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The bartender kept polishing the tumbler, tactfully avoiding a backward glance. Always a good policy when your boss starts crying. I shifted my stool closer and said calmly, “Marty.” He sniffed, tugged at his wrinkled suit, blinking around at the empty bar owl-eyed as if waking from a nightmare only to find a worse reality. Frying pan to the flame, the nature of this business in a nutshell. I hoped he had it, or could get it, but I wasn’t holding my breath. Maybe he was a better actor than I gave him credit for. The dining room contained fifty-two