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“Ah, well, no use cryin’,” Glad said, then reached down into a leather satchel he carried. “The milk has not yet been spilt.”

He brought out a liter bottle and added, “Let’s have a taste of Redbreast 27.”

“What’s that?” Leaf asked as Olo brought down four glasses from the china shelf standing at the landward side of our table.

“It is,” Olo said as she placed the glasses before us, “a single-pot still Irish whiskey that could grow a full beard on a six-year-old girl.”

Glad whooped at this description while steadily pouring our shots.

“To your health,” he said, holding up his glass.

After the third shot I said that it was time for me to turn in. But before I could rise, Glad’s cell phone sounded.

“Hello?” he said in that cheery voice that’s reserved for Santa Claus and dyed-in-the-wool killers. “Yes, Carl. Oh? Ach, sorry to hear it, I am indeed.”

Then, pocketing the phone: “Lamming and Rouche have been bailed out.”

Though I had beds for Olo and Gladstone, they departed for their own temporary homes.

That left me and Leaf. She was just back in my life, so sex came as naturally as breath. But afterward, sleep was a faraway concept.

“Are you awake?” she whispered somewhere around three in the morning.

“Bushy-tailed.”

“What do you think you’re gonna do?”

“Protect my clients and loved ones—not necessarily in that order.” For some reason this vow made me climb out of bed.

“How?”

“That is a dangerous question.”

“Not as dangerous as the man had you shackled to a chair, ready for the slaughter.”

“For the time being, I’ll trust the system. Van Arc has the names of all the women that Caledonia introduced to her uncle. And Gladstone is harder than diamonds when he sets his mind on a perp.”

“So we’re safe right now, and there’s a plan in action for later?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Then come lie down and let me snuggle you.”

I went to see Arman the next morning. I’d lied about him leaving the hospital and told Ilsa to tell anyone who called that he’d left. Ilsa let me in. Her patient/boyfriend was in the back room now fully dressed, with a suit, tie, and even shoes, although these last were of the tennis variety.

“So, he’s out,” Arman said, his tone expressing resignation.

“Yeah. He has this high-powered lawyer who said that I came to his house of my own free will. And the cop I’m workin’ with says that the judge who sat on the review was connected to Lamming somehow.”

“Couldn’t somebody complain and force the judge to recuse himself?”

“Van Arc says that we need a whole flock of ducks in a row before we can go after any of them.”

Arman sat back in his semi-stuffed chair, staring at me with what felt like avuncular affection.

“Your grandmother was right about you, Joe. You don’t cut any corners or give no slack.”

“It’s gonna work out, Arman. He’s the snake and we’re the mongoose.”