“That’s not my wife. My wife lives in Boca.” He looked past me to her. “Tina, go get dressed why don’t you?” He stood, motioned for me to follow. “We can talk in my office, Swift.”

His office was a big, modern glass and mirrors room with electronic everything and a view of his pool in the backyard. It glittered crystal blue in the cool morning air. He sat behind the metallic bunker he called a desk, steepled his hands like he was considering my loan application, and waited for me to speak.

“I need some answers, Jeffers. And I need them without a lot of smart-guy double talk.”

Jeffers raised an eyebrow. “I think you have it backwards, pal. It’s you who’d better start explaining.”

I started feeling all hot up through my face.

“Beggar’s not happy,” continued Jeffers. “He wants to know where his ledgers are and why they weren’t delivered on time. He’s not a patient man.”

“I’m not so patient myself these days.”

“Now, really, Swift, I don’t think you understand who you’re dealing with here.”

I was across the desk quick and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, hauled him out of his seat. His eyes bulged. A little yelp of terror got stuck in his throat. I yanked him about halfway across. Pens and pencils scattered. A calculating machine flew to the floor. My teeth and jaw were set. I tried to make sure I looked like I felt. Mad.

“Are you crazy?” said Jeffers. He pried feebly at my hands, trying to pull away, trying to get back behind the safety of his desk.

“Maybe.”

“You’re digging your own grave, you fool. I work for Beggar Johnson.”

“I’m getting a little sick of everybody saying that name like he’s Jehovah. I want to know where my boss is right now. What happened to him?”

“Who?”

“Stan, you fucking pencil-neck. Where is he?”

“How the hell should I know?” Jeffers was too scared to lie. “I’m not involved with that end of Beggar’s operation.”

“You are now. You’re down in the dirt with the rest of us.”

“Please,” Jeffers whined. “Let me go, will you? Let me go, and I’ll explain.”

I held him with a hard stare for a moment, nailed him to the desk with my eyes. I let him go, but I remained standing and close to the desk.

He was shaking a little. He opened a cabinet behind the desk, and my hand drifted into my coat and hovered over the revolver in case he was reaching for something dangerous. He came out with a bottle of Ballentine’s and a tumbler. He held up the glass and cocked an eyebrow.

I shook my head.

He filled the glass three fingers’ full, shot it back, and filled the glass again. He exhaled raggedly, calmed down some. He contemplated the bottom of his glass like he might find some answers there.

“You said you’d explain,” I reminded him. “Start talking.”

“Okay. Right.” He nodded. “Sure.” He looked back at the bottle of booze, thought about it a second, then shook his head.

“Like I told you, I don’t see the nasty end of the business. I handle the money. I happen to be president of the Exchange Bank in Longwood. I make sure nobody looks too closely at Beggar’s deposits, and I supervise the smooth flow of monies to various offshore accounts. I take it you’ve figured out Beggar’s taking over Stan’s territory.”

“You take it just right.”

Jeffers shrugged. “Then you must understand. Beggar needs somebody like me who looks like an upright citizen, who has legitimate contacts in the business community. Stan’s still running things like it’s 1955. He couldn’t modernize, so he’s out.”

“None of that answers my question,” I said.

“You’re not listening. I don’t know where Stan is. That’s not my job. I don’t rub anyone out or give them cement overshoes or any of those other wonderful things you film-noir types do. Beggar’s got a guy named Lloyd Mercury for all that.”

“Then where do I find him?”

Jeffers snorted and looked at me like I was trying to push a truck uphill with a wet noodle. “I hope you don’t think you can bust in on Lloyd Mercury like you did here with me. He’d kill you. It’s that simple. I’ve never seen the man operate, but I’ve heard enough to know I don’t want to hear any more. He’s a cold-blooded professional right down to the bone.”

“I’ll be leaving now, Jeffers.”

“But what about the ledgers?”

I leaned forward, slapped an open palm down on his desk. “You don’t get dick until I hear about Stan. Get on your phone, call who you have to call, but when I get back in touch with you, you’d better tell me something useful.”

“You’re not being smart about this, Swift.” The tone in his voice kept shifting. He couldn’t decide if he was pleading or telling me off. “Stan’s a sinking ship. Why are you still shoveling coal into the furnace?”

“I’ll tell you why.” The words came out harsh, and Jeffers flinched. “Because when you throw in with a guy, you stick with him. Otherwise, you’re just some kind of animal.”

As I spoke, I pounded the desk again for emphasis, but my other hand slipped under the edge of the desk. The microphone was the size of a button and had some gummy stuff on the back so it would stay. I pressed hard, made sure it stuck.

Jeffers shook his head. He couldn’t believe how dumb I was being. “Only dogs are that loyal, Swift.” He opened the top desk drawer, and reached in lazily. When he came out with the little automatic, I was surprised. I didn’t think he had it in him.

“If you don’t put that away,” I told him, “I’ll take it away from you and shove it straight up your ass.”

He lifted his chin, put on a brave face. “I can’t have you running around causing trouble. We’re going to sit here nice and quiet while I call Beggar and find out what he wants done with you.”

My hand snaked out fast, and I plucked the little pistol from his grip. His eyes grew, and he looked down at his empty hand like he was trying to figure out a magic trick. When he looked back at me, my fist caught him on the chin. The No Sale signs popped up in his eyes, and he wilted into a little heap behind his desk.

I left his office and made for the front door.

Tina stood in my way. Her robe had fallen open, and she was naked beneath. Her robe had fallen open, because she wasn’t holding it closed anymore. She wasn’t holding it closed anymore, because she needed both hands to point the enormous revolver at me. It looked like a.44 magnum. It looked like it could make me one hundred percent dead if she pulled the trigger.

“Hi.”

I cleared my throat. “Hello.”

She was steady with the gun, held it well like she’d been trained how. She looked over my shoulder, trying to see into the office. “What did you do to Alan?”

“He’s just napping. I had to put him out.”

“Why?”

“He pulled a gun on me.”

We exchanged long, probing looks, sized each other up, and I think we were both surprised at what we saw. It was obvious to her I’d had a gun pointed at me before. It was obvious to me she was ready to pull the trigger if necessary. Your average person doesn’t know dick about aiming a gun or how to hold it or squeeze the trigger. Your average person would shit his pants when looking down the barrel of a cocked handgun. We were not two average people.

And then she did something so smart, it made me realize how dangerous she might be.

She stepped back and motioned with her chin that I should leave.

“Just like that?”

“I have to speak to Alan,” she said, “before I can do anything with you.”

I gave her a half-hearted salute. “Until next time.”

She smiled, cold and tight. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Mr. Swift.”

I got out to my car and fumbled with the headphones, put them on, adjusted the volume. I could hear Tina helping Jeffers to his feet, getting him back in his chair. He groaned, and she said she’d get him some ice for his chin.

“What do we do?” asked Jeffers. “This is bad.”