I brought in Kiddy, and then I brought in Sophia and Phelps, and Parker’s people brought in Steve Pedi. I requested that the cops did not make Phelps’ involvement public, and they agreed (which earned my fee). Then I did it big and loud and glorious, with gestures, but all of that was to impress Sophia Sierra. She admired me and I adored being admired by Sophia Sierra. I omitted any reference to her letters which brought more admiration, and at the end of a long night, I was sitting pretty. Parker saw it my way about trading with Kiddy — his testimony in return for deportation, and good riddance — and at long last I was back in my apartment, alone with Sophia Sierra, and we were getting looped on Rob Roys (not too sweet) and we were nice and tight when I returned her letters. For this she repaid me with her love, vernacularly speaking. And I, of course, gave her a receipt — more of the same. Though tiring, a nice arrangement.
That there was a moral to all that had happened, I was sure. But I didn’t dig for it. Who needed it?