Win's face betrayed nothing, but Myron still felt a cold gust blow across his heart.
Win said, 'And you've met Linda.'
'Yes.'
'And you know that she is related to me.'
'Yes.'
'Then you must have realized that I will not help.'
'No.'
Win sat back, steepled his fingers. 'Then you realize it now.'
'A boy might be in real danger,' Myron said. 'We have to help.'
'No,' Win said. 'I do not.'
'You want me to drop it?'
'What you do is your affair,' Win said.
'Do you want me to drop it?' Myron repeated.
The iced teas came. Win took a gentle sip. He looked off and tapped his chin with his index finger. His signal to end the topic. Myron knew better than to push it.
'So who are the other seats for?' Myron asked.
'I am mining a major lead.'
'A new client?'
'For me, almost definitely. For you, a barely remote possibility.'
'Who?'
'Tad Crispin.'
Myron's chin dropped. 'We're having dinner with Tad Crispin?'
'As well as our old friend Norman Zuckerman and his latest rather attractive ingenue.'
Norm Zuckerman was the owner of Zoom, one of the hugest sneaker and sporting apparel companies in the country. He was also one of Myron's favorite people.
'How did you get to Crispin? I heard he was agenting himself.'
'He is,' Win said, 'but he still wants a financial adviser.' Barely in his mid-thirties, Win was already something of a Wall Street legend. Reaching out to Win made sense. 'Crispin is quite a shrewd young man, actually.' he went on. 'Unfortunately, he believes that all agents are thieves. That they have the morals of a prostitute practicing politics.'
'He said that? A prostitute practicing politics?'
'No, I came up with that one myself' Win smiled.
'Pretty good, no?'
Myron nodded. 'No.' _
'Anyway, the Zoom folks here are tailing him like a lapdog. They're introducing a whole new line of men's clubs and clothing on the back of young Mr. Crispin.'
Tad Crispin was in second place, a goodly distance behind Jack Coldren. Myron wondered how happy Zoom was about Coldren possibly stealing their thunder. Not very. he supposed.
'So what do you make of Jack Coldren's good showing?' Myron asked. 'You surprised?'
Win shrugged. 'Winning was always very important to Jack.'
'Have you known him long?'
Flat eyes. 'Yes.'
'Did you know him when he lost here as a rookie?'
'Yes.'
Myron calculated the years. Win would have been in elementary school. 'Jack Coldren hinted that he thought someone tried to sabotage his chances back then.'
Win made a noise. 'Guff',' he said.
'Guff?'
'You don't recall what happened?'
'No.'
'Coldren claims his caddie gave him the wrong club on sixteen,' Win said. 'He asked for a six iron and supposedly his caddie handed him an eight. His shot landed short. More specifically, in one of the rock quarry bunkers. He never recovered. ' '
'Did the caddie admit the error?'
'He never commented, as far as I know.'
'What did Jack do?'
'He fired him.'
Myron chewed on that tidbit. 'Where is the caddie now?'
'I do not have the slightest idea,' Win said. 'He wasn't a young man at the time and this was more than twenty years ago.'
'Do you remember his name?'
'No. And this conversation is officially terminated?
Before Myron could ask why, a pair of hands covered his eyes. 'Guess who'?' came a familiar sing-song. 'I'll give you a couple of hints: I'm smart, good-looking, and loaded with talent.'
'Gee,' Myron said, 'before that hint, I would have thought you were Norm Zuckerman?
'And with the hint?'
Myron shrugged. 'If you add 'adored by women of all ages I'd think it was me.'
Norman Zuckerman laughed heartily. He bent down md gave Myron a big, loud smack on the cheek. 'How are you, meshuggener?'
'Good, Norm. You?'
'I'm cooler than Superfly in a new Coupe de Ville.'
Zuckerman greeted Win with a loud hello and an enthusiastic handshake. Diners stared in distaste. The stares did not quiet Norman Zuckerman. An elephant gun could not quiet Norman Zuckerman. Myron liked the man.
Sure, a lot of it was an act. But it was a genuine act.
Norm's zest for everything around him was contagious.
He was pure energy; the kind of person who made you examine yourself and left you feeling just a little wanting.
Norm brought forward a young woman who'd been standing behind him. 'Let me introduce you to Esme Fong,' he said. 'She's one of my marketing vee-pees. In charge of the new golf line. Brilliant. The woman is absolutely brilliant.'
The attractive ingenue. Early-to-mid twenties, Myron guessed. Esme Fong was Asian with perhaps a hint of Caucasian. She was petite with almond eyes. Her hair was long and silky, a black fan with an earthy auburn tinge.
She wore a beige business suit and white stockings. Esme nodded a hello and stepped closer. She wore the serious face of an attractive young woman who was afraid of not being taken seriously because she was an attractive young woman.
She stuck out her hand. 'A pleasure to meet you, Mr.
Bolitar,' she said crisply. 'Mr. Lockwood.'
'Doesn't she have a firm handshake?' Zuckerman asked. Then turning to her: 'What's with all the misters?
This is Myron and Win. They're practically family, for crying out loud. Okay, Win's a little goyish to be in my family. I mean, his people came over on the Mayflower, while most of mine fled a czar pogrom in a cargo ship.
But we're still family, right, Win'?'
'As rain,' Win said.
'Sit down already, Esme. You're making me nervous with all the seriousness. Try a smile, okay?' Zuckerman demonstrated, pointing at his teeth. Then he turned to Myron, spread his hands. 'The truth, Myron. How do I look?'
Norman was over sixty. His customary loud clothing, matching the man's personality, hardly stood out after
