«Tie you to a chair and set your dick on fire,» Win repeated. «That would sting.»

Myron nodded. «Talk about having a burning sensation when you urinate.»

«Indeed. So tell me.»

Myron started talking. Win, as always, did not appear to be listening. He never glanced in Myron’s direction, his eyes searching the streets for beautiful women. Midtown Manhattan during work hours was full of them. They wore business suits and silk blouses and white Reebok sneakers. Every once in a while Win would reward one with a smile; unlike almost anybody else in New York, he was often rewarded with one in return.

When Myron told him about bodyguarding Brenda Slaughter, Win suddenly stopped and broke out in song: «AND I-I-I-I-I-I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU-OU-ou-ou-ou-ou-ou:

Myron looked at him. Win stopped, put his face back in place, continued walking. «When I sing that,» Win said, «it’s almost like Whitney Houston is in the room.»

«Yeah,» Myron said. «Or something.»

«So what is the Aches» interest in all this?»

«I don’t know.»

«Perhaps TruPro just wishes to represent her.»

«Doubtful. She’ll make somebody money but not enough for pulling this.»

Win thought about it, nodded his agreement. They headed east on Fiftieth Street. «Young FJ might pose a problem.»

«Do you know him?»

«A bit. He is something of an intriguing story. Daddy groomed him to go legit. He sent him to Lawrenceville, then to Princeton, finally Harvard. Now he’s setting him up in the business of representing athletes.»

«But.»

«But he resents it. He is still Frank Ache’s son and thus wants his approval. He needs to show that despite the upbringing, he’s still a tough guy. Worse, he is genetically Frank Ache’s son. My guess? If you trample through FJ’s childhood, you’ll stumble across many a legless spider and wingless fly.»

Myron shook his head. «This is definitely not a good thing.»

Win said nothing. They hit the Lock-Horne Building on Forty-seventh Street. Myron got off the elevator on the twelfth floor. Win stayed in, his office being two flights up. When Myron looked at the reception desk -the place where Esperanza usually sat – he nearly jumped back. Big Cyndi sat silently watching him. She was far too big for the desk – far too big for the building, really – and the desk actually teetered on her knees. Her makeup would be labeled «too garish» by members of Kiss. Her hair was short and seaweed green. The T-shirt she wore had the sleeves ripped off, revealing biceps the size of basketballs.

Myron gave her a tentative wave. «Hello, Cyndi.»

«Hello, Mr. Bolitar.»

Big Cyndi was six-six, three hundred pounds and had been Esperanza’s tag team wrestling partner, known in the ring as Big Chief Mama. For years Myron had only heard her growl, never speak. But her voice could be anything she wanted. When she worked as a bouncer at Leather-N-Lust on Tenth Street, she put on an accent that made Arnold Schwarzenegger sound like a Gabor sister. Right now, she was doing her perky Mary-Richards-off-decaf.

«Is Esperanza here?» he asked.

«Miss Diaz is in Mr. Bolitar’s office.» She smiled at him. Myron tried not to cringe. Forget what he’d said about Frank Ache – this smile made his fillings hurt.

He excused himself and headed into his office. Esperanza was at his desk, talking on the phone. She wore a bright yellow blouse against the olive skin that always made him think of stars shimmering off the warm water in the Amalfi bay. She looked up at him, signaled to give her a minute with a finger, and kept on talking. Myron sat down across from her. It was an interesting perspective, seeing what clients and corporate sponsors saw when they sat in his office. The Broadway musical posters behind his chair – too desperate, he decided. Like he was trying to be irreverent for irreverence’s sake.

When she finished the call, Esperanza said, «You’re late.»

«Frank Ache wanted to see me.»

She crossed her arms. «He need a fourth for mah-jongg?»

«He wanted to know about Brenda Slaughter.»

Esperanza nodded. «So we got trouble.»

«Maybe.»

«Dump her.»

«No.»

She looked at him with flat eyes. «Tattoo me surprised.»

«Did you get anything on Horace Slaughter?»

She grabbed a piece of paper. «Horace Slaughter. None of his credit cards has been used in the past week. He has one bank account at Newark Fidelity. Balance: zero dollars.»

«Zero?»

«He cleaned it out.»

«How much?»

«Eleven grand. In cash.»

Myron whistled and leaned back. «So he was planning on running. That fits with what we saw in his apartment.»

«Uh-huh.»

«I got a harder one for you,» Myron said. «His wife, Anita Slaughter.»

«They still married?»

«I don’t know. Maybe legally. She ran away twenty years ago. I don’t think they ever bothered with a divorce.»

She frowned. «Did you say twenty years ago?»

«Yes. Apparently no one has seen her since then.»

«And what exactly are we trying to find?»

«In a word: her.»

«You don’t know where she is?»

«Not a clue. Like I said, she’s been missing for twenty years.»

Esperanza waited a beat. «She could be dead.»

«I know.»

«And if she’s managed to stay hidden this long, she could have changed her name. Or left the country.»

«Right.»

«And there’d be few records, if any, from twenty years ago. Certainly nothing on the computer.»

Myron smiled. «Don’t you hate it when I make it too easy?»

«I realize I’m only your lowly assistant-»

«You’re not my lowly assistant.»

She gave him a look. «I’m not your partner either.»

That quieted him.

«I realize that I’m only your lowly assistant,» she said again, «but do we really have time for this bullshit?»

«Just do a standard check. See if we get lucky.»

«Fine.» Her tone was like a door slamming shut. «But we got other things to discuss here.»

«Shoot.»

«Milner’s contract. They won’t renegotiate.»

They dissected the Milner situation, batted it around a bit, developed and fine-tuned a strategy, and then concluded that their strategy would not work. Behind them Myron could hear the construction starting. They were cutting space out of the waiting area and conference room to make a private office for Esperanza.

After a few minutes Esperanza stopped and stared at him.

«What?»

«You’re going to follow through with this,» she said. «You’re going to search for her parents.» Her father is an old friend of mine.»

«Oh Christ, please don’t say, "I owe him."«

«It’s not just that. It’s good business.»

«It’s not good business. You’re out of the office too much. Clients want to talk to you directly. So do the sponsors.»

«I have my cellular.»

Esperanza shook her head. «We can’t keep going on like this.»

«Like what?»

«Either you make me a partner or I walk.»

«Don’t hit me with that now, Esperanza. Please.»

«You’re doing it again.»

«What?»

«Stalling.»

«I’m not stalling.»

She gave him a look that was half harsh, half pity. «I know how you hate change-»

«I don’t hate change.»

«-but one way or the other, things are going to be different. So get over it.»

Part of him wanted to yell, Why? Things were good the way they were. Hadn’t he been the one who’d encouraged her to get a law degree in the first place? A change, sure, he expected that after her graduation. He had been slowly giving her new responsibilities. But a partnership?

He pointed behind him. «I’m building you an office,» he said.

«So?»

«So doesn’t that scream commitment? You can’t expect me to rush this. I’m taking baby steps here.»

«You took one baby step, and then you fell on your ass.» She stopped, shook her head. «I haven’t pushed you on this since we were down at Merion.» The golf U.S. Open in Philadelphia. Myron was in the midst of finding a kidnap victim when she hit him with her partnership demands. Since then, he had been, well, er, stalling.