was hearing. "Had Esperanza been using the car?"

"That very day. According to the E-Z Pass records, the car crossed the Washington Bridge back into New York within an hour of the murder. And as I said, he was killed in Fort Lee. The apartment is maybe two miles from the bridge."

"This is crazy."

Win said nothing.

"What's her motive?" Myron asked.

"The police don't have a solid one yet. But several are being offered."

"Such as?"

"Esperanza was a new partner at MB SportsReps. She'd been left in charge. The company's inaugural client was about to walk out the door."

Myron frowned. "Pretty flimsy motive."

"He had also recently assaulted her. Perhaps Clu blamed her for all the bad things that were happening to him. Perhaps she wanted vengeance. Who knows?"

"You said something before about her not talking to you."

"Yes."

"So you asked Esperanza about the charges?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And she told me that she had the matter under control," Win said. "And she told me not to contact you. That she did not wish to speak with you."

Myron looked puzzled. "Why not?"

"I haven't a clue."

He pictured Esperanza, the Hispanic beauty he had met in the days when she wrestled professionally under the moniker Little Pocahontas. A lifetime ago. She had been with MB SportsReps since its inception-first as a secretary and now that she'd graduated law school, as a full-fledged partner.

"But I'm her best friend," Myron said.

"As I am well aware."

"So why would she say something like that?"

Win guessed the question was rhetorical. He kept silent.

The island was out of sight now. In every direction there was nothing but the churning warm blue of the Atlantic.

"If I hadn't run away," Myron began.

"Myron?"

"What?"

"You're whining again. I cannot handle whining."

Myron nodded and leaned against the teakwood.

"Any thoughts?" Win asked.

"She'll talk to me," Myron said. "Count on it."

"I just tried to call her."

"And?"

"No answer."

"Did you try Big Cyndi?"

"She now rooms with Esperanza."

No surprise. "What's today?" Myron asked.

"Tuesday."

"Big Cyndi still bounces at Leather-N-Lust. She might be there."

"During the day?"

Myron shrugged. "Sexual deviancy has no off hours."

"Thank God," Win said.

They fell into silence, the ship gently rocking them.

Win squinted into the sun. "Beautiful, no?"

Myron nodded.

"Must be sick of it after all this time."

"Very," Myron said.

"Come below deck. I think you'll be pleased."
Chapter 3
Win had stocked the yacht with videos. They watched episodes of the old Batman show (the one with Julie Newmar as Cat Woman and Lesley Gore as Pussycat- double meow!), the Odd Couple (Oscar and Felix on Password), a Twilight Zone ("To Serve Man"), and for something more current, Seinfeld (Jerry and Elaine visit Jerry's parents in Florida). Forget pot roast. This was comfort food. But on the off chance that it wasn't substantial enough, there were also Doritos and Cheez Doodles and more Yoo-Hoos and even rewarmed pizza from Calabria's Pizzeria on Livingston Avenue.

Win. He might be a sociopath, but what a guy.

The effect of all this was beyond therapeutic, the time spent at sea and later in the air an emotional pressure chamber of sorts, a chance for Myron's soul to adjust to the bends, to the sudden reemergence into the real world.

The two friends barely spoke, except to sigh over Julie Newmar as Cat Woman (whenever she came on the screen in her tight black cat suit, Win said, "Puuuurrrrfect"). They'd both been five or six years old when the show first aired, but something about Julie Newmar as Cat Woman completely blew away any Freudian notions of latency. Why, neither man could say. Her villainy perhaps. Or something more primal. Esperanza would no doubt have an interesting opinion. He tried not to think about her- useless and draining when he couldn't do anything about it -but the last time he had done something like this was in Philadelphia with both Win and Esperanza. He missed her. Watching the videos was not the same without her running commentary.

The boat docked and they headed for the private jet.

"We'll save her," Win said. "We are, after all, the good guys."

"Questionable."

"Have confidence, my friend."

"No, I mean us being the good guys."

"You should know better."

"Not anymore I don't," Myron said.

Win made his jutting jaw face, the one that had come over on the Mayflower. "This moral crisis of yours," he said. "It's tres unbecoming."

A breathy blond bombshell like something out of an old burlesque skit greeted them in the cabin of the Lock-Horne company jet. She fetched them drinks between giggles and wiggles. Win smiled at her. She smiled back.

"Funny thing," Myron said.

"What's that?"

"You always hire curvaceous stewardesses."

Win frowned. "Please," he said. "She prefers