pattern that resembled melted paisley. They bolted upright when Myron entered, fingers tightened into fists, necks in midcrack.

FJ was decked out in a light herringbone sports coat, collared shirt buttoned all the way to the top, cuffed pants, and Cole-Haan tasseled loafers. Too natty for words. He spotted Myron and raised his hand in the bruisers' direction. Hans and Franz froze.

"Hi, FJ," Myron said.

FJ was sipping something foamy; it kinda looked like shaving cream. "Ah, Myron," he said with what he must have been sure was savoirfaire. He gestured at his table companion. His companion got up without a word and scooted toward the exit like a scared gerbil. "Please, Myron, join me. This is such a strange coincidence."

"Oh?"

"You saved me a trip. I was just going to pay you a visit." FJ tossed Myron the snake smile. Myron let it land on the floor and watched it slither away. "I guess it's kismet, huh, Myron? Your coming here. Pure kismet."

FJ cracked up at that. Hans and Franz laughed too.

"Kismet," Myron repeated. "Good one."

FJ waved a modest hand as if to say, / got a million like that. "Please sit, Myron."

Myron pulled out a chair.

"Care for a drink?"

"An iced latte would be fine. Grande, skim, with a dash of vanilla."

FJ motioned to the guy working behind the coffee bar. "He's new," FJ confided.

"Who?"

"The guy working the espresso machine. The last guy who worked here made a wonderful latte. But he quit for moral reasons."

"Moral reasons?"

"They started selling Kenny G CDs," FJ said. "Suddenly he couldn't sleep at night. It was tearing him apart. Suppose an impressionable kid bought one? How could he live with himself? Pushing caffeine was okay. But Kenny G... the man had scruples."

Myron said, "Commendable."

Win chose that moment to enter. FJ spotted him and looked over at Hans and Franz. Win did not hesitate. He beelined straight toward FJ's table. Hans and Franz went to work. They stepped in Win's path and expanded their chests to dimensions large enough to apply for a parking permit. Win kept walking. Both men wore turtlenecks so high and loose they looked like something awaiting circumcision.

Hans managed a smirk. "You Win?"

"Yes," Win said, "me Win."

"You don't look so tough." Hans looked at Franz. "He look tough to you, Keith?"

Keith said, "Not so tough."

Win did not break stride. Almost casually and without the slightest warning, he struck Hans with the knife-edge of his hand behind the ear. Hans's whole body stiffened and then collapsed as though someone had ripped the skeleton out of him. Franz gaped at the sight. But not for long. In the same motion Win pirouetted and struck Franz in the oft vulnerable throat. An awful gurgling noise shot out of Franz's lips, as though he were choking on a slew of small bones. Win reached for the carotid artery, found it, and squeezed with his pointer and thumb. Franz's eyes closed, and he too slid into Nighty-Night Land.

The couple at the other table exited quickly. Win smiled down at the unconscious bruisers. Then he glanced at Myron. Myron shook his head. Win shrugged and turned to the guy manning the coffee bar.

"Barista," Win said. "One caffe mocha."

"What size?"

"Grande, please."

"Skim or whole milk?"

"Skim. I'm watching my figure."

"Right away."

Win joined Myron and FJ. He sat and crossed his legs. "Nice sports coat, FJ."

"Glad you like it, Win."

"It really brings out the demonic red in your eyes."

"Thank you."

"So where were we?"

Myron played along. "I was just about to tell FJ that I'm getting a little tired of the tail."

"And I was just about to tell Myron that I'm getting tired of him meddling in my affairs," FJ said.

Myron looked at Win. "Meddling? Does anybody really use that word anymore?"

Win thought about it. "The old man at the end of every Scooby Doo."

"Right. You meddling kids, stuff like that."

"You will never guess who does the voice for Shaggy," Win said.

"Who?"

"Casey Kasem."

"Get out," Myron said. "The top-forty radio guy?"

"The very same."

"Live and learn."

On the floor Hans and Franz started to stir. Win showed FJ the gun he had semihidden in his one hand. "For the safety of all concerned," Win said, "please ask your employees to refrain from moving."

FJ told them. He was not scared. His father was Frank Ache. That was protection enough. The muscles here were for show.

"You've been following me for weeks now," Myron said. "I want it to end."

"Then I suggest that you stop interfering with my company."

Myron sighed. "Fine, FJ, I'll bite. How am I interfering with your