“You got a cell phone?” she called out to the kitchen.

“Yeah, sure.” Tiffany returned with a can of beer, and a white-bread sandwich on a flimsy paper plate. She set the food on the beat-up coffee table and pulled a cell phone from her pocket, handing it over. “Be my guest. I’ll get you the Advil and the Band-Aids, I couldn’t carry it all.”

“It can wait.” Bennie rose and flipped open the phone. “Can I have some privacy?”

“Sure, I’ll go outside, catch a smoke or somethin’.” Tiffany fetched her purse and left the apartment as Bennie pressed in the phone number for Marla Stone, her contact at USABank.

“Hello, Marla? It’s Bennie Rosato.”

“Oh, hello.” Marla sounded cold and distant. “I didn’t recognize the phone number.”

“It’s not my phone and-”

“As you know, I can’t discuss this account with you over the phone, unless you send me an email with written authorization and the password.”

Oh no. “Marla, this is me, Bennie. We don’t have a password on this account. We talk on the phone all the time about my accounts.”

“I’m sorry, I cannot discuss your account with you without email authorization and password.”

“Marla, we didn’t agree to anything. My sister Alice is impersonating me. You’ve been dealing with her, not me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Marla, this really is Bennie. I know-” Suddenly the line went dead, and she redialed. The phone rang and rang, but the call wasn’t answered. She had to try another tack. She called information for the main number of the bank, let the call connect, and asked the operator for the head of private banking. “I need to speak with Russ Baxter, please,” she said. “This is Bennie Rosato.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s on vacation this week.”

“Who else can I speak to? I have an emergency problem with my account. My sister is gaining unauthorized access-”

“Ms. Rosato, I have instructions to transfer all calls regarding your accounts to Marla Stone. Would you like to speak with her?”

“I’ve already spoken with Marla and she hasn’t been able to help. Who does Baxter report to?”

“Mr. Baxter heads our private banking unit. We all report to him.”

“Who’s the president of the bank, then? I met him once at a benefit. Isn’t his name Ron Engel?”

“I’m sorry.” The operator paused. “I have been instructed that if you call, to transfer you to Marla and only to Marla.”

Bennie hung up, her thoughts racing. Alice must not have emptied her accounts yet, because she’d be gone if she had. It would probably take her two or three days to get that accomplished, and Bennie had to stop her, but was stumped. She couldn’t go to the cops or the bank. She couldn’t rely on the law for justice. She was on her own. If Alice was crime, then Bennie was punishment.

Suddenly Tiffany opened the door and walked inside, wreathed in cigarette smoke. “Sorry, you done your call?”

“Sure.” Bennie handed her back the phone.

“Thanks.” Tiffany flopped onto the couch, crossing slim legs, both with ankle tattoos of blue butterflies. “I’m surprised to see you on the run, Al. I heard you got a regular job, and all. You really come up in the world since the joint.”

“I know, right?” Bennie picked up her can of beer, popped the top, and took an icy-cold swig, sitting down. She wanted to keep Tiffany talking because more information might help. “It sucked, inside, huh?”

“Totally. ’Course you ran the show, even then. I was happy for you when you got off on that murder rap. You really didn’t do it, huh?”

“I didn’t. Imagine that.”

“Go figure.” Tiffany laughed. “I went by the shop and saw Caitlin, and she asked me had I seen you. She said Kendra didn’t see you and you didn’t come by the shop, neither. Said she was lookin’ for you all week, callin’ for you everywhere. Didn’t she call you?”

“Don’t know.” Bennie wolfed down her sandwich. “I left my cell somewhere. That’s why I needed yours.”

“I can take you to see Caitlin at the shop. You know how she is. High maintenance.”

“Good.”

Tiffany hesitated. “Listen, Al, I would really love to come work for you. I swear, I could do a good job. You got Caitlin at the shop and Kendra at the gym, but you can have me at the lunch truck. Who cares where the money comes from? It’s all green.”

“How do you see yourself, working for me?”

“Easy. You’d be surprised at how many guys come to the truck, looking to score. Construction guys, painters, masons, all the trades. Men need Oxys, too. Not just housewives.”

“You think?”

“Sure! The guys who come to me, they got aches and pains, from real work. They talk about it all the time, rotator cuff this, pulled whatever, that. You think they can’t use a Vike or an Oxy? They can, sure as shit. None of ’em sleep that good. They need Ambien, Xanax, whatever. I could make you a killing.”

Bennie listened, drawing conclusions on the fly. Alice and her cop boyfriend used to run a drug business, selling crack through boxers’ girlfriends out of a boxing gym. She had sworn to Bennie that she’d changed, but her only change had been to sell prescription drugs, where the addicts were better-dressed.

“Will you think about it? Caitlin said no, but she’s not the boss. So, will you?”

“Yes.” Bennie rose. She had to get to Alice, and now she had a next step. “Lemme grab a quick shower before we go see Caitlin.”

“Sure.” Tiffany got up. “I’ll show you the bathroom. Advil and Band-Aids are there, too. Anything else I can get you?”

“Yes, fresh clothes, shoes, and a coupla bucks.”

“No worries.”

“Plus a gun,” Bennie said, surprising even herself.

“For real, Al?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“Sorry, can’t help you there.”

“Forget it,” Bennie said, but she wouldn’t. She was already taking the splint off her right hand.

Alice crossed the reception area, pasting on a smile to meet the Rexco people. “Gentlemen,” she said, reaching out to shake hands. “I’m Bennie Rosato. So glad you could make it.”

“Hans Mescal, good to meet you.” He shook her hand, and he wasn’t how she had pictured him, from the file. He had hooded blue eyes behind his steel-rimmed bifocals, a brushy white mustache, and a gray suit that fit badly, showing that he was a tightwad, for the boss of a Fortune 500 company. He introduced the other men, and they all said a round of hellos, but Hans acted as if he was the only one who counted, and Alice took her cue.

“Hans, everyone, please, come this way.” She led them into the smaller, enclosed conference room, which had been stocked with hot coffee, fresh fruit, and cinnamon buns, and Mary was already waiting with a legal pad.

“Welcome, everybody,” she said, smiling like the first day of school.

“DiNunzio, introduce yourself to Hans and the others, and let’s get started. Hans, please, sit by me.” Alice turned to Hans, gestured him into the seat at her right, and sat down at the head of the table. They all settled, and she began. “Let’s get started. We all know the problem. Your employees made off with your trade secrets and lit out for the West Coast. You went to McGarity & Boston for the complaint, but they’re not up to the task. You’re a big enough company that every law firm in town wants your business, but I want it the most.”

Hans cocked his head, listening.

“In fact, I want it so much that I’m willing to be unconventional in my billing practices.”

The older man next to Hans frowned. “We don’t usually talk fees before we talk substance.”

“Why?” Alice never took her eyes off Hans. “The law is clear. You need a restraining order, and any court would give you one. You’ve probably already interviewed Morgan, Lewis, and Dechert, all the big boys. They’ve told you the same thing, right?”

The older man said, “But do you think the order should-”