Julie Devers unlocked the door and stepped into the air-conditioned cool of her home. Dropping her shopping bags in the front hall, she strode into the living room and headed straight for the bar. Two fingers of rye, neat, went down with a satisfied moan, and after lighting a cigarette, and taking the first delicious puff, she kicked off her shoes and flopped contentedly on her monster sofa.

The afternoon had been another enjoyable romp with the decidedly juicy Carleton Smithee. And the fact that it was at the notorious Dunbar made it even more exciting. Julie dragged deeply on her cigarette and smiled, wondering if the Dunbar Hotel's management knew what half their guests were up to.

Reg had confided once, when they were still speaking, relatively civilized, that Jarmon Wyatt had one of the suites on an upper floor where he spent a lot of his away from home time. How Reg knew this exactly, gave her a momentary pause. She tittered to herself, picturing the two of them bumping into one another on an elevator on the way to an afternoon tryst. No way. He was too busy saving his skin from his gangster friends.

She knew Reg was in deep trouble with some loan sharks over his compulsive gambling and that somehow, he was keeping them at bay with small payments he didn't get from their savings. During a previous midday encounter with Carleton, she mentioned the possibility that he might be diddling the books at work, and maybe Carleton should do a little quiet snooping.

Carleton had displayed a curious reaction.

Julie butted her cigarette out in a large crystal ashtray and hopped up, smiling, as she retrieved her shopping from the hall and climbed up the stairs to her bedroom. Her cell phone rang and she answered it while she dumped out the bags onto the bed.

"Julie, it's Reg. Has uh, anyone been around asking for me?"

"I just got in from shopping," she said without interest, tucking the phone under her chin.

"So if I don't get home right at dinner time you'll still be there?"

"Why?" She held up one of the blouses she'd bought, turning side to side in front of her mirror.

"Well, I've got something to take care of first and it's just been a while and all, and I thought maybe . . ."

"I've got an appointment after dinner, so I won't be here. I'll see you whenever." She closed her phone in the middle of his reply, tossing it on the bed and holding up another blouse.

●○●○●○●○●

The house was empty when he arrived. No note. Nothing. He sighed and poured himself a drink, frowning at the dirty glass and ashtray on the coffee table. Julie was drifting out of his life seemingly unconcerned. He knew that his lies about work when he was out gambling had worn pretty thin, and now he had to look over his shoulder every moment. She didn't even bother nagging him.

He drained the glass and carried it and his wife's out to the kitchen, rinsing them under the tap. The call to Karen had left him feeling like something stuck on the sole of her shoe. No joy for a partnership there. Still, he thought, he could brace Jarmon with the threat of exposing his affair; all he needed was that elusive physical proof. That would need some thought.

He pondered that as he scrounged through the fridge for something to eat. His next thought was the appointment Julie mentioned. Where the hell was she going at night? What kind of appointment? Some ripening cheese and a few slices of mystery cold cuts found their way to the table between two slices of hard rye bread. That and a bottle of beer was supper.

Reg slumped dejectedly as he chewed, his future assuming the image of one very nasty place. Julie came in the front door and he hurriedly dumped the remains of his meagre meal in the garbage, drained off the beer and wiping his hands, went out to the front hall to meet her.

"Hi, your appointment go okay?"

She hesitated slightly, removing her jacket. "Fine, why?"

"Just asking. Where'd you go?"

"Do I have to start answering to you for everything I do now?" She pushed past him into the living room, heading for the bar.

"No, 'course not. I just asked, Julie. Have you eaten?"

She smirked as she poured her drink. "Yeah, I had a bite."

Reg waited for a little more, but she wandered over to the sofa, kicked off her shoes and switched on the TV. He felt like wringing her neck but knew an argument would net him nothing in the end, so he mumbled a good night and plodded upstairs to their bedroom.

Julie sipped her drink comfortably, letting the images from the TV pluck at her attention. Did you eat? Yeah, I had a bite. She giggled naughtily and took another swallow.

●○●○●○●○●

Bernie (the Club) Bonducci considered his situation calmly, as the report from his employee played in his subconscious. He had to keep reminding himself that he was in the same business, but it was a new day. Three years inside for issuing death threats that he would have gladly carried out, and now facing circumstances so eerily similar, had tempered his behaviour somewhat.

Bernie liked to think he was now a man who could listen to all sides of an argument, and then make the best decision for all; a far cry from his head-banging days through the services of the giant, Toto Argyle. Toto was still in prison with several years yet to serve on the first of many counts, a situation that did not sit well with the prison officials, since it took nearly the entire staff to handle the huge man.

He let his mind wander to the circumstances surrounding his incarceration, and the words of his employee faded to a monotonous drone in the background. Images of the participants swam across his mind. The treacherous but amazing, Bondra Croft, the prime cause of his violent actions, and the source of many frustrating dreams.

Information had reached him that she would be eligible for parole in two years; he wondered if he might make it a point to contact her. He shook his head as he continued the reminiscing. The Laurel and Hardy team of private eyes she'd hired, and then the couple that created all their woes, Nora Hill and Christopher Wallace.

Other reports had reached him that Wallace had taken up a new career as a P.I., and Bernie snorted his disdain; Mr. Wallace would require some attention again one day. As for his wife, she seemed to have done better than any of the participants and was probably not someone to fool with now.

Bernie had been lucky not to go down for the death of Jaeger; fortunately that was Sal's load to bear and since he was still in a coma in the city hospital, justice could be considered served.

"Devers is a deadbeat. Clever - but still a deadbeat."

The sentence brought him out of his reverie, and he turned his attention to the man in front of his desk. Déjà vu all over again.

"I've been this route and I ain't going down it again." Bernie hunted through his desk for his lighter and swore, having to accept a match from his man to light his cigar. "He said the end of the month. I'll wait 'till the end of the month. Meanwhile you just watch... discretely."

"Whatever you say, boss." The voice oozed from between pale, thin lips that stretched wide below an axe sharp nose. The black eyes came together - too close together for Bernie's liking - to support a wiggly wrinkle between them. You had to be wary of guys with close-set eyes, he cautioned himself.

The trust scam Reg had described had sounded reasonable, providing an opportunity for Bernie to realize a very generous profit from his loan. But recent investigations by his man Jorge, the messenger standing in front of his desk, showed a growing number of serious complications, principally, that the husband in question, while fooling around dangerously close to his wife's nose, didn't seem too concerned.

This made Dever's threats look kind of empty. Reg continued to assure him that this Jarmon Wyatt would be more than happy to reward him for his silence, and Bernie would get his money with substantial interest. The problem was, nothing was actually happening. No money was forthcoming and after waiting around for this useless news from Jorge, Bernie had missed his dinner reservation, and was in no mood to listen to more pointless explanations.

"Just keep an eye on things from a distance for now." Shades of the past filtered into his thoughts leaving him concerned at his uncertainty. In the old days, Devers would be in a building footing somewhere by now.

"Maybe a suggestion that family might come into the mix?" Jorge Starkman shaped his mouth into a grin without opening it and Bernie imagined a scar from some savage knife wound.

"Let's wait on that a bit."

"You're the boss."