Big Trouble

"The way I see it," said the Client From Hell, "I came up with the concept. This is MY concept."

Eliot looked at the check, then at the grotesque beer ad, then at the check again. He looked at the check for several seconds. When he finally spoke, he did not lookup.

"OK," he said.

The Client From Hell smirked fatly and turned back to the ad.

'Tits like that," he said, shaking his head. "On a spic." Then, without saying good-bye or closing the door, he walked out.

Eliot was still looking at the check.

"I'm a whore," he announced, to his office.

The phone rang, and Eliot considered not answering it, because it was probably the building manager calling to tell him that (a) he was disturbing other tenants, and (b) he was two months behind on his rent. But it also might be Matt. So he picked up the receiver.

"Eliot Arnold," he said, warily.

"Hi," said a woman's voice, and Eliot's heart jumped. "This is Anna Herk. The woman who beat up your son."

"Hi!" said Eliot, thinking about her eyes.

"How is Matt?" asked Anna. "Is he OK?"

"Oh, he's fine," said Eliot. "He's a teenager."

"I'm sorry," said Anna.

"That's OK," said Eliot. "He'll grow out of it, if nobody shoots him."

"No," said Anna, laughing, "I mean, I'm sorry about jumping on him. And I'm really sorry about dumping on you last night. I had no business doing that."

"You did the right thing," said Eliot. "He had no business being there."

"Well, anyway," said Anna, "the reason I called, besides to say I'm sorry again, is, did you lose some reading glasses?"

"As a matter of fact," he said, "I did."

"Horn-rims?" she asked.

"Yup."

"Made in Taiwan?"

"Four ninety-nine at Eckerd Drag."

"Well," Anna said, "I haven't seen them."

Eliot laughed.

"No, really," she said, "I found them in the family room, and I wanted to return them to you."

"You don't have to do that," said Eliot. "I mean they're just cheap ... "

"Really," she said, "I want to."

Whoa.

"OK," Eliot said.

"You're in the Grove, right?" she said.

"Yes."

"Well, I'm running some errands around there this afternoon, and I thought maybe I could stop by."

Eliot looked around his small, grimy, unsuccessful-looking office, the most impressive aspect of which was the gazomba woman.

"Well," he said, "how about, I mean, if you haven't eaten, we could, I mean, we could maybe get something?"

"Are you asking me to lunch?"

"I don't mean to, I mean, if you'd rather ... "

"Lunch sounds great."

Whoa.

"Do you know the Taurus?" he asked.

"Sure."

"Is one o'clock OK?"

"One o'clock's perfect."

"Great! Well, see you then."

"OK, bye."

"Bye."

Eliot hung up and looked at the phone, thinking: A date! Kind of!

Then he thought: She's a married woman, and she is simply returning your glasses, and you are a loser.

But that did not stop him from feeling absurdly happy as he locked his door and—taking the back stairs, so as to avoid the building manager—headed for the bank to cash the Client From Hell's check, so he could buy lunch.

Henry and Leonard met with their Penultimate, Inc. contact at a pricey Brickell Avenue restaurant called Dunley's, which was decorated to look like an exclusive men's club, with lots of oak and fake old paintings. It was popular with business people who wished to impress clients by buying them steaks the size of Shetland ponies.

The Penultimate contact was a man named Luis Rojas, whose title was director of special operations. They sat in a corner, next to a table of four lawyers who were talking loud about golf clubs. Henry and Luis Rojas spoke quietly; Leonard, still woozy from running into the wall, mainly chewed.

"My employer is concerned," Rojas said to Henry.

"Is that right?" said Henry, cutting off a piece of steak.

"Yes," said Rojas. "He is very concerned, and he wants to know when you intend to finish this job."

"I want to know some things, too," said Henry. "For instance, who is this guy running around with a rifle, and who is this guy jumping on me out of a tree?"

"What guy in a tree?" asked Rojas.

"That's what I'm wondering," said Henry. "You bring us down here, tell us this is a simple job, just like the other times. In and out, you tell us. No security, you tell us. Next thing I know, I got Geronimo running into the house, and I got Tarzan landing on my head."

"Plus the woman," said Leonard, between chews.

"The woman?" asked Rojas.

"Outside, by the wall with Tarzan," said Leonard. "A woman."

Rojas thought for a moment.

"Listen," he said. "Like I told you, my employer is very concerned that you should finish this job. But he is also concerned about who these other people are, why somebody else wants to ... be involved. So we would like to know anything that you can find out, in addition to doing the job."

At the next table, the four lawyers were drinking cognac and lighting cigars.