"I can imagine."

"You're definitely right about that Botox. He's completely pissed off and he still isn't frowning."

Vicki felt a guilty twinge and switched lanes.

Dan said, "Isn't that a perfect vision of hell? Having all that anger and not being able to express it?"

"Sounds like work."

"Or marriage."

Vicki let it go and passed Thirtieth Street. "At least he didn't fire me."

"Congratulations. Your career is really going places."

"Thanks for your support."

"So what happened? Tell Daddy," Dan said, and Vicki filled him in completely. "Quite a story. So where are you now?"

"In the car, going to learn a little more about Reheema. She should get out of jail free in a few hours, and I wanna see what I can see before then."

"You think it's a good idea? Coke? Guns? You? One of these things is not like the other."

Vicki smiled. "The most dangerous thing I'm doing is talking on the cell and driving."

"Why do you want to know more about Reheema?"

"I'm curious, is all."

"Curiosity killed the Cabrio."

"Puns are beneath you, Dan."

"You overestimate me."

"That's a given."

"No, I mean it." Dan's voice turned serious, and Vicki could imagine exactly how he'd look when his handsome features darkened. Basically, he'd look even handsomer. "You're doing this for Morty."

"No, really?" Vicki accelerated when she saw open road. "The cops are on it." "Oh yeah? I just met with the CI's mom, who didn't even get a call from them. God knows when they'll get in gear, and I'm not stopping them, anyway. I'm learning about my own case. If anything, I should have known it before." Vicki swallowed hard, checking traffic in the rearview. A gypsy cab was riding on her bumper. "If I'd taken the time to get that transcript, I would have known the stuff I found out today."

"You were on trial. Don't blame yourself." "I'm at fault." "No, you're not." "Enough." Vicki braked at the light at Thirty-eighth Street.

She was going back out to West Philly again. Penn students crossed the street in scruffy jackets, mingling with university employees wearing plastic ID badges on lanyards. A white police cruiser pulled next to her, and the cop gave Vicki a nasty sideways look, disapproving either of her cell phone or her penchant for police work. "I should go."

"Call me as soon as you get home." "I will." "The minute you get home." "Yes, dear," Vicki said, as if she were kidding. She pressed end, flipped the phone closed, and tossed it onto the seat beside her. When the light turned green, she accelerated. She was almost there, even if her thoughts were elsewhere.

With Dan.

"You're a lawyer?" the manager asked skeptically, which dispelled Vicki's concern that he'd recognize her from the TV news. His name was Mike Something and he was maybe thirty-five, his face dotted with old acne scars. He wore a ratty blue sweater with jeans, and his short, dark hair was gelled and spiky, so it stuck up like an unfortunate crown. His eyes were narrow and blue, his nose straight, and his teeth stained with nicotine. Vicki stood in the door to his tiny, windowless back office, and he took way too long to eye her up and down.

"Yes, I'm a lawyer," Vicki answered.

"You don't look like a lawyer. You're so little."

"I'm a little lawyer."

Mike smiled crookedly. "You watch The Practice? I used to watch The Practice. I don't know why they took it off." They were in the back office at Bennye's, a raggedy sandwich shop in West Philly. The paneled walls were covered with an old Miller High Life ad, a taped-up 2001 calendar from a local heating oil company, and an obscene Lil' Kim poster, which was redundant. The office reeked of leftover cooking grease, and Vicki couldn't fight the sensation that even the air was sticky. Mike sat behind a small desk cluttered with old newspapers. "I liked the blond chick on The Practice, you know which one?"

"Yeah, I liked her, too." Vicki didn't have all day. "Talk to me about Reheema Bristow. She waitressed here, right?" There had been a note in the file.

"You're here about Reheema?" Mike brightened, sitting straighter in his black vinyl chair. "Whyn't you say so? How the hell is she?"

"Fine." Only because they stopped me from strangling her.

"I went to visit her a couple times, inside. Tell her I said hi, will you?"

"Oh, I'm not her-" Then Vicki caught herself. Mike thought she was Reheema's lawyer. Well, what's the harm? "Sure, I will. I'll tell her you said hi."

"Thanks. My best to her mom, too. How's she doin'?' "

"Her mom? Fine." I hope. "Now, you're a friend of Re-heema's, right?" Vicki was taking her cues from Mike's demeanor, like a cable TV psychic. "She mentioned you to me. She said you'd be glad to talk to me, if it helped her out."

"I am. Anything she needs, you just ask."

"What I need most is information. Background info, for her case." Vicki thought a minute. "I don't remember her mentioning anyone but you from here. Didn't she have any other friends at work? People who know her well? I could use them for character witnesses at her trial."

"Not really. There's only the one waitress, the joint is so small. I prolly was the closest one to her, being the boss. I'd be a great character witness."

"Great, we'll get to that in a minute." Vicki made a fake note in her Filofax. "By the way, did she have any boyfriends, that you know of? We don't get time to talk girl stuff."

"A boyfriend? Reheema? No way. She worked this job in the day and the housecleaning at night, at Presby, the hospital. She didn't have the time. She was like a church girl, anyway, you know."

Church girl? Vicki blinked, nonplussed. "I know, that's what's so unfair, with the charges against her. The government indicted her for buying two guns and selling them to someone else."

"The government can kiss my sainted ass." Mike snorted. "She would never do that. Reheema was the kind of girl, you know, she took care of people. Her mother, all the customers. Reheema wasn't ghetto, like some of them."

Vicki let it go. "Let me ask you something. Why did she work here and at the hospital, if she was a college grad? If you don't mind my asking."

"Not at all, I know this ain't the Ritz. I think she used to work for the city, like a case worker or somethin,' but she got laid off. I knew she'd leave when something better came along." Mike was shaking his head. "Then they picked her up. Whatever they said she did, she didn't do it."

"How do you know that? I mean, how can I prove it?"

"She never done nothin' wrong, I'll come in and testify, I'll tell 'em. Reheema, she was the best." Mike pursed his lips, and Vicki read his look. He'd had a crush on her.

"What would you say about her, in detail, if I called you to testify?"

"I'd say she worked the day shift when I started here, opened up each morning, and kept the place always clean as a whistle when I come in. And she took real good care of all the customers. The customers loved her, too. They still ask about her. She worked every day, seven days a week, always on time, super-reliable. The only time she missed work was when her mom was sick. That's four days in two years."

"What was her mom sick with?"

"Cancer. Her mom's big in the church, too." Mike cocked his spiky head. "Don't you know, about her having cancer?"

Oops. "Right, she did mention that, but she didn't go into detail. Reheema keeps the personal stuff to herself."

"She is quiet, a sweet girl. Very sweet. She's a beautiful person, inside and out." Mike got lost in thought, and Vicki could guess where he was going, but didn't want to follow.

"The guys who came in, they'd all hit on her."

"Of course."