you meet.. what?s his name?”
.
“Mickey Parver. Everybody calls him Stick but don?t ask why, it?s too early to talk.”
The Juice was ice cold, the coffee strong and hot, and the toast wasn?t burned. I wolfed it down while
she sat across from me and had her second cup.
“1 want to thank you for last night,” she said. She sounded almost embarrassed.
“For what, almost getting you killed?”
“I mean later, after that. It?s the first time I?ve slept in days. And thanks, too, for. . . listening to me
ramble.”
“Better watch out,” 1 said. “Your inhibitions are showing again.”
“I only wish there was some way I could repay you.”
There it was, the perfect opening. It was time to play cop again. I sipped a little more coffee. It was
tough coming out with it.
“Maybe there is,” I said finally.
She was pleased at the prospect. “Really?” she cried. “What? Anything!”
I sipped at my coffee for a moment or two, trying to phrase it just right, but that never works. No
matter how I put it, it was going to come out wrong in the end.
“You might want to think about this,” I said.
“Think about what?”
“What I?m about to ask you.”
Her smile started to fade.
“You know a man named Cohen who banks at the Seacoast?” I asked.
“Yes. Not personally, just as a customer of the bank.”
“Does he come in often?”
“Usually every day. Why?”
“Do you handle his account?”
She cocked her head like a puppy hearing an unfamiliar sound.
“No,” she said. “Mr. Seaborn handles it personally.”
There it was. The connection. My pulse picked up but it still didn?t prove anything. “Is that
customary? I mean for the president of the bank to handle an account personally?”
“He does it on several major accounts, if that?s what the customer wants. What?s this about, Jake?”
“I need some information,” I said. “It will be kept totally confidential, I promise you that. There?s no
danger of anyone ever finding out where it came from. It will only be used by me to dig up some
