really am.’ ”

He thought a moment. “Dulcinea to Don Quixote in Man of La Mancha. And it’s ‘take the clouds,’ not blinders.”