Jarmon's head was still pounding from his marathon, drinking bout the previous night, when another pounding began on his door. Even the deliriously enticing Nicole had failed to show up and extract him from his misery. He turned on the sofa and hurled a magazine in the direction of the noise.

"Bugger off!" The noise stopped and then began again. Jarmon rolled off the sofa and staggered to the door, holding his head and blinking. He leaned down and pressed his eye to the spy hole.

"I said, bugger—"

The door flew open and slammed into his face, knocking him back across the room and over the cluttered coffee table. Blood streamed down his face from a split in his cheek, and one tooth had punctured his lip. Swelling began immediately. Jorge stepped into the room, crunched over the debris, around the table and dragged Jarmon to his feet before slamming him onto the sofa with a solid fist.

"Shtop! Shtop!" Jarmon held up his hands, spitting blood down his shirt front. "Wha you doin'?"

"I came for the money Mr. Devers owes my employer." Jorge shoved the table aside with his foot and glowered down at Jarmon.

"Devers! Wha the hell wou you come to me? Get it fra him!" He scrabbled back on the sofa, cupping his hand under the drips from his damaged lip.

"He doesn't have it. He said he was getting it from you." Jorge slipped off his watch and put it in his pants pocket. "Now I'm getting from you."

"No! Wait! I don ha any of Devers' money!" Jorge slid a large ring onto his middle finger. "Wait! Wait! Please!"

Jarmon concentrated on articulating his words slowly and carefully. "He thought he could get it from me if he threatened to tell my wife I was having an affair." He stared up at the expressionless face. "My wife is coming in to some money at the end of the month, and we have to stay married under the rules of a trust arrangement until then or she doesn't get it. I got pissed at him and told him I wasn't gonna let her divorce me. He started to panic because he wouldn't be able to pay you the money he owed."

"So are you getting this trust money?"

"That's the plan... fifty percent of it anyway."

"What does that come to?"

"In dollars, I have no idea, but it also includes thirty-five percent of my father-in-law's company."

Jorge pondered that titbit. Bernie might just like being the partner in a lobbying firm. He sat down and spent a terrifying few minutes explaining the consequences to Jarmon if by the end of the month all these things didn't happen.

●○●○●○●○●

Reg finished nursing a long drink in the dark corner at the rear of the Avocado Grotto. He drained his glass and pushed the little buzzer on the wall of the booth. Shelia sauntered down the room with another glass and a dish of peanuts.

"How about settling your tab before you spend any more, or before someone else finishes the job?" She stood languidly, one hip against the table, snickering at his damaged face.

"Shelia, baby, this is old Reggie. My money's good here, right?"

"Max says no more credit." She yawned and set the drink down. "He says this is the last one." Shelia picked up the empty glass and wandered back to the bar.

"Shit. Can't get a break anywhere." Reg spoke out to the empty room, cradling his drink covetously.

Waiting wasn't Reg's strong suite, and the longer he sat in the dark bar, the more fidgety he became. He had to do something. He had to advance his cause somehow. The call from Jorge, relating his conversation with Julie - at the Dunbar - alerted him to the fact that Julie was with Carleton Smithee, and he knew there was no goddamn way she hired him as a lawyer.

All those goddamn meetings with her so-called wives... she was screwing the guy, and together, they planned screwing him! He fumed as he began to see the pieces drop in place. The bastard! That sneaky, rotten, black bastard! He was taking advantage of Reg's situation, using Julie as a spy. He wondered how she was doing at home with her broken wrist.

The bitch. Serves her right, her and that son-of-a-bitch lawyer; Reg gulped down a mouthful of liquor and winced as the bruise from Julie's punch on his cheek complained. The thought popped into his head without bidding. It was perfect. A smile broke out on his face and he gulped the rest of the drink, pushing himself out of the booth and over to the bar.

"Shelia, lemme use the phone, okay?"

"Local?"

"Yes, yes local. Very local." He chuckled.

"Can you see past that cheek of yours to dial?"

"Just gimme the goddamn phone will ya." When this was over, he'd come back here, buy the place and fire the whole damned lot.

●○●○●○●○●

The bottle of 'Life-on' from lunchtime stood on the counter waiting for Karen to finish her stretching exercise. She gripped the edge with her fingers, eyes level with the top, and raised a long, shapely leg out and up behind her as far as she could. Droplets of sweat ran down to the corner of her mouth, leaving a salty taste inside her lip. She repeated the move several more times, then stopped, standing up and wiping her face and throat with her towel.

The 'Life-on' slid down her throat with an almost sensual coolness and she kept drinking until the bottle was finished, lightly gasping for breath and mulling her fortunes as she wiped the residue from her mouth. She was now officially out of the loop... and work. When the other people at work saw her off, Lawrence hadn't even bothered to come out of his office. She hoped he was fretting over what he would miss.

Her cell phone began vibrating on the counter and she tossed the towel over her shoulder and answered.

"Hello?"

"Karen? Carleton here. How are you?" Silence. "I uh- I heard about you and Lawrence and I wanted to say how upset I was. Are you okay?"

"Better than I was I guess. You sound funny?"

"Huh- oh I'm fine, fine. Listen, I spoke with Lawrence earlier -obviously - that's when I heard about your uhm- arrangement." A heavier silence. "I don't think what he did was very fair and he's been doing some snooping on his own." She leaned on the counter, dabbing at the perspiration on her chest, and listened carefully. "He thinks Jarmon has something else going on - maybe another woman? Do you know anything about...?" The question trailed off. "Karen?"

"I have no idea and furthermore, I really don't care so unless there's something else, I have a lot of personal choices to consider."

"Listen, I'm going to call in some favours and see if we can't sort out your situation. I uh- I have a kind of agreement with Cynthia..."

"What's going on Carleton? What the hell are you up to?" Karen stood straight, her mind racing behind bright eyes.

"Nothing! I'm just trying to intervene on your behalf."

"With Cynthia?"

"No, no... with Ellington and he could speak to Lawrence."

"So what was that about Cynthia?"

"Just that maybe when this is over I can be of some influence on your behalf."

"This being this bloody trust business?"

"Yes."

"Thanks anyway but Bravo Consulting is a page I've turned, Carleton. You should look to yourself; you sound awful." She said goodbye and hung up.

"But Karen—" The line was dead.

A sudden gust of wind billowed the drapes in front of the sliding glass doors and she crossed the room closing them, but not completely. Outside, she could see the street lights beginning to blink on across the parkland in a random pattern and she silently she berated herself for speaking the way she had, it wasn't his fault she was sacked, and he did offer to help. Still, she knew there would never be a chance at Bravo no matter who intervened.

She finished closing the doors and went back to the kitchen.